One boy, one girl: Brooklyn style
by Brown-Eyed Girl 75
Summary: Sometimes it's true that being friends first, does make people better lovers. FLACK/OC Established OC from previous stories. ON HIATUS
1. Cold November Rain

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**Howdy to all my regular, amazing readers and those of you who have never heard of me or my work, or what is affectionately known as the SamFlackie franchise. This is not a take off from Memories of Brooklyn and Views from Brooklyn. It is simply just something I wanted to do for fun. To take them and 'play' with their relationship. No marriage, no kids. Just two people starting out on that wonderful yet often painful journey called love.**

**This story will contain a DL established relationship and some M rated chapters. And use of profanity. I don't know where it will take me, or Sam and Flack, but I encourage you to stick around for the ride!**

**While reviews are welcome, negativity, pettiness and spite are not. This is just for fun. A chance to use imagination and what is known as creative licence. If you don't have anything nice to say, please, don't say anything at all. It's a great motto to live by.**

**Thanks a bunch, and enjoy!**

**BEG 75**

**P.S.: Huge thanks to laurzz for supporting my decision to write this, and to hope4sall and laplandgurl for being awesome friends and having my back in a crisis.**

* * *

**Cold November Rain**

"Has it ever crossed your mind  
When we're hanging, spending time girl, are we just friends?  
Is there more, is there more?  
See it's a chance we've gotta take  
'Cause I believe that we can make this into something that will last  
Last forever, forever

Do you ever think when you're all alone  
All that we can be, where this thing can go?  
Am I crazy or falling in love?  
Is it real or just another crush?  
Do you catch a breath when I look at you?  
Are you holding back like the way I do?  
'Cause I'm trying and trying to walk away  
But I know this crush ain't goin' away

Why do I keep running from the truth?  
All I ever think about is you  
You got me hypnotized, so mesmerized  
And I've just got to know."  
-Crush, David Archuleta

* * *

She had had better first dates.

Not that Samantha Ross could stake claim to numerous ex-boyfriends or a trail of broken hearts she'd left behind in the past thirty odd years of her life. Relationship wise, she'd lived a pretty quiet existence. Two serious, long term boyfriends and a small spat of dates here and there. The second of the long terms had come close to marriage. Shockingly close, as a matter of fact. She'd dumped his sorry ass the night before the wedding when she'd found out he'd been fooling around behind her back for months. That, mixed with the fact she had had enough of being his personal punching bag and doormat for five years, had been enough to send her heading for the hills. She'd wiped out their joint account and booked a one way flight to New York City and that was that.

That was over a year ago now. In that time she'd managed to secure a transfer from the Phoenix Crime Lab to the New York City one. She'd rode her brother's couch for nearly five months before finally having both the courage, and the proper cash, to get her own place and furniture and odds and ends to go in it. She had made friendships to last a lifetime, helped solve major cases, and had fallen in love with a man that didn't know she even existed.

Scratch that. He did know she existed. But not in the way she wanted him too. She was strictly like a little sister to him. A best friend even. And although it had hurt like a bitch to see him get a girlfriend - first some rich, airhead socialite that got off on the fact she was robbed by James Bond wannabes, and than someone she considered a close friend- she had sucked it up and put on a brave, happy face. Truth was, she would rather have him in her life as an 'older brother' than not have him in it at all.

But man, did it hurt like a bitch to hang out with Jess and hear all about their dates and their sexual encounters. It was hard not to feel your heart break each and every time she gushed about what an amazing, warm hearted and caring person he was outside of that gruff, sarcastic and off hand exterior he displayed at work. Sam saw the love in her friend's eyes. Heard it in her voice.

And while she was happy for her friend for finding that one true love she had admittedly searched her whole life for, Sam couldn't help but be insanely jealous. Because she wanted it to be her. She was certain that that man was bound to her one and only true love. And the thought of him being with someone else, holding them, kissing them, making love to them, was truly driving her insane.

Which was why she had agreed to the date. Not because she was searching for a happily ever after. But because she wanted to be with someone that found her attractive and appealing. Who found her intelligent and irresistible.

Someone who wasn't taken who could help her take her mind off of the fact that she was disgustingly miserable and tired of being alone.

Unfortunately, her expectations for the date had obviously been way too high. While she loved being wined and dined at Tavern on the Green and taken for a carriage ride through Central Park, that lifestyle was just not her. She was more down to earth and unassuming. More comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, sitting in the stands at a Yankees or a Rangers game, sipping beer and eating hot dogs and Cracker Jacks and than hitting a bar afterwards for a game of pool and some nachos and wings and some JD shooters. Sure, champagne and oysters on the half shell were adored and relished by some. But not by her. Once in a blue moon was just fine with her.

She wanted someone that was unassuming and boyishly charming. Someone that was strong and confidant yet not conceited. Who knew what they wanted and how to get it an didn't let anything, or anyone, stand in their way. Who would go through hell and back and to the ends of the earth and to the stars and beyond for the sake of love. Money and social status didn't make a lick of difference to her. It didn't matter if someone was drop dead gorgeous or astonishingly sexy. As long as there was something appealing about them that attracted her to them, it was all good. Freddie Krueger need not apply. As long as there was that spark. That certain something that held her captive.

And Dale Thompson, despite his devastatingly handsome good looks and his Ivy league education, just didn't have that certain something. Sure, he was a damn pretty picture to look at with his tall, muscular build and his tousled blond hair and emerald green eyes and perfectly straight, white teeth. And he was fiercely intelligent and well spoken. But the man was dull. Mind boggling, horrifically dull. He tried way too hard to make a good impression. Ordering the most expensive bottle of champagne on the premises and telling her to pick whatever her little heart desired on the menu. Dropping outrageously sized tips at any member of the wait staff that so as much came his way. In the end, it had only achieved one thing. Cementing Samantha's hatred for the rich. And her utter disdain for defence attorneys.

She had to admit, she had been somewhat surprised when she'd walked into the office she shared with Danny Messer three mornings ago and had found an elaborate, colourful arrangement of several different coloured roses sitting on her desk in a finely etched crystal vase and accompanied by both Dale's business card and another one that simply read: Dinner? She had verbally spared on the stand with him on several occasions and had heard him mutter bitch under his breath in the courtroom once following a rather passionate cross examination.

She had accepted the invitation, but the choice to do so had met relative disgust within the crime lab. Her brother Adam had stared at her in absolute horror when she told him she had a date and who it was with. Sam guessed it was more because Adam couldn't stand the thought of his older sister dating than because of what the date did for a living. Lindsay Monroe, her best friend and Danny's fiancee had looked at her as if she was completely insane and said: "Well if that's what you want."

Other reactions ranged from "Well that's interesting." to "Are you out of your tree?" But it had been Danny's reaction that had stood out the most. She had returned to the office to find him standing over the flowers and reading the cards, a grimace on his face.

"You sleeping with the enemy, Brooklyn?" he'd asked, holding aloft the business card.

"I am not sleeping with anyone!" she'd snapped in response and yanked the card from his hand. "It's a date. And you know what? Sometimes you just have to settle for whatever you can get when the guy you really want doesn't even know you're alive!"

Two hours later, said guy came strolling into her office as she sat on the computer and calmly closed the door behind. Parking his ass on the edge of her desk, looking fantastically handsome and bearing Godlike beauty in a simple black suit and light blue shirt that showed off his eyes and a blue and grey patterned tie, he'd had the nerve to ask what in the hell she was thinking going out with such a scum sucking bottom feeder.

"What the hell does it matter to you?" she'd inquired, sounding a little more defensive than she'd intended to.

Flack had shrugged. "Maybe I just like watching out for you," he'd responded.

She had offered up a snort at that and went back to her work. "Screw off, Don," she'd said. "I'm a big girl. And don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

Things had been somewhat strained between them after that. Her 'big brother' was acting like a whiny, spoiled little brat. Or, more accurately, like a jealous would be suitor that couldn't stand the thought of the girl he was after spending time with anyone other than him. That evening, as they'd met up at the elevator on the thirty-fifth floor, him on the way back downstairs to his desk, and her in a simple scarlet red wrap dress and her hair in a loose sweep and smoky evening makeup, he'd given her a small smile and a sideways glance.

"You don't look half bad," he'd said. And that was the last either of them had spoken.

But he had never left her mind.

The date would have been a whole lot better had she been able to get a word in edge wise. All night she'd been bored to near tears listening to the history of law in the United States and the flaws in the justice system and the number of guilty people Dale had set free - and was outwardly proud of- and the unreliability of forensic science. She'd done little more than pick at her shrimp and scallop alfredo and inwardly groan and stiffel a few yawns. It wouldn't be the first time someone bad mouthed her choice of profession and couldn't be the last. But than Dale Thompson, lawyer extraordinaire, had put the last nail in his coffin.

"And those damn homicide detectives," he'd muttered. "The bane of my bloody existence. Especially that one that testified before you last week. I've had him on the stand a few times now and he always thinks his shit does not stink."

"His name is Detective Don Flack," Sam had informed him. "And he's damn good at his job."

Not to mention completely and utterly hot, she'd thought, as she dug into a serving of Crème Brule.

The carriage ride underneath the stars had been a complete bust when Dale had taken a call from a client. When he hadn't hung up after fifteen minutes, Sam had asked the driver to stop, climbed up into the seat beside him and told him to continue on with the trip. That last fifteen minutes, carrying on a lively, laughter filled conversation with the carriage driver had been the highlight of her night.

That and being dropped off at home just before midnight. A sudden torrential downpour assailing the city that never sleeps. And when the scum sucking bottom feeder had had the nerve to suggest coming up for a nightcap, she'd come up with an elaborate excuse that she lived with her mother, who was a huge cat lady that waited up all night for a chance to meet her dates and than criticize them once they leave.

He'd than been bold enough to suggest going back to his place. Going as far as to give her a wink and telling her that he made great eggs Benedict and French toast. That was enough for Sam. She'd politely smiled and said thanks but no thanks and climbed out of the car. Not even glancing over her shoulder as he called out to her asking her to call him sometime.

As if, she now thought, as she headed up the front stairs and breezed through the main entrance of the four storey walk up building she'd called home for half a year now. Once in the vestibule, she dug her keys out of her small black beaded evening bag and let herself in through the front door. Her head down as she flicked through the keys, searching for the one that would open the her mail box on the wall across from stairwell. The five glasses of champagne were definitely starting to hit her. She felt slightly light headed and knew for a fact that she couldn't walk a straight line if her life depended on it. All she wanted to do now was go upstairs, take a long, steamy bath and throw herself in the middle of her bed and pass out.

After several attempts, she finally got the key into her mailbox and opened it and pulled out the stack of bills before shutting and locking the box once again. She turned towards the stairs, thumbing through what appeared to be nothing but bills.

"How was your date?" a deep, familiar voice asked.

Sam jumped, so lost in her own world that she hadn't even been aware that there'd been someone sitting on the stairs. The letters she was carrying fluttering to the ground.

* * *

"Wonderful," she muttered as she hunched down to gather everything up. "Just fucking wonderful…"

"Such foul language from such a tiny, pretty woman," Flack commented, as he stood up and headed down the stairs and bent down to assist her.

"Please," she snorted. "That's nothing compared to what comes out of my mouth when I'm really pissed off."

"Very, very true," he said with a grin as he gathered up envelopes. "You even make me blush when you really get going."

"Don Flack blushes?" she teased. "Mr Sarcasm? That I find hard to believe."

"Miracles never cease to exist," he said with a small chuckle.

He stacked the letters neatly and held them out to her. She noticed how large and strong his hands were. She had witnessed the way that those hands could physical handle a suspect, and she briefly wondered how capable they were of turning that corner from hard and rough to soft and tender during more intimate moments.

Get a damn grip! Sam scolded herself, forcing her eyes, and thoughts, away from such things. Just say thank you and stand up and walk upstairs and take a long, cold shower. Because you are not entertaining such thoughts about the love of your friend's life.

It was easy to say, but not easy to do. Especially when she could feel his breath on her face and breathe in his incredible, manly scent which, on it's own, was enough to give her enough fodder for personal intimate satisfaction for many, many lonely nights.

"On that happy thought," she said aloud, than wanted to kick herself for it.

"What?" Flack asked, eyes narrowing as he looked at her.

"What, what?" she inquired innocently.

"You just said on that happy thought…"

"No I didn't," she said.

"Yeah, you did," he argued.

"You're imagining things," Sam told him and rose to a stand, swaying slightly.

"I know what I heard," Flack said and stood as well. "And you said…"

"What are you doing here?" she asked, cutting him off mid sentence.

He held out the stack of mail in his hand.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, taking her belongings from him, and trying hard to ignore that current of electricity that seemed to pass between them as their fingertips touched all to briefly. She wondered if he felt it too. Or if any idea of a mutual attraction was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

_And why in the hell did he have to look so damn hot? It should be illegal to be that attractive. _

She was nearly ready to throw all inhibitions out the window and just grab him and pin him up against a wall and have her way with him. His white dress shirt was wrinkled and untucked and his hair messed. A black trench coat resting on the stairs behind him.

_Cold shower…cold shower…cold shower…be strong, Sammie….cold shower. _

"You okay?" Flack asked, eyeing her with concern. "You're acting a little weird."

"Weird?" she shook his head vigorously to clear any sexual thought from her brain. "What do you mean weird? It's probably the champagne I had to drink. Which I have to admit, was the only thing I actually enjoyed about the date. It sucked. Totally. You know all he did was talk about himself and his job all night? He actually took a business call during a carriage ride? Can you believe that? It should have been about me and there he was taking a damn fucking phone call! What the hell is that about?"

"I told you that that guy was a prick two weeks ago after that trial," Flack told her.

"Well I thought I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Everyone deserves a chance right? Did you know that he thinks forensic science is a joke and totally unreliable and that homicide cops are the bane of existence? He told me he couldn't stand you because you thought your shit didn't stink. I stuck up for you by the way, told him how amazing you are."

Flack's eyes widened.

"At your job," she added quickly. "Not at anything else. I mean, I don't know if you are amazing at anything else. I bet you are and I'd like to find out. But I meant at your job."

He fought back a bemused smirk as he nodded slowly.

"Anyway, you were right. When you told me he was bottom sucking, scum feeder."

"Bottom feeding, scum sucker," Flack corrected.

"Whatever," she waved it off. "You know what else he did? He ate off my plate! Asked me if I was finished and even though I said not yet, he reached over and ate off my plate! In Tavern on the Green! What the hell is wrong with men these days?!"

"Well we're not all assholes," he assured her.

"All the ones who aren't are either gay or taken. It's a fact of life. So I had a shitty time. Does it make you happy to hear that?"

"Actually," he said. "It does."

She frowned. "That's it. Revel in my misery. Nice, Donnie. I'm going upstairs and…"

He caught her by the arm as she turned towards the stairs and pulled her back to him. "I never answered your question," he said, his hand tightly gripping her just below the elbow. "About what I'm doing here."

"I asked that?" her eyes narrowed as she tried to remember the moment. "Yeah…I guess I did. So tell me. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you.," he told her. "I needed to see you. I wanted to see you."

"It's a little late to be talking about cases. And to be honest, after all that champagne, I probably wouldn't be the best business conversationalist. So can it wait until tomorrow? We're on nights and I'll be sober by than."

"It can't wait," Flack said. "I wouldn't be here if it could. And this isn't about work. This is something…I don't know….something personal."

"Does Jess know you're here?" she asked.

"What the hell does that matter?"

"Last time I checked she was your girlfriend and I don't think she'd take too kindly to…"

"We broke up," he interrupted her. "I dumped her about three hours ago now."

"I never realized there was trouble in paradise," Sam said.

"You don't seem to upset for hearing your friend and her boyfriend broke up," Flack stated. "No 'I'm sorry' or anything?"

"Maybe I'm not sorry," Sam bravely admitted.

"We broke up because I told her that I wasn't in love with her. I thought I was. But that I'd just been fooling her, and myself, all this time. I told her that I'd been having feelings for someone for a long time and that it was killing me to just sit back and not take a chance with her."

"Well that's between you and Jess and whoever this girl is," Sam informed him. "Doesn't tell me why you're here. Sitting on the steps in my apartment building."

He sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes. "Listen," he said, opening his eyes and looking down at her. "I was really, really pissed off and hurt that you went out with the guy. He's a complete prick and I knew he'd treat you like shit and that.."

She held up a hand to silence him. "Spare me you're protective older brother crap, Donnie. Do me a favour and go and use that on your real sister. Because the last time I saw her down in lock up at the precinct, she really looked like she could use your help."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I am the way I am with you because there's a little more to how I feel about you?" he asked angrily. "That maybe I'm not just seeing you as a friend or a little sister? Have you ever thought that may be why I was as jealous as I was and why it made me so damn happy to realize you had such a shitty time tonight?"

"I just thought maybe you get off on seeing other people miserable," Sam said snidely.

Flack snorted and shook his head. Releasing her arm, he held up his hands in surrender. "You know what, Sammie? I obviously made a huge mistake coming here tonight. I thought that maybe you and I could talk about some things. That maybe you and I could…"

"Could what, Don?" she asked challengingly. "Hook up? Do the nasty? Sorry, babe. I'm no one's booty call."

He gave a dry laugh and backed away from her. "Tell you what, Samantha. When you sober up a bit, give me a call and than we can talk. In the meantime, why don't you take your ass upstairs, little girl."

"You don't dismiss me!" she snapped. "This is my apartment! You came to my home! So don't you dare dismiss me, Detective Flack! Go home and kiss and make up to your girlfriend and quit entertaining thoughts about using me as a revenge fuck. Come back when it's just a pure and simple fuck, no hidden agendas, no bullshit."

He shook his head, and started to walk away. Than turned back and grabbed her face roughly in both hands and covered her lips with his in an aggressive, demanding kiss. He met resistance at first, than revelled in the feel of her mouth opening against the pressure of his, allowing his tongue to seek out hers.

She laid her hands on his chest, gave her all into that one kiss. Than just as quickly realized how wrong it was to be embroiled in a make out session with her friend's ex-boyfriend. Even if she had lusted after him for over a year, the moment was entirely inappropriate and disrespectful towards all involved. She managed to turn her face away, breaking the smouldering contact between them, and pushed him away from her.

"Go home, Don!" she pleaded. "Just go home! This isn't right and you know it!"

"How can it not be right, Samantha? Don't tell me you didn't feel what just went down between us! How can something that feels that goddamn good not be right?"

"Because it's not!" she cried. "Jesus Christ…" she raked her fingers of one hand through her hand. "Just… please, Don…just leave…just go home and leave me alone for tonight."

"Samantha…" he reached for her.

"Please!" she begged, backing away from him. "I need some time. I need some time to process all of this and you being here and kissing me like that…you kissing me like that is only going to lead to other things that neither of us are ready for. Just give me some time to sort this all out."

"How long is that going to take?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just don't. Maybe a day, maybe two. Maybe a week or a month. Maybe never. I just don't know, Donnie."

He sighed heavily. "Fine," he said. Backing up towards the door. "But I want you to know that I came here for you. To let you know how I will. I took that chance, Samantha. And I think you need to stop being so worried about what other people will think and worry about making yourself happy for a change."

"And you think that you're what will make me happy?"

"I know I am," he responded confidently.

"Go home, Don," she said, and turned her back on him.

"I don't take no for an answer," he told her. "We work together. I'm going to come for you sooner or later. Have a think on that."

She closed her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. She heard the loud click off the door opening and than it shutting again. A softer noise as he headed through the exit that led out onto the front stoop and than the sound of his dress shoes on the wet payment as he hurried down the stairs.

She opened her eyes and looked towards the stairs. Where his trench coat still sat. She hurried over and scooped it up and rummaged through the pockets.

Moron, she muttered, finding both his home keys and his cell phone. He'd been taking the subway to work for a week since his car had gone into the shop. She quickly folded the coat over her forearm and turned and rushed out after him.

* * *

On the stoop, she looked left and than right. Catching sight of his departing back as he headed west down Jefferson. Overhead, thunder rumbled and lightening cracked the sky. Rain hammered down. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She knew what she had to do. She had to follow her heart. Her destiny. She couldn't just let him walk away.

She kicked off her heels and rushed down the steps in her bare feet. The cold pavement stinging her skin. She cursed herself for not having half a brain to wear nylons in the middle of November.

"Don!" she called out to him over the rumbling in the sky. "Don! Wait!"

He didn't hear her. He continued towards the subway station two blocks away. Hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders slumped.

"Don!" she yelled again. "Stop! You have to stop!"

A good hearted pedestrian, just passing Flack on his way towards the soaking wet girl in her bare feet, doubled back and grabbed a hold of the detective's arm and spoke rapidly to him and than pointed in Sam's direction.

"Thank you!" she breathed to the stranger, when she managed to finally catch up to where her object of affection had finally halted in the middle of the sidewalk.

The man nodded at her and than slapped Flack on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said, than hurried along his way.

"What the hell are you doing?" Flack asked the tiny brunette in front of him. "Running down a New York City street in the middle of November in your bare feet? In the rain nonetheless?"

She held the coat out to him. "You forgot this," she said.

"You ran all the way down the street, in the rain, in your bare feet to give me this?" he asked, taking the garment from her.

"That's not the only reason," she replied. "I want to know why you came here tonight. After breaking up with your girlfriend, why here? Why to me?"

"Because I did it for you, Samantha. I did it for us. Or for what I was hoping could be the start to us."

She blinked. Both in surprise and because of the rain dripping into her eyes.

"I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't what I really wanted and felt that I needed to take a chance on. I wouldn't have sat there for three hours on those goddamn stairs if I wasn't certain that this was what I wanted. If you were what I wanted."

"Three hours?" she couldn't help but laugh. "You were sitting there for three hours waiting for me?"

He nodded.

"Why in the hell didn't you call me?" she asked. "If you had have called me I would have come right home to see you."

"I did call you. Thirteen times. I left just as many messages."

She frowned. "How could you of…" she snapped open the evening bag and plucked her phone out. Blushing furiously when she realized that it had been turned onto silent mode and that her call display clearly stated she had thirteen missed calls. She looked up at him sheepishly. "Ooops," she said. "My bad. Well you certainly are persistent. I'll give you that much."

"I needed to see you. Or at least talk to you," he reasoned. "This has gone on for an entire year, Samantha. These things that I feel for you. I don't if you feel the same way about me, but I needed to come here and see you and take that chance. And I know it's a big chance because we've got that great friendship thing going on and going for anything else could fuck that all up, but life is too goddamn short not to at least try."

"It's a lot to risk, Don," she said. "A work relationship, a friendship, that whole big brother shtick you got going on."

"Shtick?" he laughed. "You sounded so Brooklyn just than."

"Well that is where I'm from. Phoenix couldn't take the New York City out of me. But it's true. We stand to loose a lot if things go really, really bad."

"We stand to lose a hell of a lot more if we don't try," he told her. "And I couldn't live the rest of my life wondering what if. Wondering how different things would have been for me if I had have just told you and took that chance on us. I mean, it doesn't change anything really. We'd still be working together and have that same good cop, bad cop thing going on. You being the bad cop that is."

She smiled at that.

"That doesn't change, Samantha. And it doesn't have to. And we can still be friends. Don't all couples have some sort of friendship thing to fall back on?"

"But when things go wrong, and trust me, Don, things always go wrong when I'm involved, think about how difficult it would be for both of us to be around each other."

"We're both grown ups," he reminded her. "I think we're mature enough to handle ourselves like adults if that happens."

"When," she corrected. "When it happens."

"Don't be so negative," he said. "You're dooming us before we even get off the ground."

"I'm a hard person to love, Donnie," Sam told him. "And you'll find that out sooner or later and decide that you don't need that crap in your life."

Flack shook his head. "I'm stronger than that, Samantha. Don't underestimate me."

"I'm not. I know how strong you are. You're probably the strongest person I've ever met. But I break people. I know that sounds strange and highly unlikely. But it's true. Emotionally I break people."

"Well maybe I'm that one person you won't do that to," he reasoned. "Maybe I'm that one person that will break you."

She sighed heavily. "That's what I'm scared of," she said. "I don't want to get hurt. Physically or emotionally."

"I'd never hurt you," he vowed. "That's not who I am. Why would I hurt the one thing that I treasure most in my life? And that whole older brother thing? I can still be protective and all that. I'd just be the protective, scary boyfriend."

"I don't know," she shook her head slowly. "I just don't know."

"What is there to know?" he shouted above the thunder and the pounding of the rain. "Why are you analyzing this so much? What do you want me to say? You want me to shout it from the rooftops? Take out a billboard down in Times Square? A full page ad in the Times? What more do you want from me?"

She stared at him with no response.

" I'm falling in love with you!" he bellowed. " I'm not quite there yet but I think I could fall more in love with you every day. And I think that you and I could have something fucking amazing, Samantha! And holding back on going after that just doesn't make any sense. What are you so scared of?"

"I'm not scared!" she yelled back. "But Jess is my friend and…"

"Fuck Jess!" he snapped. "This is about me and you! Fuck her! She has no bearing on this! Or on us!"

"I think that you need to go home and think about this, Donnie. I think you need to go home and I need to go home and we both need to think about what we're doing."

"I know what I'm doing," he said. "Something I should have done a year ago and was too scared to. All because I didn't want you laughing in my face and telling me to get a life. I never took that chance. Who knows where we'd be now. Married with kids probably."

"Jesus, don't have me bare foot and pregnant already," she laughed.

"The point is that I wasted too much time. And I can't do that anymore," Flack told her.

"I think you need to go home and think, Donnie. I think that you're hurt from Jess and you're talking a lot of bullshit and…"

He reached out and laid a hand on the back of her neck and yanked her into a fierce, passionate kiss. And there they stood, in the driving rain and the thunder and lightning crashing over head, her hands tightly gripping the front of his wrinkled, soaked set, as if they were the only two people in the world that existed.

He broke away from the kiss when the need for air became overwhelming. He pressed his lips to her temple, than the top of her head, as she laid her forehead against his chest.

"Did that seem like bullshit?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I know you're scared, Samantha. Shit, I'm scared too. But how are we ever going to know how great we could be together and how amazing we could make each other feel if we don't at least try."

"I just…" she raised her head to look after him. "An entire year, Don. An entire year I waited for a moment like this. I waited for the day to come when you would realize that it was me that you wanted. I swallowed my tears and my hurt time and time again. I put up with seeing you with Devon, than with Angell. And all that time you had no idea that you were breaking my heart. How can I be sure you won't break it all over again?"

"I'll never hurt you, Samantha. Just trust in me. Trust in us. I didn't know you felt like that. You just went along with the whole friendship thing. Let me treat you like a sister. Why didn't you ever tell me that you felt something completely different?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked.

He smirked. "Okay…good point. So where do we go from here?" he asked. "Where do we start?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I think getting out of the rain might be a good place to begin. Before we both end up deathly sick. And I think a nice warm bath and warm pyjamas and some hot chocolate would hit the spot nicely too."

He smiled and kissed her once more. Long and soft. And promising. "I'll call you when I get home," he said. "We can talk about things better. Or we could wait until tomorrow."

"But I…"

He pecked her lips once more, than placed a kiss on her forehead. "You want me to walk you back and take you upstairs?"

She nodded. "And than I want you to come inside and dry off and stay for the night," she told him. "And I want you to kiss me like that again. A lot."

"Like this you mean?" he teased, kissing her mouth chastely.

"Well that's nice too," she said. "But I mean the other way."

He smiled and covered her lips with his in yet another toe curling, mind boggling display of both passion and tenderness.

"Mmm…" she said when it ended, her eyes closed. "Yep…that's the way I meant."

"Why don't we get out of here," he suggested, taking on of her tiny, delicate hands in one of his large, strong one and entwining his fingers with hers. "Out of this goddamn shitty rain."

"I like that idea," she said, as they turned and started back towards her building hand in hand. "You know," her golden eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. "I am a sucker for rain scenes. They get me every time. The one in that movie The Notebook? That was fantastic. Did you ever see that?"

"I don't do chick flicks," Flack responded.

"Oh, you will now," she laughed. "There was this rain scene, between the two main characters. I melted. Just about died. And now, I've got my own rain scene to relive over and over and over again. And brag about to my friends, of course. I never realized you were such a romantic, Detective Flack."

"I'm not. And you chased after me, remember? You're a nut case. Running after me in your bare feet."

"Don't ruin my moment," she pouted dramatically.

He dropped her hand and wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her tight to his side and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "Remember how I told you earlier that you didn't look half bad?"

Sam nodded.

"Well I lied. You look beautiful. Amazingly beautiful."

"Even with my clothes and my hair soaking wet and my makeup no doubt running down my face?"

He smiled and with his free hand, used a gentle thumb to clear away a river of eyeliner trailing down her cheek. "Even than," he said.

"You're a man after my own heart, Donald Flack Jr," she sighed, as they mounted the stairs outside of her own building.

"You know what's going to happen once I have it?" he asked, opening the door and motioning for her to step inside.

"What's that?"

"You're never going to get it back."

She beamed up at him as he cornered her into the far corner of the vestibule and kissed her softly.

"There are far worse fates," she said with a sigh and handed him the key for the front door.

He unlocked the heavy glass door and pulled it up. "Are you ready?" he asked, pausing before following behind her.

"I've never been more ready," she replied confidently and grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her.

He smiled. Finally sure of something in his life. Aware of how perfect her hand seemed to fit inside of his. And of how incredible her warm, inviting mouth had felt against his.

And that as he walked with her up those stairs, he was quite possibly heading towards forever.

And that was more than fine with him.

* * *

**_Hope that was an okay start! Reviews and positivity welcome!_**


	2. Ninety days and counting

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**Ninety days and counting…. **

"So take me as I am  
This may mean  
You'll have to be a stronger man  
Rest assured that  
When I start to make you nervous  
And I'm going to extremes  
Tomorrow I will change  
And today won't mean a thing

Just when you think, you got me figured out  
The season's already changing  
I think it's cool, you do what you do  
And don't try to save me

I'm a bitch, I'm a tease  
I'm a goddess on my knees  
When you hurt, when you suffer  
I'm your angel undercover  
I've been numb, I'm revived  
Can't say I'm not alive  
You know I wouldn't want it any other way."  
-Bitch, Meredith Brooks

* * *

She answered the door in a pair of faded jeans that fit loose around her slender legs but hugged her curvy, womanly hips and her amazingly toned ass. An unzipped soft pink hoodie bearing a small Lu Lu Lemon logo on the left breast and a black t-shirt with the words Baby Phat splashed across the chest in bright pink and silver beads. She was casual yet shockingly alluring and beautiful. What took him by surprise was her face. The youthful, pure and innocent glow to it. She looked younger than thirty-three every day. Those who met her for the first time always pegged her at no older than twenty-five. But on this evening, with that waist length dark hair loose and flowing and no makeup gracing her features, she looked barely old enough to have graduated high school.

"Hi," she greeted him with a bright smile. "You're early."

"Just by a bit," Flack told her. Leaning down, he kissed her long and soft. Closed mouth on closed mouth. He pressed his lips to her forehead. Than to the tip of her freckle splattered nose. "You look really, really pretty," he said.

Samantha smiled and held the door open for him and motioned for him to step inside. "You don't look half bad yourself," she told him, eyeing him from head to toe in his NYPD ball cap and his baggy jeans and simple black Henley style shirt and black Doc Marten style boots that he was undoing, crouched down at the side of the door. "And you smell pretty damn yummy there detective."

He grinned. She would have sworn that he blushed. Three months in and at times they were still in that awkward, new couple stage. Despite being friends for so long and once considering themselves as close as siblings, actually acting like a couple was something that seemed so foreign and strange. Who they were and what them tick outside of the job still remained somewhat of a mystery. But the fun part was unravelling it and learning intimate, personal things about each other and experiencing new things together. At work they struggled to keep up the façade that nothing had changed between them. They fought to carry on as if they hadn't made the progression from friends to something so much more. And so far, their sneakiness was proving fruitful. Danny and Lindsay, as their respective best friends, were the only people that knew they were a couple and neither had plans on running around and spreading the news.

Working together, now that the friendship had blossomed into something so much more, was proving challenging. It was hard to keep the personal and the professional separate. The profound worry for each other's safety was first and foremost on their mind. It was hard to watch the other struggle through hurt and disappointment and not be able to offer comfort or solace. More than once, when she was having a particularly horrendous, it had taken all her had as he stood by the side of her car as she prepared to head home, to not put his arms around her and kiss all her pain and tears away.

But once the shift was over, they were just Sam Ross and Don Flack. They kept things quiet and on the down low. They wanted to get to know one another. The sides of their personalities that came out when the badges and guns were put away. Hectic, unpredictable schedules had kept them in contact through the job, but had left little time for anything other than that. Ten dates in just over two months. Not something they were proud of, or that they wanted. Although there were nights when he'd come over, tired and despondent from a rough shift, and simply curl up beside her in her bed and find solace in her scent and her embrace.

And that was far as 'sleeping together' had gone. Sam wanted to take things slow. Or at least that was her reasoning. Although Flack had to wonder what the real deal was when she allowed him to do everything else under the sun to her but she became anxious and panicky if he even attempted actual love making. But he respected her. He wasn't going to pressure her into anything and if she had something to tell him, she would.

"How was work?" Sam asked, as she locked up the door and followed him into the kitchen.

"It was work," Flack replied. "A monster of a case load and no end in sight. Detectives calling in sick left and right and having to juggle the roster in order to get everything covered. You know, same shit, different day. Angell on my ass trying to find out who the new girl is that I'm hooking up with."

Sam groaned audibly and rolled her eyes and opened up her fridge. "We're going to have to tell her sooner or later."

"I know. But she wouldn't be on my ass had you not left your sweater on my couch when you stayed over a couple weeks back."

"Oh that's it," Sam took out a bottle of Bud and one of black cherry Smirnoff Ice. The beer she held out to her boyfriend as he leaned against the counter by the sink. "Blame me. Thank God it wasn't a sweater she could easily associate to me."

"Yeah…" Flack said and took the drink. "God help us if it had have been that Hello Kitty thing you're always wandering around in. She would have known for sure, than. I mean, how many thirty-three year old women wear Hello Kitty?"

"What can I say?" Sam struggled to twist off the top of her beverage. "I am my own woman."

"That you are. Pyjamas and hoodies with cartoon characters on them? A navel ring and a tongue ring? Tattoos? You're certainly not like anyone else I've ever been with."

"Maybe because everyone else you've been with was exceptionally boring. I liven things up. Keep you young."

"Need some help there, Freckles?" he asked, setting his beer bottle on the counter and reaching out to take the drink from her. He easily and effortlessly removed the cap and tossed it into the sink and held the bottle out to her with a smile.

"So that's why I keep you around," she teased, taking her drink. "So I can watch you put your physical prowess to work. And use your height to get things down from the high shelves. I knew you were handy for something."

"That is not the only reasons why you keep me around," he said with a grin, and picking up his beer, turned to hold the top of the bottle against the ledge of the counter and than slammed his hand down on top of it, sending the cap skittering across the formica counter top.

"You are such a guy," Sam complained, leaning against the counter and taking a swig of the Smirnoff's. "And you're right. There are other reasons why I keep you around."

"What would those be?" he asked, swigging beer as he stood next to her and wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders.

"Like you need to be told," she laughed. "Or do you like hearing me talk dirty to you?"

He grinned. "You already know the answer to that.".

"Perv," she said, than giggled as he pulled her tightly into his side and brushed her hair away from the back of her neck. Shivering as he placed a kiss just below her hair line. "Okay.." she stepped away from him and moved to the counter across from him. "You just behave yourself, Donald. I'll stand here and you stay right where you are."

"What? Afraid of me or something? Afraid I might bite?" he teased. "Thought you were into the kind of thing."

"Just be a good boy," she encouraged. "So we actually manage to get to MSG in time. Because every time we're heading somewhere with Danny and Linds we are always late. All because you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"You blame me? Can I help it if you're exceptionally hot? I'm just like every other red blooded male in the free world. I've seen you half naked, remember? And thinking about what the other half might look like…"

"Go and take a cold shower," Sam said and hopped up onto the counter. "But only after we talk about Angell."

He sighed heavily and took a long sip of beer.

"We've kept this from her long enough don't you think? I can only avoid her for so long, Donnie. Jess and I used to be pretty tight and than you and I happened and I closed her off abruptly. I've been screening her calls, barely saying two words to her when we work cases together. She leaves me tons of e-mails and messages wanting to know what the hell my issue is."

"I never said that you had to stop being her friend. You did that on your own. You didn't have to stop hanging out with her just because you and I are together."

"She would have figured it out. She's not stupid. Your stuff is all around this apartment. I wouldn't be able to hide stuff every time she came over. And I've been avoiding her, out of respect for me and you and our thing because I knew you didn't want to tell anyone for a while."

"We both didn't want to tell anyone for a while," he corrected. "That was a mutual decision, babe."

"You're right. And last night you said that you thought it was time to tell everyone. That you were ready to do it and deal with whatever bullshit was tossed our way."

"And I am," Flack said. "Which means she'll find out through the office grapevine."

"She deserves to find out from one of us," Sam told him.

He stared down at the beer bottle in his hand and picked at the label.

"Don't be such a chicken shit," she said. "You're six foot two and over two hundred pounds and you're scared of Angell? What is that about?"

"I'm not scared of her. She's harmless. You, on the other hand.."

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay. I will tell her. I will sit down and I will tell her. Get it all out in the open. Or better yet, you sit down and tell her."

"How did I know you were going to attempt laying that on me. She's your ex girlfriend."

"And she's your friend. And you might be more gentle and tame about it because you're a woman. I just tend to say exactly what I'm feeling and I don't think brutal honest is what Jess needs when she's finding out that the woman I've been falling in love with behind her back for six months is a close friend of hers."

"You should have just been honest right away and told her when you dumped her who the other woman was. Or at least told her when she saw my sweater at her place that night."

"So I'm a chicken shit, jack ass. There's worse things to be. I just…I don't handle stuff like that well, Sammie. Me and her have history and things weren't that great between us and shit will get thrown up in my face out of anger and than I'll react badly. So trust me, it's just better if you deal with it."

"Fine," Sam huffed. "But you owe me big time, buddy."

He smirked as he sipped his beer. "I bet I know just want you want, too."

"Get your mind out of the damn gutter. I was thinking more along the lines of something sparkly to wear on my ears or around my neck," she teased. "That comes in a certain little blue box."

"Well Valentines Day is next week," Flack reminded her. "You'll just have to be patient and see what happens."

"You said the same thing at Christmas. And I didn't expect to get a promise ring from you."

It had been a shock, when as they sat down to dinner at his parents' house in Queens Christmas Eve, she'd found a velvet ring box sitting on top of her dinner plate. Not only was the sentiment touching and somewhat surprising considering they hadn't been together that long and he'd chosen to present her with such a gift in front of his entire family, but the real shock came when she had opened the box and found inside, a band of sparkling diamonds with a single, square shaped garnet set in the middle of it.

It had been as hard as hell keeping that from the people they worked with. Most specifically her brother who would most certainly have a stroke when he found out soon who his sister had been dating for the last three months. All Adam knew was that she had someone in her life. And it was best, for the time being, to keep it that way. So the ring had stayed safely at home in her jewellery box while she worked and only graced her finger when she was off.

It was going to become a permanent fixture in two days. Their cut off time for breaking the news to colleagues and friends.

"It's not a promise ring," he informed her. "It's a commitment ring. Promise ring sounds so…I don't know. Corny."

"But you are corny," she said, polishing off her drink and hopping down from the counter. "Exceptionally corny. And only I get the pleasure and luxury of seeing that side of you."

"Let's keep that side of me just between the two of us, okay?" he asked, swallowing the last of the beer and setting the bottle down on the counter behind him. "I've got a reputation to up hold. Can't let people know I'm not as bad ass at home as I am at work. Don't want them knowing I let a woman whose barely five feet and a hundred pounds soaking boss me around. I wear the pants, okay? If anyone asks?"

"You mean I'm not allowed to let people know how whipped you actually are?" she inquired, setting her empty bottle down on the counter alongside of his and than stepping in front of him and laying her hands on his sides. "I can't tell them that you'd do just about anything and everything for me? That I just have to say jump and you say how high?"

"I am not whipped and you know it. You like it when I'm the aggressive, assertive and bossy one. Turns you on."

"Actually," she said. "It's the handcuffs that do that."

"Who knew a tiny, innocent and sweet thing like you would have such a raging cop fetish," Flack teased, wrapping his arms around her slender body, his hands resting on the middle of her back before slipping down and around to her hips.

* * *

"So are you going to kiss me hello?" she asked. "I've been waiting pretty damn patiently for it if you ask me."

"I kissed you hello when you answered the door," he reminded her.

She frowned. "Closed mouth on closed mouth? Are you kidding me? That's the best you could do? You couldn't put a little feeling into it, Donnie?"

"Oh I could. I just didn't," he said, grinning down at her. "Didn't you just say that we needed to get to the arena on time? To avoid the wrath of Lindsay Monroe?"

"Doesn't mean you can't kiss your girlfriend," she pouted dramatically. "Properly."

"Okay," he said with a heavy sigh. "But don't say I didn't warn you and don't be bitching at me when we're really, really, really late."

"Hate to break it to you, babe, but not even your amazing kisses have that kind of effect on me."

"Yeah? You wanna see how wrong you are about that?" he teased.

"By all means," she encouraged, and reaching up, yanked his hat off his head so the bill of it wouldn't get in the way, and tossed it to the ground.

He laid a hand on the side of her face and covered her lips with his in a slow, deep and provocative kiss. His tongue pushing past her teeth and into her warm, moist and inviting mouth, teasing her by allowing the tips of their tongues to briefly, swiftly touched. Feeling her shudder against him as his tongue trailed along the roof of her mouth. Something they'd found out, by sheer chance, drove her absolutely insane. She gave a small moan of disappointment when he extracted his tongue from her mouth and pulled away from her. Her displeasure disintegrating when he brought a hand up to brush her hair off her shoulder and his lips found the side of her neck, sucking and nipping lightly on the sensitive spot below her ear.

"How's that?" he asked, his voice low and deep, his lips against her neck, his hands sliding over he hips to the small of her back and than down to stroked and fondle her ass.

"It's…nice…" she sighed, closing her eyes, her hands tightly gripping the front of his Henley shirt and her head tipping backwards as his lips blazed a trail of kisses over her pale, smooth skin.

He paused to lick and suckle at the hallow of her throat before moving one of his hands from her ass and slipping it up her back to tangle it in her hair and tip her head to the side so his mouth could feast on the other side of her neck.

"Just nice?" he inquired, his lips drifting up to her ear and tracing the outer edge with his tongue before dipping it right inside.

"Jesus," she squirmed, her knuckles turning white from holding on to him so hard. "You can't…don't do that…okay? You know what that does to me."

"Which is exactly why I'm doing it," Flack said with a chuckle and repeated his actions, the hand that was fondling her ass, sneaking between them and slipping up the front of her shirt. His fingertips drifting along her flat stomach and up her side, feeling the goose bumps that assailed her flesh as he moved closer and closer to her breast.

"Donnie…" she breathed, laying her forehead against his chest. "We need to stop…seriously…we need to just stop."

"We're not doing anything," he said, cupping her breast lightly and running his thumb over her nipple that strained against the lace of her bra.

"But we want to," she argued. "I want to…badly…but we can't…we seriously can't…"

He sighed heavily and rested his chin on the top of his head and removed his hand from the front of her shirt and placed both hands on her hips. "I know that we agreed to take things slow, Sammie. And I've been a real gentleman about the whole thing. But this is getting a little bit much. I'm dying here, baby. Seriously. I don't know how much more I can take."

"Did you not just hear what I said?" she asked. "I said I want to. Badly."

"If this is about Danny and Lindsay, we'll just call them and tell them we're going to be late," Flack suggested, kissing her softly, than placing his lips along her jaw line. "Better yet, let's just tell them we're not coming at all."

"As much as I'd like to…" she bit her lip and tensed as his teeth grazed against her ear lobe. "We just…can't. Trust me. We can't."

"I've got protection, Sammie. So no worries there."

"I'm on the pill remember? And we're both clean. So that was the last thing I was thinking about."

"So what's the issue?" he asked, lips against her ears. "I need you so bad, Sammie. I want you so bad."

"And I want you, too, Donnie. So fucking bad. I just…we just. Can't. We just can't."

"Because…"

"Because my period came today. Okay? Is that good enough of a reason?"

"Stuff like that doesn't bother me, Sammie. You think I've never been with a girl who was on her period?"

"It's not that. It's just I've never let a guy near me while I was on my period. And doesn't it gross you out?"

"What's there to be grossed out by? It's just blood. Big deal. You just take precautions. Make modifications. Put a towel down on the bed. I keep my hands above the waist. No big deal. It doesn't stop me from me from doing the deed. Why? You're grossed out by it?"

"It's not that I'm grossed out by it," she said. "It's just…I don't know if I'm comfortable enough with you yet to have sex with you while I'm on it. And I don't really want our first time together being while I am on it. I won't be able to relax and we can't be as intimate as we'd like to be and…I just can't, Donnie."

He sighed and kissed her softly and backed away from her. "Fair enough, Sammie."

"Don't be mad," she said, straightening out her top. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad. Why would I be mad? I'm not forcing you into something you're not comfortable with. And trust me, I want you to be totally relaxed and comfortable the first time we make love. But I gotta admit. It is as frustrating as all hell to hit the brick wall so many times in three months."

"I know," she said and smoothed down the front of his shirt. "But it's not like we don't do other things. Oral and stuff like that. I mean, you are getting off on a regular basis. We just haven't, you know. Gone all the way yet."

"Gone all the way?" he grinned. "I don't think I've used that saying since high school, when I…"

"Got busy with Bianca DeFazio on prom night in the back of your father's caddy. You've told me that story a few times now. I really don't want to be hearing about your previous sexual exploits okay? I prefer to just imagine you as some good little Catholic boy I get to deflower and corrupt when the time is right."

"You have got some seriously strange perversions and kinks, Tinks. Do I look like some good little Catholic boy you can take advantage off? Show the tricks of the trade to?"

"I can pretend, can't I? It's a fantasy of mine. Go all school teacher on you."

He smirked. "I thought your fantasy was having someone go all cop on you. Use the cuffs."

She turned a deep shade of crimson. "Who ever told you such a thing?" she asked innocently.

"Don't try denying it, babe. I have a good memory. And I distinctly remembering you telling me that when you were ready, you wanted me to go all cop on you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted and moved away from him.

He caught her by the arm and pulled her into him for a long, tender kiss, holding her delicate, petite face in his hands.

"Mmmm…" she said, sighing happily and giving a dramatic shudder. "You're so good at that. "

"Lots more where that came from," he promised, and hunched down to pick up his ball cap. He slipped it onto his head. "I guess we should go before I manage to talk you into desecrating every inch of this apartment."

"Give it a week, Donnie. Once everything is all finished up, we can do it wherever the hell we want. You just need to wait a little longer. I'll be back. I'm just going pee."

"Don't fall in. You know, seeing as the toilet is so high for seeing as tiny as you are."

She snorted. "Bite me," she said and disappeared into the living room.

"With pleasure," he laughed. "And Sammie?" he called.

"What?"

"I'll wait forever if I have to," he informed her.

And he meant if from the bottom of his heart.

* * *

The five fifteen train heading uptown was damn near packed solid. The relentless snow and poor driving conditions had forced more people than usual to use the public transportation system. There was university kids heading home from another long day of hitting the books, businessmen, and ladies, doing last minute work on their Blackberries or reading through stacks of folders, and rowdy, young men, and again some ladies, in Rangers hats and jerseys heading up town early to most likely grab a bite to eat and have a few drinks before the game.

"I went for that fitting for my maid of honour dress today," Sam said, as she and Flack, in the last subway car, stood amongst the noisy and sea of people. She was facing him, leaning into his chest, using his body as her sole support as he held on to the bar above his head.

"Isn't it a little early for that kind of thing?" he asked, looking down at her as she flipped through the songs on the bright pink Ipod Nano-chromatic that she insisted on taking everywhere with her.

He was almost regretting buying her the damn thing for Christmas. And for being the one that had loaded the thing up with all the songs she had downloaded onto her laptop but had complained she didn't know how to figure out to export to the Ipod. She had one of the ear phones in as the other rested on her shoulder. He thought how damn cute she looked in her pink, white and black ski jacket and a solid black wool hat that tied under the chin. But those pink Ugg boots just had to go. Damn Monroe for ever introducing his girlfriend to such hideous things.

"The wedding is six months away," Sam reminded him.

"Exactly. So I'll ask again. Isn't it a little early for that kind of thing?"

"Weddings take time to plan, Donnie. Lots of time when you're having a fancy thing like they are. You have to worry about guests lists and seating plans and dresses and a church and a place to have a reception. A caterer and a DJ."

"In other words it's just a whole lot of work, and money, for one day," he concluded.

"It's not just one day. You get to spend the rest of your life with someone."

"And you have to go massively into debt and nearly insane to do that?" Flack asked. "Because Danny is going completely and utterly nuts over this whole thing. Poor guy can barely eat or sleep he's so worked up over it."

"He's getting married, Donnie. To the love of his life. You're usually nervous when you're embarking on something like that. I mean, marriage and kids. Domestic bliss. I'd be worried if he wasn't nervous to be honest with you. He loves Linds and will do anything to make her happy. She wanted a huge thing and she's getting it. Danny isn't the type to go along with something if he wasn't a hundred percent into it. It's going to be so romantic."

"You watch way too much of that Wedding Story show on TLC," he teased her, as she let out a dreamy sigh after the word romantic.

"Which would you rather? A Wedding Story or Jon and Kate Plus Eight?" she asked, eyes sparkling as she smiled up at him.

"I'll take weddings over those goddamn brats any day. Can you honestly imagine having all those kids, Sammie? Do you ever notice how much those parents are ready to kill each other? That husband is like two steps away from going postal on his entire family. He looks like he's ready to just kill that woman sometimes. And the way she fucking nags constantly. I would have been out the door a long time ago. They couldn't have just been happy with the two they had? They had to go all greedy and take meds and have a whole litter?"

"They're really adorable kids," Sam reasoned.

"They're the spawns of Satan, babe. You've seen them. Would you want all those kids?"

"I'd settle for a few. But no. Definitely not eight."

"People are just goddamn insane," Flack declared.

"So now that we've established you want neither marriage or children," Sam said. "Do you plan on spending the rest of your life miserable and alone?"

"Hey, I never said that we weren't going to get married or have kids," he informed her.

Sam's eyes widened at his words but she kept her surprise expertly hidden by keeping her attention on the Ipod in her hands. She wondered if he was even aware of what had just come out of his mouth. She even wondered if she'd heard him properly. If she'd actually heard the words 'we weren't'.

"What would you want?" Flack asked curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you into the huge wedding with the fancy church and hundreds of guests and a big blow out reception afterwards? Is that your kind of thing?"

"Why are we even having this conversation?" Sam inquired. "Are you trying to ask me something in some crazy, ass backwards type of way?"

"No…I'm just asking in case I need to fall back on your answers some time in the future," Flack replied.

"I don't think about things like that," she told him. "You know the whole sordid story about me and Zack. I dumped him the night before the wedding, remember? A wedding that took an entire year to plan and cost an exuberant amount of money. So marriage and doing all that planning all over again is somewhat the last thing on my mind."

"So in other words, Zack, who was the one in the wrong by cheating on you with tons of random women and who spent the majority of your relationship kicking the shit out of you, ruined your entire outlook on marriage," Flack concluded.

"I never said that, Donnie. What I said was that it was the last thing on my mind at this point in time."

"Okay," he said and nodded slowly. "But say it was one of the first things on your mind."

She sighed.

"Humour me, okay? Just humour me. I answer all your hypothetical questions all the time, don't I? Say marriage was the top thing on your list of priorities. Would you go all out and whole hog like Danny and Lindsay or would you go more subdued with like, say a JP and a few guests and a nice quiet dinner afterwards? It's not a difficult question to answer."

"I guess I'd go somewhere in between," she said. "Fifty, sixty guests. A small church. Little reception afterwards. I don't know, Donnie. I don't think about stuff like that."

"And what about kids?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. "What's gotten into you?" she asked. "Talking like this. Was there something in that beer?"

"I am just making conversation," he replied and kissed her softly. "Testing the waters. So I know what I'm up against."

"Two or three kids, I guess," she said. "Just as long as I don't have an only child. I'd want them to have a sibling, or two, to play with. I'm not too greedy. I don't need anymore than that."

"So you're planning on being a single mom," he concluded.

"What? What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You just said I through that entire answer you just gave me. I. You never once said we. I mean, even I said we."

"Maybe I just don't look as far ahead as you do," she reasoned. "But, no, I don't plan on being a single mother. And if I was looking that far ahead, you'd most definitely be the first on my list to consider both marriage and a family with."

"I should be the only one on that list," he snorted.

"You know what I meant. I didn't mean for that to offend you. You know that I'm not with anyone besides you. That you're the only one in my life. So why are you getting like that?"

"I just…I don't know. Don't you ever think about? Me and you? A forever type thing?"

"Not in the middle of a crowded subway," she responded.

"But you do think about it?"

"It's crossed my mind a couple of times," she admitted, and curled one arm around his waist. "But Donnie…we agreed that we were taking things slow. That we weren't going to rush into huge decisions. That we were just going to enjoy ourselves, and each other. And now you're asking me about marriage and babies."

"It's all just for future reference, babe," he assured her. "It's not like I'm going to wake up tomorrow and say let's go to Vegas and elope. Let's start a family. That could take a few months, could take a year or more."

"Or more?" she laughed. "I love you, but there's no way I'm going to wait that long. Even for you."

He grinned down at her.

"What?" she asked.

"I knew you'd be the first to crack. I knew you wouldn't be able to go much longer without saying it."

She blushed furiously. "I was hoping you didn't hear it," she said.

"Why? You didn't mean it?"

"Of course I meant it. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. I don't go around casually tossing out the L word. I was just hoping that you didn't hear it because the last thing I wanted was for you to get freaked out that I said and than decide later on tonight that you aren't ready for that type of thing and that you aren't feeling the same way for me and…"

He silenced her with a kiss. Long and slow and tender. "I'm feeling the same way for you," he assured her, pecking the tip of her nose. "I just didn't want to be the first one to say it."

"Guys are suppose to say it first," she said, her entire face glowing and her eyes sparkling as she rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him.

"It's the twenty-first century, Tinks. Doesn't matter who says it first anymore. As long as it gets said. This day and age, you could even be the one to propose."

"That will never happen," she declared. "I need to hold on to some form of old fashioned tradition. The guy getting down on one knee and making some long winded, beautiful proposal that makes us both cry. In some romantic type setting like Central Park at night, near the fountain, with the stars sparkling over head."

Flack grinned. "I feel like I should have brought my memo book along to take notes."

"I'm sure you're the type to have a few tricks up his sleeve," she said.

"Only time will tell, Sammie," he told her and kissed her once more. "But I do love you if hearing that makes your night."

"It does," she said, and smiling rested her head against his chest as he wrapped his free arm around her tiny body. After several minutes, she finally pulled away and held up the ear phone to him. "I want you to hear something," she said. "This song here."

"Please no Jonas Brothers or Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana or some other stupid shit like that," Flack pleaded.

"Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana are the same person," she informed him. "Hannah Montana is Miley Cyrus' tv show persona. Her alter ego if you will. Or at least that's how I understand it."

"Great. So she's what? Sixteen and is a millionaire with dual personalities? A teenage schizo?"

"Would you just listen to this? Just this small part? For me? Seeing as you love me?"

"Playing that card already are we?" he teased and than gave a sigh and took the ear phone from her and slipped it in his left ear. "At least tell me who it is first," he said.

"It's Christina Aguilera," she replied. "Her new song. Just listen to this one part, okay?"

He nodded.

She pressed play and turned up the volume.

"_Kiss kiss gonna tell you right now, I'll make it sweet on the lips, I'll simply knock you out. Shut up I don't care what you say, 'cause when we're both in the ring you're gonna like it my way. Yeah baby there's a villain in me so sexy sour and sweet, and you'll be loving it. Some days I'm a super bitch, up to my old tricks, but it won't last forever. Next day I'm your super girl, out to save the world, and it keeps gettin' better." _

Sam pressed pause and Flack handed her back the ear phone.

"Remind you of anyone?" she asked, smiling sweetly up at him.

"Yeah…" he replied. "She wrote that song about you."

Sam giggled and laid her head against his chest once more. "There are so many different sides to me, baby," she declared.

"There are," he agreed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And there's not one I could go without."

* * *

Danny and Lindsay waited inside the busy vestibule of the TGI Friday's on Broadway, near West 46th in Times Square. Their reservations had been made for six o'clock and they'd changed at work and come straight over from the lab, and now they waited for their best friends. Lindsay sat on a long wooden bench with the thick, blood red cushions with several other diners waiting for their tables to be ready, absentmindedly twirling the large, pear shaped diamond engagement ring around her finger. Danny paced the small space, occasionally stopping to peer out of the glass on the restaurant's front door, looking for the other couple.

"You're making me nervous," Lindsay commented, as her fiance began his pacing once again.

"They're late," Danny said.

"Sam and Flack are always late." she reminded him. "Why is tonight anything new? They probably got held up on the subway."

"Got held up doing the nasty is more like," Danny snorted.

"Sam and Flack haven't…" Lindsay bit her tongue. It was quite obvious that Danny and his best friend hadn't indulged in a little locker room talk. And that if they had, Flack hadn't been so forthcoming about the details of his partial sex life. Sam on the other hand, had spilled the beans to Lindsay in one of their many, many girl talks.

"Haven't what?" Danny asked, peering out the window once again.

It wasn't her place to talk about things that her best friend had shared in confidence with her. Instead, Lindsay sighed and stretched out her legs, using the toe of one beige Ugg boot to clear slush off the heel of the other.

"I was just going to say that Sam and Flack haven't been late the last couple of times we all went out. And they don't constantly have sex."

"Yeah, right," Danny said. "Feisty, hot looking girl like that?"

Lindsay frowned. "Excuse me? That's my best friend, remember?"

"I know that. But can I help that you have a smoking hot best friend?"

"Keep digging your own grave, Messer," Lindsay huffed.

He held his hands up in self defence. "I am just saying Sam's a good looking girl, alright? Don't wanna hear that? Find an uglier best friend."

"You're such a man," Lindsay complained. "You better find a reason for why you're calling my best friend a hottie. A reason that will save your ass from spending many a cold, lonely night on the couch."

"I was just trying to say that Sam's a great looking girl and she's got that whole wild child thing going on with her tongue ring and her tattoos. So you can't tell me that she's not like that in the sack too. And if she's like that in the sack, than I don't blame Flack for always being late. That's all I was trying to say."

Her eyes were narrowed as her fiance sat down beside her. "I guess that's a somewhat acceptable explanation. And how the hell do you know that Sam and Flack are even sleeping together?"

"Are you kidding me?" Danny laughed. "She's Sam and he's Flack. And it's been three months."

"Not everyone sleeps together right away, Danny," Lindsay informed him. "Maybe they're waiting until it's extra special."

He snorted and rubbed her back softly. "Keep fooling yourself, Montana. I know Flack. There's no way he's sticking around if she hasn't put out yet. She didn't put out on at least the third date and he would have been so out of there. And to be honest, she probably put out on the first date."

Lindsay smirked. "Not everyone is like us, Danny."

"I'm not saying that they got drunk and found a pool table somewhere," he teased.

"Watch it, wiseass!" she exclaimed and elbowed him in the stomach. "And what does it matter to you anyway if Sam and Flack are doing the nasty or not?"

"It doesn't. But I'd be mortally shocked if they weren't. Like I said, her and her tattoos and a tongue and navel ring…"

"Never judge a book by it's cover, honey," Lindsay told him. "Sam Ross isn't the wild child you think she is. Or should I say, that you fantasize she is."

"Whatever. You can't convince me otherwise. I've seen her drink. She can nearly put away what Flack and I can. No girl that parties like that can be all sweet and virginal."

Lindsay shrugged. "You just never know. But I think that my best friend's sex life is really none of your business."

She and Sam Ross had hit it off right away. The moment that Mac had brought that petite, attractive brunette into the staff room to introduce her to everyone, Lindsay had known there was more to the Brooklyn native that just girl next door looks and a stellar education. And it hadn't taken long for Lindsay to realize that Sam was strong and independent and exceptionally fiesty. She had a great, often self-deprecation sense of humour and was quick with the sarcastic put downs and comebacks. She was tiny but took shit from no one. And that was just personal wise. On the job she was tough when she needed to be, and caring and sensitive when it was required. And despite her small stature, Sam was one of the few people that Lindsay trusted with her life.

It had been nice to have someone she clicked with that quickly. Someone her age that she could talk with and share similar experiences with. Instead of being made to feel like a whiny, immature baby whenever she tried to talk to Stella about anything personal. Stella was a great friend and an even better boss, but there wasn't that connection between her and Lindsay. So to have Sam simply walk into her life and make such an impact, to be the type of friend that listened quietly and patiently and offered up kind hearted advice. Who never looked down at you or judged you.

Lindsay only hoped she was being just as good of a friend in return.

Most of all, Sam was fun to be around. She wasn't perfect and had some massive issues and baggage hanging off that tiny frame. But she loved to laugh and have a great time and just let her hair down. She didn't care what other people thought of her and did whatever made her happy. There had been times since they had met, that Lindsay wondered just how sincere that constant bright smile and child like giggle really was. If Sam was like that to hide a lot of pain and hurt and disappointment.

But Lindsay was sure that within the last three months, all of Sam's happiness was genuine. And there was only one person who could be credited for that.

The same person who was now holding open the front door of the restaurant and letting his tiny girlfriend duck under his arm. Lindsay always got a little flutter in her stomach when she them together. The way that they'd smile at one another and watch each other so intently when the other was talking. The way Sam always gave this sheepish little grin and blushed madly when Flack so as much put his arm around her and kissed her temple in front of their friends. The way Flack treated her like the most important thing in the world. It was hard to explain, but Flack and Sam just had it. There was so much emotion and feelings passed between them in even the simplest of gestures and the smallest of smiles.

The cutest part was the size difference. Flack with his strong, solid build and standing six foot two, and Sam barely hitting five foot two and a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet. They were so different, yet so damn perfect together.

"You're almost late," Danny commented to his best friend, as they waited in line to give their names to the hostess while the women in their lives squealed and hugged as if they had just been reunited after months apart.

"Almost," Flack said. "Almost. And you can blame the subway for that. The train was crazy."

"Bullshit," Danny snorted. "Blame you and the fact you can't keep it in your pants."

"I have no comment for that," Flack said.

"Come on. Don't play innocent with me. You can't tell me that you haven't tapped that yet."

The detective just grinned. "I'm not about to kiss and tell, Messer."

Danny frowned. "That usually means that you haven't done anything," he said.

"I never said we haven't done anything. We've done some things. Just not everything."

"Why the hell not?" the CSI asked. "You can't tell me you don't want to. Because if you're not attracted to Brooklyn like that, there is something seriously wrong with you. She's a beautiful girl, Flack. Whose nuts about you for some reason. Which shows you that she's got something wrong upstairs. She's a few bricks short a load."

Flack smirked. "We just haven't yet, Messer. That's it. There's no reason. We just haven't."

"Slowing down? Losing your touch?"

"It's called respect, Danny. She hasn't felt entirely comfortable and I respect her enough to stop when she says to. Nothing wrong with that. When she's ready than that's fine with me. I'll be here. Even if it takes forever."

"You goddamn sap. You're in love with her, aren't you. Already. You're in love with little Brooklyn."

Flack didn't respond. He just gave a little smile and stepped up to the hostess desk and gave his name. "Use your imagination," he said to to his best friend, before slapping him on the shoulder and heading over to the giggling women.

"Well I'll be god-damned," Danny said to himself as he followed behind.

Hell definitely must have frozen over. Because Danny never thought he ever see the day Flack was the way he was right now.

Truly and genuinely happy with his life.

And madly and crazily in love.

* * *

**Wow! Fantastic response to the first chapter! Thanks to everyone that read and reviewed. Hope to hear more from you guys! And a great big thanks to those that added me to alerts and favorites. That's awesome! So please read and review folks. It's definitely appreciated!**

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	3. Loving Samtana

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: HOW DO YOU LIKE THE NAME CHANGE FOLKS? THE MUSE WASN'T HAPPY WITH THE FIRST ONE. SHE WANTED ME TO FIND SOMETHING TO STICK WITH THE WHOLE BROOKLYN THEME.**

**AND WHAT'S SAMTANA YOU ASK? A LITTLE NICKNAME THE OTHER HALF CAME UP FOR OUR TWO GIRLS IN THIS. I COULD NOT RESIST USING IT.**

**BIG THANKS TO TPTB (as much as it nauseates me to thank them for anything) AND MAC AND PEYTON FOR THIS SONG. **

* * *

**Loving Samtana**

"So come with me to a place that we don't know  
If you need some inspiration before we go, just know  
It's the way I have fallen in with you  
Come with me, I just wanna say hello  
It's the way I have fallen in with you  
On the way, we can wash off in the stream  
So come with me to a river I have seen  
Time is waiting for the lightning to arrive  
You can tell that's the way I'll survive  
You can take my life but I'll never die  
Driving around, nothing to do  
We just made a bad decision, that's alright  
So here we are now, a couple of fools  
You can tell that's the way I'll survive  
You can take my life, but I'll never die  
Looking for the bandstand in the sky."  
-Bandstand in the Sky, Pete Yorn

* * *

Lindsay and Samantha were unaware that the mercury had dropped several digits below zero. Or that the snow was falling heavily and steadily. Or that a stiff, unforgiving, bitter wind rattled windows and ice covered tree branches. They were totally oblivious to the fact it was the dead of winter as they skipped down Broadway, hand in hand, arms swinging as they went. No hats and no mitts, their coats unzipped and their scarves loose around their necks. Talking exceptionally loud and giggling even louder as Danny and Flack dutifully followed several feet behind. The beers they had consumed at the hockey game had long ago taken affect. While they were far from flat out drunk, the girls were definitely feeling good and were feeling no ill effects from the frigid temperatures. The guys on the other hand, had stopped around the fourth beer after it became more than apparent that they were being entrusted to be the sober ones for the evening. The guardians and the protectors.

And that was fine with them.

The hockey game had proven to be one of the most enjoyable, fun and laughter filled nights that the four of them had ever experienced. Danny had won the block of four tickets when he'd managed to be the tenth caller to an online radio contest and than correctly answered five trivia questions regarding the history of the New York Rangers. Tickets were just way too damn expensive to purchase that day in age, not to mention practically impossible to come by, and it had been a monumental moment when he'd gotten that last question right and was told he'd won those tickets. Danny's now famous happy dance around the lab would be remembered for a long, long time. And while the Rangers had gone on to defeat the Boston Bruins 4-0, the real fun had been in spending time together as friends. Drinking and laughing and teasing each other good naturedly. Danny and Flack both seeing the softer, more loving sides of each other when it came to the most important beings in their lives.

Who at the moment had stopped long enough to purchase themselves soft pretzels and hot chocolate from a street vendor at the corner of Broadway and East 78th.

"So things are good?" Danny asked his best friend, as they slowly gained ground on their girls. "With you and Brooklyn?"

Flack nodded and wrapped the pink earphones around the matching Ipod he held in his hand. "Things are going real good, Dan-o."

"Come on…that's all your going to give me? You're usually a little more talkative about the women you're with. What gives? Not sure what you're feeling for her? Or how you're feeling?"

Flack shook his head and tucked the Ipod into his pocket. "Totally opposite," he told his best friend. "And that's what's freaking me out a bit. I know how I'm feeling about her. I've never felt that way about anyone in my entire life. You know, that whole 'all consuming, overwhelming, the world will end if I can't have you' type thing. And honestly, it's scaring the shit out of me."

"Understandable," Danny agreed with a nod. "There's times, especially after all the insanity and bullshit and pain we went through only to come together all over again, that I'm still freaked out over the way I feel about Lindsay. And how far we've come and how much we've managed to survive. Seems surreal sometimes, you know? I look at her and she gives me that smile, and I just about damn near die. I think about how many times I hurt her and let her down, and how she took me back in the end regardless of all that. How can a woman love someone that much?"

Flack shrugged. "'Cause she's insane?" he teased.

"Very funny, Flack," Danny frowned. "All I'm trying to get at is that I know what you're feeling and where you're coming from. It's alright to be scared shitless. As long as it, and her, are exactly what you want. That you're not torturing yourself for no reason."

"She's worth all the torment and aggravation, trust me," Flack said. "I waited a year to do anything about how I felt, so there's no way she's getting away now. And I don't want her going anywhere. I want her with me. It just feels right, you know? I feel right. My life feels right."

"We're goddamn saps," Danny declared. "Listen to us. Waxing poetic about our women. Spilling out our guts about undying, unconditional love and all that crap. Here I am, months away from spending the rest of my life with the woman of my dreams. And here you are, finally getting your head out of your ass and finding your own happily ever after with the woman of your dreams. I mean, that's what she is to you, right?"

"She's everything I've ever wanted and more," Flack admitted. "I'm not ready to take the walk down the aisle of marital bliss, but sometime in the near future I'm sure I will be. Just how do I know she's feeling the same thing for me? That she's thinking about all of that too?"

"Ever thought of just coming right out and asking her?" Danny inquired. "You know, the whole open lines of communication?"

"I sort of asked her tonight about stuff like that," Flack responded. "Testing the waters so to speak. See how she felt about marriage and kids. How she thought about them with me."

"And? What did she say?"

"She said she thought about it from time to time. And than reminded me how we agreed to take things slow and not rush into things. I could tell she was pretty freaked out the way I was talking."

"I wouldn't take it personally," Danny said. "I think she's more freaked because of what she went through not too long ago with that ex of hers than she is because she's not feeling that way about you. I mean, she's wearing your ring, right? She's not with any guys other than you. Not that you know of, anyway."

"What do you mean not that I know of? She's not with anyone other than me, Danny. That I'm a hundred percent sure of. We spend more of our nights after shifts together, splitting our time between each other's places. And the nights we aren't together, we're on the phone. In between all of that we work together. She doesn't have time to be with anyone else. And even if she did, I think I'd know."

"So that what's the deal? You guys are in a solid, monogamous, committed relationship. She's only got you, you only got her. So why do you need verbal confirmation about all that other stuff?"

Flack shrugged. "Guess I'd just feel better if I heard it from her."

"Don't you see it? When she smiles at you and looks at you? Don't you feel it when she touches you?"

"Absolutely. She just has to brush up against me or smile at me across the room and I know how she feels and what she wants."

"Than that right there is worth it's weight in gold. You don't need the words when she's telling you in other ways. That's a strong, powerful bond you guys have if you're experiencing all that so soon into things. Took Linds and I a bit longer to get to that level. But once we got it.." Danny shook his head. "Amazing. Phenomenally amazing to have to kind of love with someone. And I've learned never to take that kind of thing for granted. 'Cause it would suck shit to ever lose that."

Flack grinned. "You started out so intense and romantic at the beginning and ended up so Danny Messer at the end," he chuckled.

"Can't lose all of my identity," Danny laughed. "I'm more than just Montana's future hubby, you know. Still gotta have some Danny Messer in there somewhere. But I'm serious Flack. If you and Brooklyn are feeling that and you've got that already, hold on as tight as you can. Don't ever let go. 'Cause you're never going to find that again. You fuck things up with her, and you'll regret it."

"I'll wind up living a life of miserable, solitude," Flack sighed.

"That," Danny agreed. "And I'll have to beat your ass. 'Cause she's damn good for you and I know it and you know it. And you'll regret losing her. Trust me. 'Cause don't think you're the only guy in the world that would be into little Brooklyn. And don't doubt for a second that she could easily find someone to treat her right if you start slacking off in that department."

"So what's this?" Flack smirked. "Pearls of wisdom from Danny Messer? Are you slowly making your way from being a CSI to being a relationship coach?"

"Wise ass," Danny said and playfully shoved his friend. "I'm just attempting to help you along here. Pony up some much needed advice."

"Well, thanks," Flack laughed. "But I think I am more than capable of handling my own relationship."

"We'll see if you're still saying that when you've done some asshole thing to screw things up and it's me you come crying to. Trust me, Flack. Do not fuck things up. 'Cause you'll regret it for the rest of your life. And it would kill you to see her with someone else. Look how insanely jealous you were over that lawyer guy."

"I was not insanely jealous," he argued.

Danny raised his eyebrows and gave him a pointed look.

"Okay. So I was. But I got the girl in the end, didn't I?"

"You did," Danny nodded. "Now you just gotta make sure you keep the girl. That's the hardest part of all," he circled Lindsay's waist from behind with his arms as he and Flack finally caught up. "Especially with these two girls," he said and pecked his fiancee's cheek.

"Are you two talking bad about us again?" Lindsay asked, accepting her fresh pretzel from the vendor. It was steaming hot and coated in brown sugar and cinnamon. It smelled, and looked, damn good.

"It was all good talk," Danny assured her, grabbing a hold of her hand and pulling it towards his mouth and taking a huge bite out of her treat.

"Do you mind?!" she shrieked and than giggled and elbowed him in the guy playfully. "Get your own!"

"Can only afford one," he laughed. "I'm broke. I've been spending money on you all night."

Flack pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and opened it and took out a ten. "Don't worry about the change," he told the vendor.

"It's nice to see some men still have manners and that chivalry is still very much alive," Lindsay told him, and motioning for him to bent down, stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "If we were both single Flack…"

"Let's not finish that sentence," Danny said, and encircling her wrist with his hand, pulled her away from the vendor and down the sidewalk.

"Danny's got that whole overprotective, jealous thing going on," Sam commented.

"He can go a bit overboard," Flack said with a nod. "But he loves her. We get a little like that for the women we love I guess."

"That all your girlfriends have been very lucky," Sam told him, taking a bit out of her pretzel.

"I was never in love with any of them," Flack said, and reaching for the zipper on her coat, did it up all the way up to her chin, than proceeded to tie the tassels on her hat. "Don't want you catching pneumonia," he reasoned, when he noticed she was watching him with a little grin, her eyebrow arched at his antics.

"You're a mighty good man, Donald Flack Jr," she declared.

"I try my best," he said, and taking either end of her scarf in her hands, he pulled her into him and covered her lips in long, soft and promising kiss.

She tasted like cinnamon and chocolate. And those tastes, mixed in with the subtle scent of her perfume that lingered in the air, held him completely and utterly captive as they stood there, kissing in the middle of the sidewalk, snow tumbling down around them, lost in their own, warm and wonderful word.

She smiled up at him as the kiss ended, her eyes sparkling, her nose crinkling. "I swear to God, I could stand here all night doing this," she said with a sigh.

"How about we go back to one of our places and do this all night there?" he suggested. "Where it's not as freezing and we can be nice and warm and relaxed."

"I think that sounds like the best idea you've had yet," she said. "But.."

"How can there be a but?" he asked. "Let's just hail a cab and take off. Danny and Lindsay can fend for themselves."

"Hey!" Danny bellowed in the distance, as he stood outside the front door of Sullivan's. "Quit acting like a horny high school couple and hurry up!"

Sam grinned up at her boyfriend. "I think they need us more than you realize. And besides, once we actually do get back to your apartment, we can spend the entire night in bed kissing if we want."

"My apartment? Is it my turn to play host already?"

"Last weekend was my place and this weekend, it's yours. Why? Is the place a mess? Or do you need to call home and make sure your other girlfriend is out of there before I arrive?"

"Both," he teased.

"Well you better get calling her than. 'Cause I don't share."

"At all?"

She shook her head.

"And here I was, getting my little heart set on some hot threesome action."

She frowned and pushed him away from her.

"Get back here," he said, and grabbed her by the scarf once more. Kissing her once more, he brushed snowflakes off of her cheeks with gentle fingertips. "Only you, Sam," he whispered, tenderness and affection and love in his eyes. "Only you."

She smiled. "You're one of three," she said, laughing as she back away from him.

"You're lucky I know you're joking," Flack told her, wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders as they headed down the sidewalk towards their friends. "And I'm going to hold you to that, you know. That whole kissing all night thing."

"I wouldn't expect nothing less of you," she said. "And it's one hell of a way to spend a Friday night."

* * *

Sullivan's was crowded. Wall to wall people. It was a mixed bag of customers. Off duty cops that exchanged polite nods and small chit chat with Flack and Danny as they pushed their way through the sea of humanity, hands clasped tightly with their girlfriends', anxious, and hopeful, to find a table. Boisterous frat boys in their backwards ball caps and baggy jeans with the crotches hanging to their knees and girls in skirts and tops three sizes too big and way too much makeup gracing what would have been attractive faces had they not tried so hard to be appealing.

They secured a table near the back, next to the entrance to the rear hallway that led to the washrooms and across from the last vacant pool table in the house. The winter coats were shrugged off and dumped on nearby stools, and while the guys staked their claim at the pool table, Sam and Lindsay retreated to the seats across from them, ordering themselves a pitcher of beer, a bottle of Jose Cuervo accompanied by two shot glasses and a massive plate of nachos.

"It's on their tab," Lindsay told the waitress, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Danny and Flack as the frazzled college student set their order on the table.

"Do they know that?" the waitress asked. "Are you together?"

"We are," Sam confirmed. "And the hot sex they're going to get when we leave tonight is worth a pitcher of beer and nachos. Although I may have to earn the bottle of tequila."

"That's where the tongue ring comes in handy," Lindsay grinned and poured two mugs of beer.

"Exactly," Sam agreed. "I've had no complaints in the last four months."

Lindsay arched an eyebrow. "Four months? You and Flack have only been together for three months."

"I know," Sam said cheerfully. "But there was this time, after Hawkes' birthday party, you know, when we got into the B-52's a little too much and Don drove me home and we kinda…never mind. It's a long, sordid, perverted story."

"All the more reason to share it with your best friend," Lindsay declared. "The more sordid and perverted the better. So you just made a move on him, sucked it up?"

"That's the perfect way of putting it," Sam giggled. "We fooled around a bit. Nothing major. He enjoyed himself let's put it that way. And after that, for some reason he always wanted to drive me home. He was always practically tripping over himself to be done work early enough to give me a ride."

"Which kind?" Lindsay asked, eyes sparkling playfully.

"You little country girls are dirty," Sam said, reaching across the table to grab the bottle of tequila.

"No dirtier that you Brooklyn girls," the other woman laughed. "So what gives? Why haven't you two sealed the deal, as Danny calls it?"

"We've just been taking it slowly," Sam said with a shrug, pouring tequila into the two shot glasses.

"Okay. Let me get this straight. You'll give the guy head, you'll let him return the favour, but you won't go that extra, logical step? What gives with that? That I don't quite get."

"I don't know," her friend responded. "It's not that we haven't tried a few times. I just get all freaked out when we get close to penetration. I've told you about this a million times. I've got something wrong with me, I think. A problem with intimacy or something. I just can't seem to trust him with that final part. Weird, I know."

"Is it him you don't trust or yourself?" Lindsay asked.

"Why Miss Monroe," Sam grinned as she picked up the salt shaker sitting on the table. "You should have been a psychiatrist or a sex therapist."

"You're avoiding my question," Lindsay said, as Sam sprinkled salt over her curved thumb and forefinger, than held out her own hand so Sam could do the same for her.

"I'm good at that," Sam grinned, dressing her best friend's hand with salt before they both picked up their shot glasses, clinked them together, than downed the potent liquid.

"Jesus Christ," Lindsay gasped, slamming her shot glass down and hurriedly licking the salt of her hand.

Sam's eyes widened at the burn that followed the liquor and sucked the salt from her hand before washing everything down with a large swallow of beer. "Explain to me again why we do this to ourselves every Friday night?" she asked, as Lindsay poured more shots.

"Because we just do," her best friend replied. "There's no rhyme or reason. We just do it."

"Yeah, well my liver is seriously telling me that these binges are not appreciated," Sam said. "Not to mention how I'm going to be feeling tomorrow morning. Last Friday, I spent the majority of the early mornings curled up against the cold porcelain of my toilet while my boyfriend enjoyed a queen size bed all to himself."

"Before or after he held your hair back as you puked?" Lindsay asked. "And why do we never get lemon slices with the tequila?"

"Because lemon slices are for pussies," Sam responded. "And it was after he spent an hour on his knees holding a…"

"An hour, huh?" Lindsay grinned devilishly. "Lucky you."

"Holding a cold wet face cloth to my forehead," Sam informed her. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Mind you, he has spent just as long doing the act you were referring to."

"God bless him," Lindsay giggled. "And lucky you for snagging a guy that's willing to spend that much time doing it. I love Danny, but once I finish, that's it. He's onto the main course."

"Don's all for pleasuring me for as long as he possibly can," Sam happily declared. "And trust me, the man is a damn pro. He's got some mad oral talent."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Lindsay asked, toasting her friend with her shot glass before they both pounded back the tequila. "Flack just looks like he knows what he's doing. And that he's just really, really dirty."

Sam grinned. "He's in a league of his own," she sighed happily. "Danny doesn't look like he'd be a slouch in that department either."

"I have no complaints," Lindsay said. "I am more than satisfied and so is he. But back to my original question…"

"Which one is that?" Sam asked, pouring more shots before digging into the nachos.

"You know which one. The one about maybe it's you that you don't trust."

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"Best friends don't forget stuff like that," Lindsay said. "So spill. Is it really Flack you don't trust, or is it

yourself?"

Sam sighed and considered the question.

"It's really not that hard to answer," Lindsay told her, sipping her beer. "I mean, it's either one or the other. You've been friends, really, really, really close friends with Flack for over a year now. I'm sure you've told him things. Deep, dark secrets that friends tell each other."

"Of course," Sam said. "But we were just friends, than."

"And you're not friends now?" Lindsay asked, digging into the nachos.

"Of course Don and I are friends now. We're even better friends now because we've got something stronger and so much more on top of that."

"Okay. Than how come when you didn't have that something stronger you were able to talk to him about everything and anything and now you shut him out completely?"

"I'm not shutting him out completely. Donnie and I talk. About a lot of stuff."

"And does this other stuff include why you freak out over intercourse?"

Sam sighed.

"So I'll ask this again. Why can't you tell him that kind of thing now if there's something so much stronger between the two of you?"

"Because before I didn't have to trust him with my heart, Lindsay. Before there was nothing to lose. We were friends and that was it. And now? Now there's everything to lose."

"And so much to gain," Lindsay pointed out.

"The last man I trusted to that extend, fucked me over, Linds," Sam told her. "Zack was the last man I ever gave myself to. Wholly and completely. And look what happened there. So excuse me if I have some issues trusting men."

"And have you told Flack that that's the reason why you haven't been able to sleep with him?"

"Not exactly. I can't just come out and tell him that. He's already had the tempter tantrum when I made the mistake of lumping him and Zack in the same category over something else."

"And do you blame him? Zack was a prick. Plain and simple. The way he treated you for three years, especially what he did at the very end? That guy deserves to be shot and pissed on. And for you to even think about comparing Flack to him in any way? I could kick your ass for that."

"I never said that he was like Zack," Sam defended herself. "I just said that the last person I got involved with that deep was Zack and that ended really, really bad."

"Which is just like comparing him to Zack," Lindsay argued. "Look, Sammie, you're my best friend. And I love you to pieces and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. But Flack…Flack means a lot to me. When the whole Rikki Sandoval thing happened, you and Flack were the ones that really stepped up and supported me and helped me through things. He's like a brother to me. So I really feel the need to defend him here."

"Linds, I never…"

She held up a hand. "Let me finish. Flack is really good with dealing with peoples' emotions, Sammie. And you need to give him a chance. You need to be honest with him and tell him the reason why you are the way you are. Trust me, he'll understand, hun. Just let him in and he'll get it."

Sam nodded slowly and glanced over towards the pool table where Flack and Danny were talking animatedly, doing more laughing and chatting than they were playing pool. Such a change from the seriousness and professionalism that they conducted themselves with at work. Just two best friends hanging out and goofing off.

"Did you see that?" Lindsay asked, when Flack had become aware that Sam was looking in his direction and smiled softly and winked at her. "Did you see that look he gave you, Sammie? It's all in his eyes. He loves you. Wholly and completely. And if you tell him what's going on in your head, trust me, he will listen and he will do whatever he can…"

"To make sure he gets laid before he goes insane," Sam finished, downing half her glass of beer.

Lindsay glared at her. "To make you feel comfortable in yourself and with him. I know that you know all of this, Sam. And that you just want some reassurance and someone else to look you in the eye and tell you that Don is a great person who cares about you and would never, ever hurt you like Zack did."

"It's hard," Sam admitted, fighting back emotion. "Trying to go on after all of that. After Zack…it's just hard and it's been over a year, Linds. And it's screwed me up and I don't think I'll ever be the same person ever again."

"You don't want to be the same person you were with him. You want to be who you are now. The Sam Ross that I know. Strong and vivacious. Independent and tenacious. Who doesn't put up with shit from anyone. The Sam Ross that you were when you were with Zack? The scared and weak little girl you told me about? She's gone. It's time to put that part of your life to bed. Permanently. She doesn't exist anymore. And that's just how it should be. For you and for Flack."

"And how do I do that? Let go of all of that?" Sam asked. "All this hurt and anger and bitterness? All the pain? How do I let it go and move on?"

"Just by closing your eyes and taking a deep breath and jumping into what you have right in front of you. By trusting in him. And in my heart, I know that once you do that, all that hurt, Sammie? All that hurt is going to dissipate. It will probably never go away a hundred percent. But being with him? With a man that loves you like that? That can solve everything. Letting it go and just concentrating on him will do you a world of good. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Sam shook her head.

"And I never will," Lindsay vowed. "Now, I believe we have a date. A threesome."

Sam's eyes widened. "I'm not getting into any kinky shit with you and Danny," she said.

"Well there goes my plans for the night," Lindsay sighed. "I was talking about me and you, and…" she held aloft the tequila. "Jose Cuervo."

Sam grinned. "Pour us some shots, country girl."

"One step ahead of you, Brooklyn," Lindsay said and filled the shot glasses.

* * *

"They're talking about us, Flack," Danny complained, nursing a JD and Coke as he glanced over his shoulder at their respective partners laughing and talking noisily. And quickly and effortlessly polishing off a pitcher of beer and a bottle of tequila.

"Hate to tell you this, Dan-o," Flack said. "They do it all the time. And they're not talking about us. They're making fun of us."

Danny snorted. "Have you honestly ever seen two women that small drink like that?" he asked, as his friend took, and missed, possibly the easiest shot of his life.

"No," Flack replied, than sighed heavily and hung his head and shook it in shame at his horrible shot. "You ask me," he said as he moved to the ledge behind him and picked up his own drink. "They both drink way too much."

"Tell me something I don't know," Danny said. "Especially your girl and her penchant for the tequila."

"Yeah…" Flack nodded slowly. "Between you and me, that's got me a little worried."

"What's that?" Danny asked, banking the white ball over the left side of the table and sending it careening across the felt and into the seven ball. Which went sailing effortlessly into the right corner pocket.

"That's fucking bullshit," Flack declared in disgust. "Got a horseshoe up your ass or something?"

"Or something," Danny laughed and sized up his shot on the eight ball. "So what were you saying? Something about being worried and…"

"Just about being worried about how much Sam drinks."

"You think she drinks a lot?" Danny asked.

"You don't?"

The CSI shrugged. "Never thought about it. She drinks just as much as you or I do."

"And you don't see the problem with that?" Flack inquired. "The fact that she's five foot nothing and a hundred and twenty pounds and can drink like you and I do? I've never, ever seen a woman drink like that, Dan-o."

"She's just having fun, Flack," Danny said. "She drinks what? Once a week when we all go out? What's wrong with that?"

"It's not how often she drinks," Flack told him. "It's how much she drinks when she does."

"Don't fault the girl and have her signed up for AA just because once a week she goes out and gets hammered," Danny told him, biting on his bottom lip as he took his shot, pumping his fist in the air victoriously when he sank the eight ball.

"I'm not saying she has a drinking problem. I'm just saying that it worries me that someone her size can drink that much at once. It's like once she gets started she doesn't know when to stop. And think about it, Danny. Three weekends in a row, I had to carry her from the cab, up to either my place or hers. And I had to spend half the night crouched beside her, rubbing her back and putting a face cloth on her forehead and holding her hair back while she puked in the tub. That's not pleasant."

"What? A little upchuck from the woman you love is too much to handle? Don't be such a cupcake."

"Well excuse me for worrying about it when my girlfriend passes out in the backseat of a taxi and doesn't remember her own name, never mind mine. Ever heard of alcohol poisoning? She's a prime candidate for it. Look at what their drinking, Mess. That's their second pitcher and three quarters of that tequila is gone."

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," Danny told him. "Leave her alone and let her have a good time. Suck it up and take care of her when she's sick."

"I think it's this whole shit with Zack bringing it on lately," Flack commented.

"That's still going on?" Danny asked. "When's the last time he called her place?"

"He hasn't called since I answered three nights ago and we had a thing."

"A thing?"

Flack nodded. "I told him if he didn't stop calling her, I'd personally come to Arizona, hunt him down and break both of his legs and than rip his balls off and shove them up his ass."

"What did he say?" Danny asked with a chuckle.

"Said, mind your own business New York," Flack replied, in a perfect imitation of the Oklahoma born and breed Arizona state trooper. "I told him if was my business. That she was my business. And that if he wants his money back, I'd be happy to write a cheque from my own money just to get him out of her life for good."

"He accept it?"

Flack snorted. "You kidding? He doesn't even really want the money back. That was a joint account. She had every legal right to that cash and he damn well knows it. He's using it as an excuse to stay in her life. Torture her from thousands of miles away."

"He still get in contact with her?"

"He avoids calling there 'cause he knows I'll make good on my promise. But he still sends her emails. You know what the sneaky bastard does? Uses his sister's email address 'cause he knows that her and Sammie still talk. I am telling you right now, Messer. This goes on for much longer, and I'm heading to Phoenix and finding that guy and rearranging his face."

"I'll be right behind you helping out," Danny assured him. "Guy needs to be taught a lesson."

"Who needs to be taught a lesson?" Lindsay asked in a cheerful voice as she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

"Asshole Flack and I had in interrogation today," Danny answered. "He was a smart mouth prick. Flack was just telling me all the crap that was spewing out of his mouth in holding and saying he wanted to go in and beat the guy senseless. I just said I would be right behind him laying the boots to the guy too."

"Such tough guys," Sam said, standing on her tip toes to yank the backwards ball cap off of Flacks' head.

"You two wanna play?" Danny asked. "Couple against couple? Boys against girls?"

"We'd kick your ass," Sam declared, adjusting the band on Flack's ball cap so it would fit her tiny head and than slipping it on. "I just came to announce that I was heading for the bar for something."

"For what?" Flack asked. "You haven't had enough with the pitcher of beer and the bottle of tequila?"

"Just a little something," she replied and held her hand out, palm up.

He smirked and reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Be good," he said and sat it in her hand and kissed her softly.

"Always," she assured him.

"Can I have my hat back?" he asked, reaching for it.

"I think not," she responded, dancing away from him and clamping a hand on the top of her head. "I'll be back," she said, and headed through the crowd. Swaying slightly as she went. Bumping into a young frat boy that was just as intoxicated as she was. She giggled and offered up her apologies and he smiled and laid a hand on her hip and whispered something into her ear.

"Here we go again," Flack sighed. "I'll be breaking this pool cue over someone's head tonight. I just feel it."

"I'll go and keep an eye on her," Lindsay said. "I've got it under control."

"Great," Danny snorted, swallowing the remains of his drink as he and Flack stood watching Sam politely informing the young man that she just wasn't interested. "Too hot drunk women in a sea of frat boys. Nice."

"He touches her ass one more time, Mess, and I'm taking him in for drunk and disorderly and sexual harassment," Flack said. "But that's after I take him out back and beat the shit out of him."

"Excuse me?!" Lindsay shouted over the music as she stepped in between her best friend and the obnoxious college kid. "What the hell's your problem?" she asked him, poking him in the chest with her index finger.

"What the hell is your problem?" he spat. "Me and the lady were talking."

"I don't appreciate guys touching my girlfriend's ass," Lindsay informed him.

He looked from the pretty brunette with the NYPD ball cap on to the equally as attractive woman before him. He snorted. "You kidding me? You're girlfriend?"

"Yeah!" Lindsay exclaimed, and turning to Sam, took her best friend's face in her hands and planted a long, deep, passionate kiss on her lips.

Flack nearly spit out the remains of his drink at the sight of his girlfriend and her best friend locking lips, willingly, in a crowded, noisy bar.

Danny's eyes widened and he grabbed his best friend's arm. "I'm dreaming right? I must be dreaming. 'Cause that right there? Your girl and my girl? That is every wet dream of mine come true."

"I am going to pretend you never said that," Flack said. "But I gotta admit, Mess. That is totally and completely hot."

"Turned you on, didn't it." It was more of a statement than a question. "'Cause it did me."

Flack shook his head, an amused smirk on his face as the two girls, hand in hand, disappeared through the crowd, leaving the flustered frat boy in their wake.

"No one would believe us if we told them," Danny said with a content smile as he moved back to the pool table.

"Always the ones you least expect," Flack declared. "Always the tiny, quiet ones."

"Lots and lots of sides to Montana and Little Brooklyn," Danny told him. "Damn good ones if you ask me."

Flack couldn't deny that.

* * *

It was after one in the morning when the two couples stumbled out into the snowy street. Three inches at the least had fallen since the time they had gone into the bar. The air was cold and crisp. The stars and moon high and bright in the sky.

"You guys wanna come back to mine?" Danny asked. "Got lots of beer and some tequila we can put a dent in."

"I think she's had enough," Flack responded, once again in possession of his ball cap, turned backwards on his head, nodding down at his drunk girlfriend, her arm around his and tucked into his side, laughing hysterically for now apparent reason. Other than the fact she couldn't feel her toes or the tip of her nose as she had announced an hour earlier.

"Don't be a party pooper," Lindsay said, slurring her words, sticking her tongue out at him as she clung to Danny's arm.

"Pooper," Sam giggled. "You said the word poop."

"Now you just said the word poop!" Lindsay cried. "Hey, Danny! Look under there!"

He frowned and looked around. "Under where?" he asked.

"She just made you say underwear!" Sam shrieked and burst into a fit of giggles. Lindsay joining in suit.

"Okay," Flack said to his girlfriend, tightening his grip on her waist. "Time to get you home."

"Underwear!" Sam howled. "He just said underwear!"

"I know," Flack stayed as patient and calm as possible. "And it was as funny as all hell. But it's time to get a cab and go home."

"You're home or my home?" she asked.

"Either one. Doesn't matter to me."

"It would be just so much easier if we had just one to chose from," she declared. "Don't you think? It's too confusing with two apartments to worry about. If there was just one it would be so much better."

"Tell you what," Flack said. "When you sober up, maybe we'll talk about that. Okay?"

"Okay," she nodded vigorously. "You and me," she pointed at him, than at herself. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

"Alright than," she said and motioned for him to bend down. Pressing a kiss to his cheek when he did. "I will call you tomorrow," she told him and patted his face and slipped out of his grasp and began stumbling down the sidewalk.

"I don't think you understood what I said, Sam!" Flack called after her. He turned to Danny and Lindsay and shook his head. "God give me strength," he sighed.

"Good luck, Flack," Danny chuckled as his best friend hurried off after his girlfriend.

"He doesn't need luck," Lindsay declared. "He's got love. That's all he needs."

They watched, as Sam and Flack stopped several yards down the sidewalk, Flack attempting to explain what he had meant, and Sam unable to keep a straight face. Her giggle travelling on the air. Her friends' laughter joining in at the annoyed expression on Flack's face as his girlfriend, in a fit of giggles, proceeded to sit down on her ass in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Trust me," Danny said to his fiance. "It's luck he needs. I swear that man has the patience of a saint when it comes to her."

"It's love," Lindsay slurred. Sounding more like she said luvre.

"That is the last time you're drinking that much," Danny declared.

They watched, highly amused, as Flack, after arguing for a couple of minutes with his girlfriend about why it wasn't a good idea to be sitting in the snow in the middle of a New York City sidewalk, finally gave up and grabbed Sam under the arms and lifted her effortlessly to her feet. Propelling her towards a nearby park bench, his arms wrapped around her from behind.

"I'll call you guys a cab!" Danny called, taking out his cell phone.

Flack nodded and waved his thanks and physically sat his girlfriend down on the bench before taking a seat beside her. Anchoring her in place with a strong, tight arm around her.

"I love you," Sam gushed, bearing her face in her boyfriend's neck.

"I love you, too," he said. "Sometimes I want to kill you, but I still love you just the same."

"No," she shook her head. "You don't understand. You don't understand how much I love you."

"Sammie, why don't you just take it easy, baby. We can talk about this tomorrow. When you're in the right frame of mind. Okay?"

"No," she responded. "No. We're talking about this now."

He sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" he asked, laying a hand on the top of her head and stroking her hair.

"For the way I've been. For the way I've been leading you on so much."

"You haven't been leading me on, Samantha. We talked about that. You haven't been comfortable and that's okay. I'm not going to pressure you into anything. You don't want to make love, that's fine. I'm happy with the way things are. No matter how long they stay that way."

"It's not fair to you!" she cried.

He felt something wet against his neck. "Look at me for a second," he said.

She glanced up. Tears were streaming down her flushed cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Flack asked.

"Because it's not fair!" she replied. "You've been so amazing. So patient and understanding and I've been…I don't know! I've been me!"

"Sam, we've talked about this. Why are we getting into this right now? On a park bench in the dead of winter at one in the morning?"

"I need to get it off my chest!"

"Okay…" he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "What is it you need to say, babe?"

"I haven't been able to make love with you because of Zack!" she sobbed. "Because of the way he was! Because I trusted him with every fibre of my being! Because I gave him every part of me and look what he did! And I don't want to go through that again! I don't want to get hurt, Donnie!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sammie," he vowed, in a quiet, soothing voice. "I'm not in this to hurt you."

"I'm scared," she sniffled. "I'm so scared."

"What are you scared of, baby? Do you know? Are you scared of something physical or something emotional?"

"Both," she responded. "Because he wasn't…he wasn't the most gentle person in the world. When we had sex…when we had sex it was all about him."

"That's why the first night we fooled around you told me that you'd never had a guy…"

She nodded. "I'd never had a guy to what you did. Oral sex. Never. It was all new to me. I know that sounds screwed up because of my age and the way I look and the way I act and…"

"It's not screwed up," Flack told her. "Honestly? Knowing that you weren't very, I don't know, experienced? That turned me on more than anything. That I was the guy to do something like that for you and get you off. Does that sound weird to you?"

She shook her head.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Samantha," he said. "Not during sex, not emotionally. You need to trust me."

"I do trust you," she told him. "With my life. You know that."

"You trust me on the job. You trust me with your life when we're at work. I want you to trust me with your life outside of it, too. And so far? I haven't felt that from you. And I know Zack fucked you over and trust isn't easy for you. But give me a chance, Sammie. That's all I want."

"I'm sorry," she pulled away from him and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her coat. "I haven't been fair to you at all. I haven't been honest. And I should have told you right from the beginning what I was scared of."

"You should have," Flack agreed. "But you've told me now. Do you feel better that you told me?"

She nodded.

"I feel better, too. Because now I know it wasn't something I was doing wrong," he told her. "Do me a favour, though?"

"Of course" she sniffled.

"Don't hold anything back from me. Whatever it is, just tell me about it. I can't read minds, babe. And us being honest with each other, that's what's going to make our relationship work. And I want it to work. So bad."

"So do I," she said with a smile. "More than I've ever wanted anything in my life."

He smiled and kissed her softly.

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb, its tires crunching on the snow.

Flack pressed a kiss to her forehead. "How about you and I get out of here? Go home and start on making things work?"

"But you know I can't…"

"I just want to love you, Sammie. Beyond the physical stuff. Can you let me do that?"

She nodded.

"Than let's get started on that," he said, and getting to his feet, offered her his hand. "Put everything else behind us and start us, from this night on. Well, except for maybe the part of you and Lindsay dancing on those benches to…what was that song?"

"Bootylicious," Sam giggled, as he opened the back door of the taxi. "I don't think you're ready for this jelly," she sing-songed as she climbed into the cab. "My body's too bootylicious for you, baby."

"She's just a little nuts," Flack told the wide eyed cab driver as he slid in beside Sam and shut the door.

"Just a little," Sam agreed and cuddled up to her boyfriend. "But he loves me. My man loves me."

"I do," Flack said. "Don't ever question that."

"I never will," she sighed. And promptly passed out with her head against his chest.

Flack smirked and shook his head.

She's insane, he thought.

But she's mine.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing and adding me to alerts and favourites! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers. But please, please, please review. It would seriously make my day! Hell, my week even! Thanks for the love and support, BEG75**

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	4. Next to you

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**THIS CHAPTER CARRIES A SLIGHT M RATING FOR DELICATE SMUT. SO IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE, SKIP AHEAD. **

**THANKS TO ALL OF YOU ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVOURITES! MUCH LOVE TO ALL MY READERS, BEG75**

* * *

**Next to you**

"Come a little closer baby,  
I feel like layin' you down  
On a bed of sweet surrender  
Where we can work it all out  
There ain't nothin' that love can't fix  
Girl it's right here at our finger tips  
So come a little closer baby  
I feel like layin' you down

Come a little closer baby I feel like strippin' it down  
Back to the basics of you and me and what makes the world go round  
Every inch of you against my skin  
I wanna be stronger than we've ever been  
So come a little closer baby  
I feel like strippin' it down."  
-Come a Little Closer, Dierks Bentley

* * *

Flack's eyes flickered open slowly. Bright sunshine filtered into the bedroom, warmth cascading down on the bed despite the frigid, nearly unbearable temperatures that assaulted the city. The sunlight sparkled brilliantly on the icicles that dangled from the slight over hang over the window, casting shimmering prisms on the cream coloured walls and hardwood floor. On the street below, car horns honked and tired crunched on snow or splashed through the inches thick slush that sat at the curbs. He could hear the scraping of windshields and the loud scratching as shovels hit pavement in an attempt to clear the snow away from homes and businesses.

He yawned noisily and rubbed at his tired eyes and stretched until his back cracked. Clad in a pair of sweatpants and an old tattered t-shirt that he'd managed to yank on upon arriving home before having to attend to his severely inebriated girlfriend, he lay on his back for several minutes, a forearm over his eyes as he listened to the soft, rhythmic breathing beside him. She had thankfully managed to keep out of the bathroom and avoid any expelling of stomach contents. She had however, spent almost twenty minutes, after he'd lovingly undressed her and put her in a dress shirt of his, kissing him and feeling him up and trying in vain to coerce him into sex. Because she was really, really, really fucking horny. Her exact words. He'd managed to fend her off. While he was dying to finally make love to her, there was no way in hell he was doing it under those conditions. He wanted her to remember it. Not have her wake up in the morning with no recollection of the event.

So he'd gently refused her advances. Which she'd taken the wrong way and burst into tears and asked him what was wrong with her. Why didn't he want her? Wasn't he attracted to her? Didn't he find her pretty? Didn't he want to have sex? Was there something so hideously and disgustingly wrong with her that it turned him off completely? He'd tried his best to comfort her and assure her that he thought she was the most beautiful, sex and alluring woman in the world. And that she had no clue just how bad he actually wanted her. That it wasn't her, it was him and the fact that he couldn't live with himself feeling as if he'd taken advantage of her. And no sooner did he get those words out and tell her that he loved her, she had passed out cold once more. Her face tucked into his neck and her arm slung over his chest and her leg over his thighs. Looking peaceful and angelic.

And snoring like a goddamn freight train. It had taken him nearly three hours to fall asleep with the racket next to him. He didn't have the heart to grab his pillow and an extra blanket and camp out on the couch. He was too worried she'd get deathly ill in the middle of the night and need him to take care of her.

That and he'd grown accustomed to having her warm and welcoming body pressed up tightly against his. To feeling her hair brushed against his skin or smelling her soft, ultra feminine scent. To listening to her tiny sighs and midnight murmurings. To waking up and her being the first thing he saw. To kissing those full, silky lips good morning and taking her into his arms.

I am a goddamn sap, Flack thought with a sigh. And removed his forearm from over his eyes to steal a peek at his watch.

Quarter to eleven.

On a cold, early February morning. A day off at that.

There was no way in hell he was getting out of that bed anytime soon. He was going to have a long, lazy day. Doing fuck all and enjoying it. With his girl that slept so peacefully next to him, her hand resting lightly on his stomach, her entire body covered by the heavy duvet . The tips of the toes of her right foot and a few strands of hair on the top of her head the only things visible.

Flack rolled over onto his left hand side and lifted the edge of the blanket and peered under. Samantha lay on her side facing him, eyes closed, impossibly long, dark lashes falling on her pale cheeks, a soft, delicate smile curving her lips. She was so astonishingly beautiful. Even with her hair messed up and all of her makeup gone and clad in nothing more than a dress shirt of his and a pair of little Garfield boxer shorts she'd left there last weekend and had been sitting on top of a clean pile of laundry in the corner of his bedroom. This was a woman that could look through countless magazines and muse about looking like someone else. About how she wanted a body like this celebrity or hair like this one, or a face like that one. Who could stand in front of the mirror and bitch and moan about five extra pounds that to him didn't even exist. He'd tell her she was crazy, that she didn't know what she was talking about. And that she needed to stop being so damn hard on herself.

What she had far surpassed physical beauty. She was intelligent and warm hearted and down to earth. At work she was no nonsense and took no shit with the perps, but possessed an astonishing amount of compassion and empathy for the victims and their families. Outside of work she was bubbly and loved to have a good time. She made friends easily and was the one that you could rely to cheer you up when you were having a god awful, shitty day. And in quieter, more intimate times, she was loving and attentive and tender one moment and assertive and aggressive the next. A little mix of everything. She drove him absolutely insane. In both a good, and a bad way. And lying there, watching her sleep, Flack could honestly see himself waking up every morning for the rest of his life beside her.

It neither frightened him nor made him nervous when he considered forever with her. But knew that if he was to tell her exactly what he was thinking or feeling so early in their relationship, he'd definitely scare her away. And that was the last thing he wanted.

Reaching out, he trailed the tip of his index finger along her nose than laid his hand on the side of her face and caressed her cheek and lips with a gentle thumb. She murmured in her sleep and scrunched up her nose and brought her hand up to scratch it before nestling her head further into her pillow. He placed a tender kiss to her forehead, followed by the tip of her nose and than her lips.

Her smile broadened. "Good morning," she said in a quiet, tired voice.

"Good morning," he returned, and kissed her in earnest.

She sighed happily after the kiss ended and moved closer to him, her eyes closed and her body pressed tightly against his, her nose tucked into the hallow of his throat, and her arm draped over his side. He wrapped his arm around her slender body and held her securely and lovingly, his hand slipping up the back of her shirt. He slid his fingertips slowly and gently up and down her spine, over and over again. His eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of her head as his other hand stroked her hair.

Everything outside of that room ceased to exist. For a moment, life was perfect and beautiful. The world around them disappearing as they lay there together, unmoving, no words exchanged between them. Breathing the same air. Relaxing, and revelling in the simple beauty of love that existed between them. The days seemed to fly by and moments missed out on. And now anything and everything that mattered was in that one room.

Minutes ticked by. Time was of no importance. Her hand slipped up his side and around to his back and over his shoulder and to the back of his neck. Her fingers tunnelling into his hair and rubbing it softly and lovingly.

There had never been a woman in his life that Flack had ever felt comfortable enough to engage in such personal intimacy with. An intimacy that stretched far beyond the actual act of love making and meant so much more.

"What time is it?" Samantha asked, finally breaking the silence that had enveloped them for what seemed like an eternity.

Flack shrugged. "What does it matter?" he asked. "We're both off today. If we want to lie here like this all day, than that's what we'll do."

"I'd like that," she said with a sigh. "This feels nice."

"It does," he agreed and kissed the top of her head.

"I never took you to be a cuddler, Detective Flack," she giggled.

"I'm usually not," he told her. "Must be something about the company I've been keeping in the last few months."

She smiled against his neck and pressed a kiss to the hallow of his throat. "I don't feel very good," she announced.

Flack snorted. "I wonder why…"

"Not a hung over type of not feeling good," she said. "Other than a pounding head ache I feel pretty good. It's this time of the month. The cramps. The cramps are so bad, baby. I just want to pull my hair out. To make matters worse, I don't have anything here."

"I've got Tylenol in the medicine cabinet," Flack told her. "Extra strength. With codeine."

"You know now I mix it with Midol. I don't have any here. And I don't have any tampons on me either. So we're going to have to get up sooner or later and go to my place."

"I can go to the store and get you stuff," he told her. "It's not big deal. I need to go out and get us some stuff to make some breakfast anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and get what you need. Can't have you suffering, can I?"

She shook her head. "Damn monthly visitor. I wish I could have babies without having to have a period every month."

"How bad could it be?" Flack asked.

She drew back and glared at him. "You so did not just ruin our massively romantic, fluffy, basking in each other's arms moment by asking me something like that."

"I mean, it's just cramps, right? How bad could cramps get?"

"Enough to make me want to kill the insensitive ass who has the gall to ask me something like that," she declared, and proceeded to turn over onto her side, presenting him with her back.

He couldn't help but grin at her slightly childish behaviour. He slid across the bed and pushed her hair from the side of her face and pressed his lips to the spot below her ear. "I'm sorry," he said, and slipping his arm around her, pulled her tight against his back. "I'm a guy. I couldn't possibly understand the whole period thing. So I'll tell you what. Why don't you show me where it hurts and I'll try and do something to make it feel a bit better."

"Forget it," she huffed. "It's no big deal."

"If you're hurting that bad, I want to try and give you some relief. So just show me where it hurts, babe."

She sighed and took a hold of his wrist and moved his hand to her stomach, placing it just below her navel.

"Right there?" he asked, and kissed her temple.

She nodded. "Your hand is really warm. The warmth makes it feel better."

"Whatever works," he said and nuzzled her ear with his nose and rested his forehead against the back of her head.

She sighed and relaxed against him. The warmth from his large, strong hand coursing through her and bringing near instant relief to the horrific, agonizing cramps that had plagued her once a month for five days straight since the time she was twelve years old. Enjoying the feel of his soft lips on the side and back of her neck and on the sensitive spot just below her ear. His warm breath and the slight roughness of his cheek and his moist lips causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

"Donnie?" she whispered.

"Yeah?" he asked, lips poised over her ear.

"I heard that there's something else that helps relieve cramps," she said.

"I already told you I'd go and pick some stuff up for you at the store," he told her.

She frowned. "I meant something else," she informed him.

"What kind of something else?"

"I read somewhere that the contracting of the uterus makes them go away for a bit."

A grin tugged at his lips. "Okay…"

"And seeing as when you orgasm, the uterus contracts…"

"You want me to get you off," he finished.

She giggled. "That's one way to put it."

"Well," he said. "Seeing as it's that time of the month and we don't do the whole sex thing yet, I guess my options are pretty limited," he teased, and kissing the side of her neck, and gently rolled her over onto her back. "Don't worry," he said, undoing her shirt one button at a time. "I'll keep my fingers on the outside. Okay?"

She nodded.

"You're nervous," he observed. "Why are you so nervous? We've done stuff like this and more tons of times already."

"I'm a bit freaked," she admitted.

"Why? What's there to be freaked about? Me?" he asked, finishing with the last button and pushing the shirt open to expose her pale, silky skin. "You know I'm not going to hurt you. That I won't do anything you're not a hundred percent comfortable with."

"I know," she said, shivering as his fingertips drifted slowly from her navel, up her stomach and between her breasts. All the way to her throat before slipping back down once more. "It's just…you know…the whole…thing."

"Like I said, nothing is going to go inside, okay? You can trust me, Samantha. You don't feel comfortable, you just tell me to stop and I will. Plain and simple. Alright?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

"You're going to need to relax," he told her, propping himself on his elbow as he leaned down to press kisses along her collarbone. "Nothing will happen if you're not relaxed. Can you do that for me? Just close your eyes and lie there and relax?"

"I think so," she said and rested her head back into her pillow and closed her eyes.

"This is nothing we haven't done before," he reminded her. "Just I'm going to make sure it's ten times better than anything I've ever done for you before."

She shuddered at his words. Her hands gripping at the sheets below her.

"Just relax," he whispered, lowering his head to trail the tip of his tongue along her collarbone and down between her breasts. Kissing and licking his way along the underside before allowing his mouth to travel up and over the tight, aching nipple. He licked his way around it several times before taking it fully into his mouth and sucking firmly on it.

She gave a small whimper and her grasp on the sheets tightened as he continued to lavish her breasts with attention and his hand slipped from its resting position over her navel and slid down the front of her shorts. She tensed slightly.

"It's okay," he assured her, pressing kisses around her nipple. "Trust me, Samantha. Just trust me, baby."

"Just don't…"

"I won't," he promised, and took the nipple into his mouth once more before one of his fingers slipped between her legs and quickly and easily sought out her clitoris. Rubbing it in smooth, slow circles as she moaned lightly beneath him and her legs parted to allow him better access.

Within minutes she was whimpering and trashing her head back and forth on her pillow, one hand still holding onto the bed sheets as the other had a firm hold on his shoulder, nails digging clear through his t-shirt and into his skin. A slight bit of discomfort was the last thing on Flack's mind as he kissed her way back up to her lips and than pulled back to watch her. Her chest heaving, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged. It was incredible watching her. The pleasure that took of her face and her body. It was far more of a turn on to be simply watch her, than if she was actually touching him in return.

"Donnie…" she moaned, loud and long, arching her hips against his hand.

"It's okay," he told her and kissed her softly. "Just let it happen. Just let me watch it happen," he stroked her clitoris harder and faster and pressed his lips to her temple. "Just relax and let it happen…just come for me, Samantha…just come for me…"

The hand that had been holding onto the sheets below her now came up to grab a hold of the hand that worked so diligently and feverishly between her legs. Encouraging him to rub harder, faster. Needing that almost rough stimulation to send her over the edge. He kissed her deeply and than lay the side of his head on her pillow to watch her as he gave her exactly what she wanted, and needed. Finding it the most amazing, beautiful thing in the world when a powerful orgasm took hold of her. Her his arching off the bed and his name erupting from his lips.

Her entire body trembled. Her legs closed around his hand, holding it there, riding out the last waves of her pleasure, sobbing from the sheer intensity of it as she tossed her head wildly before it settled next to his, their foreheads touching.

In time her legs opened and he removed his hand slowly as his lips seized hers in a long, passionate kiss. She lay panting and quivering as without a word, he gently fixed her shorts and buttoned her shirt back up and straightened and smoothed it down. He pulled the comforter up to her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he stroked her hair and gave her the time to compose herself.

Eventually her breathing returned to normal and her eyes opened. Golden ones locking on blue.

She gave him a shy smile.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Feel any better?"

"Much," she replied with a content sigh. "But what about you? Don't you need…"

"I'm good," he assured her. "That was all about you, baby. You and only you."

"You're a good man, Don Flack," she said and snuggled into him, her head buried in the space between his shoulder and his neck. "A mighty, mighty good man."

"Well it's nice to be appreciated," he teased and wrapped his arms around her slender body. "You're going to go back to sleep, aren't you." It was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded and giggled. "You know that's what happens. You give me this earth shattering orgasm and I want to fall asleep right away."

"Gotta stop giving you such good orgasms than," he chuckled.

"Don't even think about it," she laughed. "And I'm hungry, too," she said.

"You are such a guy," he sighed. "I'm going to go and take a shower and head out to grab some stuff. I'll pick up those things you needed."

"Thank you," she said, yawning noisily and sitting up and leaning over him to kiss him. "You're a doll. I need a toothbrush too. I keep forgetting mine and having to use yours."

"I'm going to buy you one of everything you need and make a spot just for your stuff in the bathroom," he informed her, as she flopped down onto her back, than rolled onto her side and pulled the comforter up to her chin. "Either that or you could just bring all your stuff here and stay permanently."

"We'll see," she said and nestled into her pillow.

"I mean it, Samantha," he told her.

"So do I when I say we'll see."

He sighed. Knowing that was about as good as a reaction as any from her. He climbed out of bed, stretching and yawning noisily before walking around the bed and hunkering down on her side. He brushed hair away from her face and kissed her gently.

"I love you, baby," he told her.

"I love you, too," she said with a gentle smile. "You know what else I'd like?" she asked.

"What's that?"

"Chocolate. And lots of it."

"Ask and you shall receive," he told her, and standing up, ran a hand alongside of her face. "Samantha…"

"One step at a time, Donnie," she whispered, her eyes closed. "That's all I can do."

"That's all I'm asking for," he assured her. Kissing her one final time, he stood up and headed for the door.

Samantha sighed heavily and rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Tears burning them as she stared up at the ceiling. Praying that something that felt so perfect and wonderful was just that.

* * *

Nothing should ever be this hard, Flack thought, his cell phone clutched in his hand, ready to start dialling as he stood in the feminine needs department in the CVS store a block away from his apartment. Although he'd grown up in a home with both a mother and a younger sister that quite obviously experienced their own monthly visitors considering the amount of raging, out of control hormone that besieged the house and tormented him and his father, he'd never paid no mind, or had been expected to purchase, 'personal supplies' for them. Same with all the girlfriends he had had. Which considering his age, was a shockingly low amount. Unfortunately, the number of women he'd had sex with far surpassed the amount he'd actually gotten seriously involved with. Not something he was entirely proud of.

With his mother and his sister and all the others, to Flack a period was a period. Every woman got it and they all took care of it on their own. A pad was a pad and a tampon was a tampon as far as he was concerned.

But this was something else. Standing there confronted with umpteen different name brands and types - pearlized applicator? Cardboard applicator? What in the hell? This was totally unfamiliar territory and the big, bad New York City boy found himself feeling completely and utterly defeated.

Flack sighed heavily and dialled his home phone number. Silently urging his girlfriend to pick up. The phone was on the nightstand next to her head, so there was no possible way she could sleep through it. The only problem, he realized as the call neared the eighth ring, was that the phone in the bedroom didn't have call display and Sam had 'issues' with answering his land line. She didn't feel it was her place to do so.

Wonderful, he thought. Goddamn you and your little paranoia's, Sammie, he thought, as he hung up and than went into his speed dial menu and hit the number three and waited for someone to answer.

"What'cha want, Flack?" Danny said in way of greeting.

"What? I woke you up from some much needed beauty sleep?" he asked. "You can't give me a pleasant good morning?"

"I'd give you a very, very, very pleasant good morning if you were here snuggled up next to me, princess," Danny chided, in a low, sultry voice.

"In your wildest and wettest, Messer," Flack said. "I need to talk to Monroe."

"Why?"

"Because. That's why."

"Why because?" Danny inquired.

"Because me and her are having an illicit, kinky affair and I'm in the mood for some phone sex," Flack responded.

"That's what I thought," Danny said. "Hang on…"

There was a slight rustling noise and soft murmurings of voices as the phone was passed from one hand to the other. Danny telling Lindsay that her boyfriend was on the phone jonesin' for some attention. Of the x-rated variety.

"Good morning," Lindsay chirped. "What are you wearing?"

Flack grinned and glanced down at himself. "Jeans, sweatshirt, winter jacket, baseball hat."

"Mmm…you know how that baseball hat just does something for me, detective," she purred. "I'm wearing this cute little pink and white lace backless negligee with spaghetti straps and matching thong panties with these little crystals that are over top of my…well just use your imagination, big boy."

Despite the fact that it was nothing but a big joke and that it was his best friend's future wife talking dirty to him, Flack could not help feel himself flush. It had less to do with the fact that it was an incredibly attractive woman on the other line, and more to do with the fact that while he'd been so intent on giving his girlfriend pleasure, he'd gone without any of his own and the failure to have some sort of release had him on edge and suffering.

"You're lucky I know you're joking," he said into the phone. "Because that so turned me on and I'm going back home in about ten minutes and doing something about it."

"Lucky girl," Lindsay said. "Think of me when you…"

"Do you mind!" Danny bellowed in the back ground. "Do you two mind!!! Tell him he doesn't knock this shit off I'm going to his place and showing his girl what a real man can do for her."

Flack laughed. "Tell him that Sam would laugh in his face and kick him in the balls if he even tried going anywhere near her."

Lindsay passed along the message. "So?" she asked. "What's up? What do you need?"

"I need your help picking something out," Flack replied.

Lindsay let out a long, shrill shriek that made Flack wince and forced him to hold his phone out at arm's length.

"What in the hell, Monroe!" he exclaimed, when he deemed it safe to return to the call.

"Oh my God!" she was practically hyperventilating. "You're going to…you're going to…I can't take it! You're going to ask her to marry you!!!"

"What?!" Flack snapped. "No! Hell no!"

"What's that suppose to mean?" Lindsay went from ecstatic to irritated in half a second.

"It means I'm not asking her to marry me. I just…"

"You don't feel that way about her? This is just some passing thing for you? No intention of making a real commitment to her? She's just some girl to have fun with? Fuck her and leave her type thing?"

"What?" Flack snorted at the mere thought. "You know damn well I'm in this for the long haul, Monroe. I've told you right to your face how I feel about her. How much I love her. I wasn't bullshitting you. I'm just not ready to make that step yet. Diamond ring, down on one knee. I'm not ready for a wife and you know she's in no way ready for a husband."

"But one day, right?" Lindsay asked. "One day you plan on asking her?"

"One day," he replied. "And when that day comes, you'll be the person right alongside of me at the jewellery store helping me pick something out."

"Promise?" she inquired.

"I promise. Now can you help me out here or what?"

"I can. Depending on what it is you want."

Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You know what kind of tampons Sam uses?" he asked quietly. So the teenage girls browsing the makeup sex behind him didn't hear what he was saying.

"I'm sorry," Lindsay said. "I didn't hear you."

"Do you know what kind of tampons Sam uses?" he repeated a little louder.

"Flack, honestly, I can't hear you," Lindsay told him. "Can you speak up?"

"Do you know what kind of tampons Sam uses?!" he bellowed into the phone.

Behind him the teenage girls busted into fits of giggles at his outburst. On the other end of the phone, Lindsay Monroe was embroiled in an all out, rib shaking belly laugh.

Flack sighed heavily and closed his eyes and shook his head and felt himself blush furiously.

"Put Danny on the phone," he spoke through gritted teeth.

"What?…why?" Lindsay managed through heaving breaths.

"Just…put Danny on the phone."

"Awww," Lindsay chided. "Are you embarrassed, Flackie? Are you tuning bright red? Is the big, bad, burly homicide detective all flustered?"

"I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You," Flack told her.

"Sammie's right, you are cute when you go all little boy bashful," she laughed.

"Monroe, that thing with the doll? I got over that. That was embarrassing enough. And I swallowed my pride and decided to be a nice guy and not seek revenge. But this? You are so going to pay for this."

"I am so terrified," she snorted. "Here's Danny."

"What was that all about?" Danny asked, as his fiance continued laughing hysterically in the background.

"You're girl is a little shit, Dan-o. A big shit, actually. Look, I need some help here, okay? Can you help me out?"

"Sounds life or death," the CSI said. "What's going on?"

"I need to know what kind of tampons Monroe uses," Flack told him. "'Cause Sam and her are best friends and a lot alike so they probably use the same type and lend them to each other if need be. What kind does she use?"

Silence on the other end.

"Danny?" Flack asked.

"I'm here. But I would swear you just asked what kind of tampons Montana uses."

"I need to know!" Flack exclaimed. "Sam sent me to buy some and I don't know what she uses!"

"You're buying Sam tampons?" Danny fought laughter. "Why?"

"Because she's on her damn period and needs them! Why else? And she doesn't leave that kind of stuff at my place for when she stays over and…"

"Why doesn't she?"

"How the hell should I know?! Just…please. Please help me out."

"Lindsay buys the big boxes. Playtex. The ones with the mixed kinds in it."

Flack's eyes scanned the items in front of me. "Pearlized applicator or cardboard?"

"Their shiny. That's all I know."

Flack reached for the box marked Playtex Pearl. "This shit shouldn't be this confusing," he complained. "I mean, how hard could it be, right?"

"Apparently for you it's rocket science," Danny teased. "And I can not believe you've pussied out and resorted to buying her tampons and shit for her."

"Hey! It's love, okay! I'd only do this for love!" Flack told him.

Danny made the sound of a whip cracking. Than dissolved into laughter.

"Fuck you both!" Flack hissed into the phone and hung up on his best friend.

He headed for the pain relief department and grabbed the extra strength Midol she'd requested and than made his way to the junk food section and nearly cleared them out of Dairy Milk and Kit Kat Chunky chocolate bars before taking his purchases to the front cash register.

"Midol…tampons…chocolate bars," the high school guy manning the register listed off each item as he scanned it and put it in his bag. "Your girl is PMSing huh?"

Flack smirked. "Buddy, you have no idea. She's ready to pull her hair out. I don't bring back exactly what she wants, it's my ass."

"I know that feeling. My girlfriend goes raging, psychotic bitch when she has her period."

"Well mine is like that all the time so you can imagine what she's like right about now," Flack commented.

The kid winced. "Ouch," he said. "Wanna make things easier on yourself? Avoid confrontation? A little trick I learned? Something to go along with the pain killers and junk food and whatever?"

"What's that?" Flack asked.

"I make use of the florist around the corner."

The detective grinned. "Are you my guardian angel? Sent here to steer me in the right direction? 'Cause you're a godsend."

"I like to help out a fellow guy when he's suffering. Forty seven, sixty three."

Flack's eyes widened. "For tampons, Midol and candy bars?"

"Women shit is expensive," the young man reasoned.

"You can say that again," Flack said, and reached into his coat pocket for the Master Card that he slipped in there last night in case they had needed extra cash at the hockey game. Only the plastic card was tangled up in the ear phones to Sam's Ipod that he'd also tucked in his pocket the night before. The Ipod he now held in his hand. Pink, with a glittering sticker of Hello Kitty gracing the back of it.

Giggles erupted beside him and he looked over to see the same teeange girls as earlier in line beside him. Staring at the pink Ipod in his hands, unable to control their amusement.

"We can never win, can we," the cashier sighed.

* * *

He had stopped by both the florist and the small Romanian run grocery store on the same block before finally heading back home. As Flack toed off his boots and put the key in the door, he could hear the stereo in the living room on and tuned into the local Top 40 station, along with Sam talking and laughing and the clinking of dishes in the kitchen.

He let himself into his apartment and found his girlfriend, still clad in his wrinkled dress shirt that still held a hint of his cologne and her hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail, standing at his kitchen sink, up to her elbows in soap suds and the phone held to her ear with her shoulder. On her feet, lifted from one of his dresser drawers, were tube socks many sizes too big. She was just so damn cute and just so damn sexy in his clothes and bearing his scent that Flack wasn't sure how much longer he could stand not being with her. The whole nine yards instead of the eight and a half he had grown accustomed to.

He slipped between her and the cupboards on the opposite side of the narrow, galley kitchen and dropped a kiss to the top of her head before reaching over her shoulder to show her with the bouquet of flowers wrapped securely in soft pink paper.

She tilted her head back and smiled lovingly and appreciatively at him. She mouthed, "Thank you, baby" before puckering her lips for a kiss.

Who was he to deny a lady what she wanted? He gave her a small, soft kiss before pressing his lips to her temple and walking away. Dropping the grocery bags and flowers he still carried on the cluttered kitchen table, he unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it and tossed it over one of the chairs before moving to the fridge and opening it.

"Whose on the phone?" he asked, taking out a jug of orange juice.

"My secret lover," she replied.

"Tell Monroe I don't share," he said and snagged two glasses from the drain board and poured them each some orange juice.

"You're just the king of thoughtfulness today," Sam commented, winking at him as she picked up her juice and sipped it as he retreated to the table.

"Just being a loving, doting boyfriend," he said and grabbed the morning paper he'd brought in and sat on the table before he went out.

"He looks no worse for wears," Sam said into the phone. "I guess he got over his mortal humiliation."

Flack snorted. "What could you and Monroe possibly have to talk about when you work together every day and hang out together after work and on your days off?"

"We talk about all sorts of things," she told him. "Just before you walked in we were comparing orgasms."

He choked on his orange juice.

Sam laughed and went back to her conversation. "I am telling you, Linds," she said to her best friend. "I always thought that those orgasms some women bragged about were bullshit. You know the seeing stars, lights and sirens, nearly pass out kind? But Don does this thing with his fingers and his tongue…"

"Do you mind?" Flack asked. "I'm in the room."

"You wouldn't think he'd be the type to embarrass easily," she said into the phone. "I guess talking about s-e-x bothers his virgin ears."

"Hang up that phone and I'll show you a few things that are definitely not virgin," Flack told her.

She just smirked and continued washing the dishes and talking to her best friend.

Flack watched her in between reading the sports section, drinking his juice and listening to bits and pieces of her conversation. Birth control, of all damn things. Lindsay's preference for the pill and Sam's faithful use of the Nuvaring, a small, flexible plastic ring that slipped inside like a diaphragm but stayed in until she got her period, delivering low doses of birth control into her system. At least she was well protected when the time came, although they had agreed to secure things like Fort Knox and still use condoms.

It seemed so perfect to have her standing there. In his clothes, surrounded by his things, doing simple chores and just simply breathing the same air as him. She fit into his life so easily that the times she wasn't there, that they were in separate dwellings, he felt miserable and alone and counted the damn minutes until he was with her again. And the thought of her not being in his life…well that was a thought Flack didn't care to entertain. She had changed him, and everything about him. For the better.

"Alright," she said now into the phone. "Talk later…call me if you hear anything about those New Kids on the Block tickets…okay…bye…" she pressed end on the cordless and removing one hand from the water, dried it on her shirt before taking the phone and sitting it on the counter.

"New Kids on the Block?" Flack grimaced. "You can't honestly can't be serious."

"They're coming to MSG in April," she told him. "Just in time for my birthday."

"Babe, please tell me you do not like those tools."

"It's more of a sentimental thing that is driving Linds and I there," she explained. "We both had massive crushes on New Kids when we were teens. T-shirts, videos, every album, our rooms plastered in posters. Donnie was my favourite. To me he was such a bad ass back than. Tattoos, nose piercing in the later years."

"Maybe you just have a thing for guys named Donald," Flack teased.

"Maybe," she agreed with a smile. "But Linds said for pure shits and giggles, she'd take me to see them for my birthday."

"As long as I'm not expected to go," Flack told her. "That I could not take."

"You're just expected to give me some spending money and be the chauffeur," Sam said.

He nodded. "I can do that."

She finished setting the last of the dishes in the drain board and unplugged the sinks and rinsed the soap from the one. Drying her hands on a dish towel, she journeyed over to the table and picked up the flowers and gently unwrapped the paper surrounding them. A bright, beautiful smile gracing her face as she took in the sight, and the fragrance, of a dozen pink champagne roses, one white one nestled in the middle.

"Baby, they're beautiful," she gushed, and leaned down to kiss him softly. "You didn't have to.."

"I wanted to," he told her. "Just because."

"I like when you do just because things," she said, and peeling the paper off completely, laid the roses down softly on the table before journeying over to the stove and opening the cupboards above it.

Standing on her tiptoes, she tried, in vain, to reach a simple pink frosted glass vase she had stashed up there three weeks before when the flowers that had been in them had been sent to the garbage.

Flack got up from the table and went to her aid. Snagging the vase and handing it to her.

"So Lindsay told you about my adventures in CVS?" he asked, as he flicked on the switch on the side of the electric kettle to boil the water inside.

"She did," Sam laughed as she filled the vase with water. "Who knew buying tampons could turn into such an ordeal?"

"You know I love you, right babe?"

She nodded.

"Please don't ask me ever again to do something like that. Not only did I humiliate myself by not knowing what to buy, I made matters worse by pulling a pink Ipod out of my jacket pocket."

"I was looking for that damn thing," she said. "And don't worry, I'll leave some tampons here so next month we won't have a repeat of this morning."

She filled the vase to her specifications and turned off the water. Walking over to the table, she dropped the roses in and arranged them to her liking.

"You like them?" he asked, opening a cupboard and taking down a jar of instant coffee and a box of tea bags. He personally hated the stuff, but she couldn't live without it. Pulling out two bags, he dropped one into her mug and sat the other on the microwave for another cup he knew she'd ask him to make as soon as her first was done.

"I love them," she replied, smiling as she sat the vase in the middle of the table. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, returning the box of tea to the cupboard before shutting it. "It was my romantic gesture for the day."

"You've had a few already," she told him. "Not let's see what my guy brought home for little old me," she said, peering into the bags. She gave a little squeal. "Chocolate! My two favourites! And lots of them! And my drugs and necessities! And you remembered a toothbrush!"

"I almost forgot it," he admitted. "I had to go back and get it."

"You're a sweetheart, Donnie. And what did you bring us for breakfast?" she looked into the second bag. Giving another squeal. "You're going to make pancakes?"

"Banana pancakes," he corrected. "Like I did the morning after the first night you spent here."

"Best damn banana pancakes ever," she declared. "And celebrity gossip magazines?" she asked, pulling a small stack from the bag.

"I know how much you love those things," he said, pouring boiling water into both mugs and snagging a spoon to stir his coffee vigorously.

"Keep this up and I may just ask you to marry me," Sam teased.

He smiled and walked across the kitchen and wrapped both arms around her from behind. "That isn't such a scary thought, is it?" he asked.

"It's not scary," she replied. "Just a little unsettling."

"Why?" he inquired, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"We've talked about this, Donnie. About taking things slow."

"And we both agreed we would. I'm just saying that the idea of marriage, me and you being husband and wife? It's not a scary thought. I'm not proposing or anything. Just commenting."

"It just freaks me out," she admitted, and wriggled out of his embrace. "This morning you were talking about us moving in together."

"I wasn't talking about it. I mentioned it. More specifically I mentioned you moving in here. My place is bigger, closer to work…"

"We're not ready for that," she said, opening the fridge and taking out a container of milk and carrying it over to where her tea sat steeping on the counter.

"You're not ready for that," Flack corrected her.

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes briefly. "Please don't do this," she whispered.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Is it okay to suggest that you leave stuff here? Like buy some things so that they're here for when you do stay over? Let me make space for you in the bathroom and my closet? Is it okay to suggest that?"

She nodded.

He sighed and joined her at the counter where she was stirring an excessive amount of milk into her tea. "I really am in this for the long haul, Samantha," he said quietly.

"I know you are, Donnie," she responded.

"Question is, are you?"

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. "How can you ask me that?"

"I need to know, Samantha. I need to hear, from you, what you're thinking. What you're feeling. I need that from you. Because I don't want to get hurt."

"Isn't it suppose to be me saying all of that?" she asked with a small laugh.

"I'm serious," he said. "I want to hear from you what's going on between us. What you want to go on between us."

"I thought I told you all of that on the subway," she sighed.

"Humor me," he told her, leaning against the cupboards. "Tell me again."

"Okay," she said, setting her mug down on the counter and than stepping in front of him and laying her hands on his sides. She looked up at him. Golden eyes fixed on blue. "I'm in love with you and falling more in love with you every day. You make me laugh and you make me cry and you make me dream. You make me want so much out of my life that I never, ever thought about before. I can see me, in the future, and hopefully the near future, being your wife and having your children and spending forever with you."

He smiled.

"But I need time, Donnie. I need time and I need you to be patient with me. You've been so amazing and wonderful with me and I need more of that from you. Can you give me that?"

He nodded and kissed her softly. "I can give you whatever you need, baby. You know that."

She smiled. "You know what I need from you first? What I want from you?"

"Breakfast?" he asked with a grin.

She shook her head. "Before breakfast."

"I thought you said you were starving," he said.

"I am. But there's something I need first. Actually, let me re-phrase that. There's something I need to do and want to do. For you."

"Yeah?" he pressed his lips to her forehead. "What's that?"

She licked her bottom lip and smiled devilishly and ran her hands down his chest to his waist as she sank down onto her knees in front of him. "I think you'll like it," she said, lifting his sweatshirt and reaching for his belt buckle. Undoing it effortlessly. "Returning the favour, so to speak."

"You don't have to," he told her, despite the fact his brain, and cock, was saying other wise as she popped open his button on his jeans and slid down the zipper.

"I want to," she assured him and yanked his pants and boxers down and over his ass and let them pool at his feet.

"Are you sure, because…"

A moan overtook all words and rational thought as a soft, warm hand closed around him and her lips touched the head of his cock.

"I'm sure," she said, licking him gently.

He said no more after that. And he learned two things very quickly.

The first was that he was never, ever going to let go of the woman he had in his life.

And the second was that in a case like this, breakfast could always wait.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! You guys are the ones that keep me writing! So, if you're jonesin' for more of my shtick, as Sammie would say, please drop a review! It would mean a lot! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**hope4sall**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**muchmadness**

**GregRox**

**Laplandgurl**

**wolfeylady**

**Shopaholic20**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**bluehaven4220**


	5. Everybody hates Mondays

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE READING AND REVIEWING AND ADDING ME TO ALERTS! MUCH LOVE AND APPRECIATION TO ALL OF YOU! BEG 75**

**FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE ASKED, SAM IS BASED, PHYSICAL APPEARANCE WISE, ON RACHEL BILSON**

**ALSO, THERE'S A POLL UP ON MY PROFILE PAGE. PLEASE VOTE! I AM LETTING YOU GUYS DECIDE WHAT KIND OF SHINDIG (THAT WAS FOR YOU LAURZZ. SHINDIG ;) THAT SAMMIE AND FLACK HAVE THIS TIME AROUND**

* * *

**Everybody hates Mondays**

"Well you done done me and you bet I felt it  
I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted  
I fell right through the cracks  
Now I'm trying to get back  
Before the cool done run out  
I'll be giving it my best  
And nothing's gonna to stop me but divine intervention  
I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some  
But I won't hesitate no more, no more  
It cannot wait, I'm yours  
Well open up your mind and see like me  
Open up your plans and damn you're free  
Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love  
Listen to the music of the moment, maybe sing with me  
All - ah peaceful melody  
And it's our God-forsaken right to be loved love loved love loved."  
-I'm Yours, Jason Mraz

* * *

The buzzing of the clock radio on the nightstand was an unwelcome intrusion to a deep and peaceful sleep.

Quarter after five in the morning came too early. Way too early as far as Flack was concerned. Falling asleep when it was pitch black outside and than waking up to the same conditions played horrible, cruel tricks on your internal clock. The dull and dreary skies, the whipping, biting winds and the relentless downpour of snow that had besieged the city since early Sunday morning didn't help matters either. Neither did going to bed after midnight because for almost a month you had put off re-reading nearly year old notes for a case you were testifying in the next day. The label of being a horrible procrastinator had once again proven true and he'd attempted to, hopefully satisfactorily, cram everything as soon as the clock hit eight pm the night before.

With a loud groan, he rolled over onto his right hand side and with his eyes still closed, fumbled in the dark for the snooze button mounted on the top of the radio. He was aching for more sleep. Even another ten, fifteen minutes was better than nothing. Although he'd kill for another half hour. He was tired. Beyond tired, in fact. Which seemed strange considering all he done for the whole weekend was hang out on the couch. After the initial trip out to the drug store and to grab food, neither he or Sam had left the apartment. They ate nothing but junk food or take out. They watched whatever movies were playing on television. No matter how cheesy or stupid they were. They played poker. Strip poker, in fact.

It had become apparent, after he'd found himself in just his boxers and his girlfriend still fully clothed, that the little Brooklyn girl, despite her insistence's that she had never played poker before and didn't even understand it on television, was completely full of shit. She had admitted that winning card games was how she paid for meals and books when money was tight in college. He'd than teased her about how it was always the sweet, tiny, innocent ones you had to watch out for. Lindsay was the pool shark, Sam was the card shark.

She'd stuck her tongue out at him. The mere glimpse of that piercing was enough to turn him on. That simple act on her part had than resulted in a tickling match right there on the couch that had her shrieking and tears streaming down her cheeks as she announced she was going to pee her pants. He'd taken mercy on her, and the tickling had led nicely into a rather hot and heavy make out session. She'd gotten frightened and balked when he'd attempted to take things further and he'd put a quick halt on the intimacy. And had taken a cold shower. A long cold shower. He was trying to be as patient and understanding as possible. In fact, he'd had no idea he could be that patient and understanding. But it was getting harder and harder to do the right thing.

Flack had no idea how in the hell he was managing to share a bed with her and keep his sanity. Despite the fact that he was, as Sam so eloquently put it "getting his rocks off on a routine basis", he desperately craved that last step. That last remaining act of intimacy between them. The trust and the affection and the love that came with something so intense and powerful and personal. The thing that would cement their bond and their love more than oral sex or other forms of satisfying each other ever could.

To make matters worse, Sam was the cuddly type. Not that that was a complaint. He'd never shared a bed with a woman long enough to grow accustomed to having them beside him each and every night. But it was a damn struggle attempting to keep his hands off of her when she insisted on sleeping snuggled into him or at least touching him one way or the other. Whether it be her leg over his or her arm over his chest or stomach. Never mind how amazing it felt when her body came in contact with his or her hair brushed against his skin. And her smell. Intoxicating and alluring.

He wondered how in the hell he'd ever manage to survive without sleeping next to her for so long. Even with Angell, there'd been nights when he'd craved solitude. Where he just needed to be away from her. Which was why he'd avoided even entertaining the notion of living with her when she brought it up. Having his own place meant having somewhere to escape to. But with Sam, he wanted her around. All the time. And hated the loneliness that took over him when she wasn't around. Especially at night and early in the morning.

You're a pathetic, sappy bastard, Flack thought with a sigh and flopped over onto his other side. Beside him, the tiny figure buried under the mound of blankets and heavy duvet stirred slightly. Murmuring and sighing heavily as she slept on her stomach, her foot just grazing his leg and her face nestled into the pillow that they shared despite the fact she had a perfectly good one of her own.

His plan was, after he managed to drag himself out of bed and in for a shower and a shave, to set he alarm for eight o'clock so she could get all the sleep she could get before her ten am start at work. He'd leave the extra key on the kitchen counter and a note telling her to keep it permanently with the ones for her car and her own apartment. There was no sense, considering how they were going back and forth between each others places, to keep handing the thing to her each time she stayed over and he had to go in before her. And the simple act of her accepting that key, was almost as if she was accepting that his place was hers as well. And that brought them one step closer to putting an end to the separate apartments arrangement.

Sam sighed once more. He was pretty sure that she'd break out talking any second. She had a horrible habit of talking profusely in her sleep. About everything and anything. In a loud, clear voice. There were even times when she sat up, still fast asleep, and began yapping away. Last night, he'd carried on a fairly decent conversation with her about peanut butter, pickles and kitty litter. A weekend ago, he'd caught her sleepwalking and had to prevent her from journeying into the closet which she believed to be the bathroom.

There never seemed to be a dull moment, awake or not, with Samantha Ross. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

"Donnie?" she asked, in a tiny, quiet voice.

"Yeah?" he reached out and pushed her hair away from her face.

"What time is it?"

"Early," he told her. "Really, really early."

"How early is early?" she asked.

"Quarter after five."

She groaned. "That's too goddamn early," she declared. "Why are you up at such an ungodly hour?"

"I'm in court all day today, remember? I need to be there at eight to meet with the DA."

"Oh.." she said. "Oh yeah…"

"Go back to sleep, Sammie," he said and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She reached out and laid a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him in close as she covered his lips with hers in a lingering, slow kiss. Her tongue easily pushing its way into his mouth, the tip grazing across the tip of his several times before urgently plunging the whole thing into his mouth. She was an amazing kisser. So much feeling and emotion put into each kiss they shared. Sometimes maybe even too much. Such was the case that morning, as he lost himself quite willingly in her, his hand travelling over her body. Down her arm and back up again and than over her back and down to her ass. Grabbing it and squeezing it and fondling it before yanking her lower body against his. Enjoying the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair, her nails scraping tantalisingly against his scalp.

"Baby…" he breathed into her hair as her lips broke away from his and trailed across his jaw to his ear and than down onto his neck. His fingers digging into her flesh at the feel of her teeth gently nipping at the hallow of his throat.

"Hmmm?" she licked a path from his throat, up underneath his chin and to his lips. Tracing the outline with the tip of her tongue.

"We need to stop," he told her. "This…we can't be doing this…"

"We're not doing anything," she said and kissed him deeply. Pressing her breasts into his chest, her hand on the back of his head as she held him in position.

He broke away from her, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah…we are. And we need to stop."

"That's a first for you," she said. "Putting a halt on things."

"If I don't, I'm going to be really, really late. And I can't afford to be late. Not to mention, we're going to get into things and this time, I'm not going to be able to stop. So…" he reached behind his head and taking her by the wrist, removed her fingers from his hair and sat her hand down on the pillow. "It's best we just don't get all worked up."

"Who says I was going to tell you to stop?" she asked.

"All the more reason we can't get into things. Not enough time to do exactly what I want to do to you. First time isn't going to be this desperate, fast kind of fuck, Sam. And honestly, you deserve better than something like that anyway."

She smiled and kissed him. "Ever the romantic. If people only knew the real Donald Flack Jr. The sappy, corny hopeless romantic."

"I'm glad people don't know that part of me," he said, rolling away from her and sitting up. "I've got a reputation to uphold. So let's keep that knowledge to yourself."

"And what reputation would that be?" she asked, rolling over onto her side and moving closer to him. She pressed kisses along the small of his back and curled her arm around him from behind. "The mean, aggressive, smart mouth detective?"

"That's the exact one," he agreed, shivering at the feeling of her warm, moist mouth on his skin and the way her fingertips softly grazed across his stomach. Lingering on the thick, jagged scar.

At the beginning of their relationship, when things had began heating up between them and she'd attempted to remove his wife beater after making quick work of his dress shirt, he'd been hesitant about having her see the scars. It was a mess and certainly not pretty, and when he'd halted her hands, she'd looked confused and hurt. He'd explained to her that he didn't feel totally comfortable taking his shirt off in front of anyone. That it usually took him a while until he reached a certain level of trust and ease to be okay with letting whoever he was with see the scars left over from the bombing. She'd listened patiently and intently when he had told her about his injuries and the surgeries he'd had and the months and months of painful, tedious recovery.

She'd given a soft, beautiful smile that had taken his breath away. The intense, patient look in her eyes and on her face had told him that he could trust her. That she wasn't going to stare or recoil at the sight of a scar. And he'd peeled off that white beater, albeit somewhat self-consciously and nervously, and had held his breath as she laid her hands on his sides and than bent her head to place soft, tender kisses along the scar.

"It's okay, Donnie," she'd said, her voice a near whisper as she looked up at him. "Scars don't make you less of a man. And I have lots of them. Just mine you can't see."

That had been the end of his confidence issues. Seeing the tenderness in her eyes and feeling it in her touch, he knew that he could trust her. That she wasn't going to hurt him.

"What if I told them about how you're really like?" she asked. "That you're this sweet, caring and patient teddy bear."

"If you did that, I'd have to kill you," he said.

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his back and rolled away from him. "I hate when you have to go on before me." she complained.

"Makes two of us," he said, yawning noisily as he climbed out of bed. "I'd kill to be staying in bed with you."

"That would be nice," she sighed. Yawning noisily, she fluffed up her pillows before collapsing onto her stomach once again. "You'll wake me up before you leave?"

Flack nodded and leaned over the bed to tuck her in and kiss her softly. "Get some rest, babe. You're the one that needs the beauty sleepy anyway."

"Ha, ha," she snorted. "Very goddamn funny. Go and get your shower and leave the stand up comedy to someone with talent. Stick to your day job, baby. You know how much the gun and handcuffs turns me on."

"You're just a dirty girl, Samantha," he chuckled and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from his dresser before heading for the ensuite bathroom.

"You like it when I'm like that," she said. "All dirty and perverted one minute and than girl next door, cutesy and adorable."

"I do," he agreed. "And to play it up, I'm going to get you one of them hot little naughty school girl outfits."

"Why am I not surprised that would turn you on," she huffed. "You're a strange man, Don Flack."

"I can be," he admitted. "But I'm your man."

She smiled and sighed happily. "Yes," she agreed. "You are."

* * *

He had showered and now stood at the sink, in just his boxers and a wife beater, carefully taking a Gillette Mach Three razor to his shaving cream covered face. Sam often announced she was going to buy him an electric razor so that he didn't have such a long, tedious chore to do first thing in the morning. Shaving before he went to bed did Flack little good. By the time six in the morning rolled around he already had a very pronounced stubble and refused to go to work looking like that.

No matter how much his girl declared she liked the dark, smouldering bad boy look.

The bathroom door clicked open and he glanced through the mirror as Sam journeyed into the steamy bathroom, looking incredibly sexy and drop dead beautiful in what appeared to be her usual bed time attire as of late. One of his dress shirts with the cuffs rolled up several times and the bottom hanging way below her knees. A pair of his athletic socks that were impossibly large on her. And her waist length hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Loose tendrils skimming the sides of her face. She carried two mugs in her hands. The scent of fresh coffee permeated his senses and filled the room. Despite her always insisting that she was staying in bed when he got up earlier than she did, it had become somewhat of a routine that she'd make him a coffee and herself a tea and than sit in the bathroom while he shaved. It was usually the only time on a work day that they got a decent conversation in that didn't involved whatever cases they were embroiled in.

"Thanks, baby," he said, as she pressed a kiss to his back and than sat the mug of coffee on the back of the sink.

"You're lucky I'm so damn cheery when I first get up," she said, yawning as she put down the toilet lid and took a set.

"Why wouldn't you be? You get the best sleep out of both of us. You know, I'm going to have to get out my sleeping bag and camp out on the bedroom floor. How can you be that tiny and take up so much room in bed and steal all the covers?"

"A sleeping bag?" she sipped her tea. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

"Do you freeze your ass off at night?" he asked.

She smiled innocently.

"I didn't think so, Freckles."

"So is this the crazy caterer case you're testifying in today?" she asked. "The dead groom in the dressing tent and the wedding guests beating the shit out of each other?"

"You're forgetting about the part where the best man found him dead and stuffed the wound with packing peanuts and sealed it with bubble wrap and dressed him for the wedding and got him to the park so the best man wouldn't lose out on a hundred grand 'cause of some stupid bet."

"Why do you get all the cool calls and I get stuck helping my brother put together puzzles?" she asked with a grimace. "Seriously. Eighty grand for a degree and I get to park my ass in the lab all day and night and work on jigsaw puzzles?"

"First, I get paid to do the grunt work while you do the science shit. So I see more of the freaky stuff. Second, just think of all that quality time you spent with your baby brother. How much the two of you bonded."

Sam snorted.

"But yeah, that's the case. The caterer who went nuts 'cause the groom was treating like his bitch just like he did back in college. Snapped 'cause he missed his kid's party do go over the menu for like the hundredth damn time."

"That whole wedding sounded fucked to me," Sam declared. "I ever get married, it's like me and my husband and a few guests on some beach somewhere exotic."

"Man, you are so not used to being in a relationship are you," Flack commented. "At least not in one that's serious."

"Why?" she asked, perplexed.

"Because when you talk about stuff like that, you always say I."

"I wasn't going to say when we get married," she informed him.

"Why not?"

"Because talking like that freaks guys out," she reasoned. "Talking permanently too soon into a relationship scares them away."

Flack frowned. "You read way too much National Enquirer," he told her.

"That was Cosmo, actually," she grinned.

"Well whatever the hell it was," he said, as he paused shaving and took a sip of his coffee. "You need to not believe everything you read. 'Cause not all guys are like that."

"Oh I forgot," she said. "You're like one in a million."

"Don't be such a smart ass," Flack scolded her.

"Me?" she asked, gasping dramatically. "Never. I have to say though, I like having the guy that's one in a million."

He smiled, and setting his razor on the sink ledge, walked over to her and took her face in both hands and captured her lips with his in a long, firm kiss. Than proceeded to, after the need for air became a necessity, hold her firmly by the back of the head as he rubbed his cheeks against her face until she was squealing in protest and covered in shaving cream.

"Jerk!" she giggled, shoving him away. "That wasn't nice!"

"It wasn't nice saying I was just like every other guy," he informed him, and snagging a towel from the back of the door, used it to gently wipe her face clean.

"I made it up by saying I liked having the one in a million," she said, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as he softly patted her face with the towel. "This is like being at the spa," she sighed. "Think you could rub my feet while you're at it?"

"I'll rub something else," he murmured.

"You are so deprived," Sam laughed, pushing him away once more. "Which leads me into talking about someone that's depraved."

"Do I really want to hear this?" Flack asked, returning to the task at hand.

"Probably not," she admitted. "But seeing as you and I have adopted this whole open book, honesty is the best policy thing I figured it's in my best interest, if I want to remain your girlfriend, to tell you."

"Is it really that bad, Sammie?"

"I need to ask Mac when I get in if I can get a new number issued to my work cell," she said.

"Why?"

"Because Zack somehow managed to get a hold of it and when I turned my phone on half an hour ago there was forty one new messages. Forty one! Mind you, three quarters of them were hang ups so I can't prove that it was him."

"That guy's a fucking tool," Flack declared. "What did he say on the messages?"

"He actually started out all sweet and gentlemanly. The whole I miss you and want you back and I'm a changed man and all that other bullshit. Than he get a little pissy and whiny and launched into his I'll kill myself if you don't take me back crap. And than he finished off with his," Sam lowered her voice and puffed out her chest and spoke in a imitation of her ex's voice. "I'm a big, tough guy and I run the show. So don't make me come down there and beat some goddamn sense into you, you stupid little bitch."

"He fucking said that?" Flack asked, trying to maintain the calmness in his voice despite the fact he was gripping the razor so hard his knuckles turned white. "Those exact words?"

Sam nodded. "He's such a prick. Like who the hell does he think he is?"

"I don't know. But give me his address and I'm on the next plane to Phoenix and I'm going to hand him his ass."

"He just think he's some bad ass," she said, finishing her tea. "He's just pissed off I smartened up and took off and now that my ex bestie dumped his ass, he thinks he can just bully his way back into my life. He's a loser. Just ignore him."

"Hard to ignore the asshole when he's calling you forty times and telling you he's going to beat some goddamn sense into you."

"He won't actually do it," Sam assured him. "Do you really think he's going to waste his time and come all the way to New York City to smack me around? I think not. He's too lazy to walk down the driveway to get the paper never mind find his way here. He's harmless."

"Did you used to say that when he was beating the shit out of you and you were making excuses every time someone noticed the bruises?" Flack asked.

Sam frowned. "That was a little harsh," she complained.

"How long have you been doing the job, Sammie? What's it been? Ten years?"

"Almost eleven," she said. "But…"

"And in eleven years, especially those you spent as a uniform, how many battered women did you see that said the same thing about their partners? And how many of them ended up dead by these same assholes they defended?"

"I think you're making too much of a big deal over Zack, Donnie," she said.

"And I think you're making too little of a deal over him," Flack told her. "The guy's a fucking wackadoo and you sit there and tell me he's harmless? Give me his goddamn phone number and I'll call him right now and tell him…"

"No," she snapped. "I'm not giving you his number and you're not calling him. You're not going to go all overprotective, overbearing boyfriend on me."

"Any guy would get on the phone and threaten to break every bone in his body for calling you all the time and threatening you. What? You think you owe him something? You feel bad for dumping him right before the wedding? For taking money that was rightfully, and legally, yours? You think you've done him wrong and feel you need to make some kind of ammends?"

"I don't know," she said quietly, running the tips of her toes along the cold bathroom tiles. "I guess I think I could have handled things a little better. A little more mature."

Flack snorted and dropped the razor into the sink with a clatter. "Give me a fucking break," he said and turned the taps on to rinse the shaving cream off of his face. "You can't honestly tell me you think you did something wrong," he said, eyes closed, fumbling blindly for the towel resting on the counter top.

Sam got up and grabbed the towel and placed it in his hand. "I just think that I could have handled things better. I bailed on a wedding that cost nearly thirty grand. I emptied another ten out of bank account and took off."

"Is that what bothers you?" Flack laughed dryly. "The money? I already told you that I'd write a goddamn check and…"

"I never asked you to do something like that."

"No. You didn't. I offered. And if it's what I have to do to get him off your back, than I'll do it. And if I have to go there and beat the living shit out of him, I'll do that too. Because I love you and I'm not going to tolerate him calling you and threatening you like that."

"I'm a big girl, Donnie," she said gently. "I think I can take care of myself."

He just smirked and shook his head. "You know what I think, Sammie? I think you need to cut the battered spouse syndrome bullshit and realize that leaving Zack, no matter how you did it, was the smartest thing you've ever done. He's the bad person. Not you. So pull up your big girl pants and deal with it. Because the sooner you do, the sooner you can go on with your life. We can go on with our lives. Together."

"Oh that's just what I need, Don," she snorted, heading for the door. "You going all cop on me. You really need to work on the whole when to be a cop and when to be a boyfriend thing. 'Cause it's all screwed up most days."

"And what you need to is to grow up and stop running away every time something bad happens or you hear something you don't like," he told her, calmly rinsing the sink out and cleaning up after himself.

"You know what!" she snapped, pausing in the doorway and turning to face him. "You know what you need to do?"

"What's that, Sammie?" he asked, not even looking back at her. Knowing the best thing to do in order to avoid getting into a huge blow out, was to make light of the situation, and of her. The less of a big deal he made out of her outbursts, the more inclined she was to let shit go.

"You need to…you need to leave me alone!" she shouted. "I'm going back to bed!"

"I'll set the alarm for you," he called after her as she stomped into the bedroom.

"Whatever," she huffed.

"I left the spare key on the microwave and some money for you to take a cab if you want," he told her.

"Good for you!" she yelled back. "Take your key and your money and shove it."

He heard the mattress squeak as she flopped down onto it, followed by the rustling of sheets as she buried herself under them. And her muttering of profanities.

Flack smirked and finished cleaning up the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and headed back into the bedroom, trying his best to ignore the tossing and turning and mumbling going on behind him as he got dressed for work. It was killing him to not say a word to her as he buttoned up his light grey dress shirt and tended to his black, burgundy and grey stripped tie. By the time he was fully dressed and clipping his badge and holster to his pants, the mutterings and movement had stopped, and she'd unearthed herself from the covers and was pretending to sleep. The flickering of her eyelids giving her away.

He said nothing as he grabbed his watch from the night stand and slipped it on. And was halfway out the bedroom door when she called him back into the room.

"You weren't going to wake me up and say goodbye?" she asked, as she sat up in the rumbled bed.

"I didn't think you wanted me to piss you off anymore," he replied and walked over to the bed.

"Doesn't mean you can kiss me and hug me," she pouted. "What if something happened to you and I never got to see you before you walked out the door?"

"Don't be so fatalistic, Sammie," he said, and leaning over the bed, kissed her softly. "I'll call you when I get out of court, okay? I shouldn't be too long. Maybe we can have dinner. I'll have to work late to catch up on whatever work I miss today. So I probably won't be home until late."

"Did you want me to go to my place or come back here?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter to me. Just let me know where you are so I can show up at the right place."

"God forbid either of us had to spend a night sleeping alone," she said.

He kissed her again. "Get some sleep," he pressed her lips to her temple. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she said. "And you smell damn yummy."

"Have to please my throng of female admirers," he told her. "Good luck with Jess."

She groaned and threw herself backwards on the bed. "You just had to remind me of that. Am I in charge of telling everyone else too?"

"Tell whoever you want," he said and headed for the door. "And do me a favour?"

She nodded.

"Put that ring where it belongs," he said. "On the proper hand and the proper finger."

She smiled brightly and pulled the ring off of her right hand and slipped it onto the left. She held it up and wriggled her fingers. "You're such a sap," she giggled.

"Let's keep that between you and me," he teased, than closed the bedroom door softly behind him as he left.

She sighed happily and stared up at ceiling.

God I love you, she thought. More than you could ever possibly know.

* * *

"I brought the goods!" Lindsay announced, as she burst into the lunchroom at exactly nine thirty, holding aloft a take out bag from McDonald's.

Every morning, if an early morning call out didn't get in the way, she and Sam met at the exact same time to have breakfast together. Each day, someone treated. This Monday had been Lindsay's turn and she'd made a pit stop at the McDonald's around the corner and had loaded up on hash browns, Breakfast Burritos and pancakes with packages upon packages of syrup.

"I made the peppermint hot chocolate," Sam said, carrying two mugs of the steaming beverage over to an empty table.

"You have me so addicted," Lindsay declared, dropping the bag down on the table top and opening it to take up napkins and plastic cutlery before delving out the food. "So how was the rest of your weekend?" she asked, slipping into the chair across from her best friend. "I started to get worried when I only heard from you once on Sunday."

"We had a nice quiet, relaxing day," Sam told her. "I would have called you, but Donnie's getting a little possessive of me on our days off. He doesn't like to share."

"Danny's the same," Lindsay assured her. "And it is so damn cute when you call Flack Donnie."

"He hated it at first," Sam smiled. "All but begged me not to call him that. But I just love hearing him beg."

Lindsay laughed. "You're dirty, girl," she said. "And he's going to be begging soon if you don't go easy on the poor guy. Unless that's what you were really doing yesterday. Finally letting him go where barely any men have gone before."

"Sorry," Sam said. "He sadly remains a Sam-virgin."

"You're evil," Lindsay told her, digging into her pancakes. "Let the man get fucked already."

Sam nearly spit her hot chocolate across the table. "Lindsay!" she exclaimed.

The country girl shrugged. "Sorry. Just making an observation. Before that guy goes insane, just handcuff him to the bed and fuck him sensless."

"What has gotten into you? What did you and Danny do all weekend? Punish and torture each other?"

"Let's just say that Danny will have cuff marks on his wrists for a while. I was not at all gentle."

"Behind his back or to the head board?" Sam asked curiously.

Lindsay smiled innocently. "Both," she admitted.

The two girls burst into giggles.

"So have you guys talked about Valentines Day?" Lindsay asked.

Sam nodded and chewed on her burrito, swallowing before answering. "I told him I didn't want to do anything. That I didn't even want him to buy me anything."

"You're insane," Lindsay informed her. "It's your guys' first Valentines Day. He wants to spoil you, I saw all the power to him."

"He's already spoiled me enough," Sam told her. "This ring wasn't exactly cheap. I guess I wouldn't mind going out to dinner. I've always wanted to go to the Russian Tea Room. And flowers. I'd love it if he'd buy me flowers and deliver them to my desk. There's something so wonderfully romantic and sweet about that."

Lindsay made mental notes. "I'm just hoping that Danny remembers it's Valentine's Day," she sighed. "He's not always the most thoughtful, romantic guy."

"What guy is?" Sam asked. "And don't worry. I stuck a sticky note on his computer screen when I got in reminding him that it was Valentines Day soon and he better shower you with diamonds and everything else that your little heart desires."

Lindsay smiled. "Are you going to get Flack anything?"

"Actually," Sam sipped her drink. "I'm going to give myself something that's intended for him."

Her best friend arched an eyebrow.

"Up to a day of shopping soon?" Sam asked. "Like say to Victoria's Secret?"

Lindsay grinned. "That's the gift that keeps on giving. What are you thinking of?"

"I don't know. Something skimpy. Black lace. Pink even. Some little two piece thing with barely there underwear that he can't take his eyes or his hands, off of."

"Trust me, Sammie. It's what's under the undies he wants to get his hands on."

"That's the plan," the petite brunette said. "I am determined that I am going to go through with it. No more chickening out. I am going to just grab him and throw him down and say right here, right now, buddy. Because honestly, if I didn't have my monthly visitor, I would have done nothing all weekend but get laid. That is how badly I want him. And I am done being scared and feeling victimized by Zack. Because this is a guy that loves me and wants me the way I am."

Lindsay smiled.

"And goddammit, he's just so fucking hot," Sam declared. "I swear he's is something next to Godlike beauty. And naked?" she sighed happily and shook her head.

"So what you're saying is that Detective Flack is packing one mighty heavy duty concealed weapon," Lindsay concluded.

"Oh absolutely," Sam said.

The two friends laughed heartily at that.

Sam's cell phone, resting on the table, rang noisily. The petite brunette swallowed her bite of ketchup smothered hash brown and scooped her cell up and checked out the call display.

"What's wrong?" Lindsay asked, when she noticed the sigh Sam emitted and the frown that crossed her best friend's face. "Who is it?"

"Who else?" Sam muttered and sat the phone down on the table.

"When is he going to get the picture?" Lindsay grumbled. "Seriously. Tell him to grow up and get a fucking life. It's been a year. He's the one that treated you like shit. He's gone a whole year leaving you alone. Why is he trying to weasel his way back into your life now?"

"Isn't that always the way, Linds?" Sam asked. "Right when you're at your happiest, someone has to come along and fuck it up."

"Flack and Danny would gladly wipe their asses with him," she said.

The phone rang a second time. This time Lindsay scooped it up before her best friend had the chance to. With a quick check of the caller ID, she pressed talk and put the phone to her ear.

"Detective Monroe," she said in way of greeting. "No, she's not here," she told the unwelcome caller. "No, I don't know where she is and no I can't give her a message. In fact, let me give you one. Fuck off, Zack. Fuck off and stop phoning her. Stop leaving her messages and harassing. Let her go on with her life. She's met a really nice guy who doesn't shit all over her and beat her up and treat her like a dog and who doesn't sleep around with anything that shows interest. A guy, who would happily break every bone in your body, rip your head off, shove it up your ass and than shit down your throat. But before he does all of that, he'll torture you nice and slow like pieces of shit like you deserve. Am I making myself clear? Fuck off."

Sam's eyes were wide as Lindsay pressed end and sat the phone calmly down on the table and went back to her breakfast.

"I think he might leave you alone for a bit," Lindsay said.

"I can't believe you did that," Sam breathed in disbelief.

Lindsay shrugged. "What are friends for?" she asked.

Sam broke into a bright smile. Don Flack aside, the best thing that had ever happened to her was sitting right in front of her.

She would always thank God for the day he brought Lindsay Monroe into her life.

* * *

**Thanks to all of those who are R and Ring! And to anyone and everyone that is reading this, adding it to alerts, favs, etc. I appreciate all of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**bluehaven4220**


	6. You can't always get what you want

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: Just a reminder about the poll! A couple more days and I will close it! Get your vote in folks!**

* * *

**You can't always get what you want**

"As I sit in this coffee shop  
Halfway through your note, I had to stop  
Right near the end, the letter read  
Maybe when I leave I'll lead a life less empty  
Maybe we were waiting way too long to end this soap opera story  
You'll accept just half of all these consequences  
Maybe then that's when I'll finally say I'm sorry."  
-Say I'm Sorry, Theory of a Deadman

* * *

Danny Messer couldn't take his eyes off of her. The shimmering dark hair that tumbled clear to the small of her back and fell along the sides of her smooth, porcelain face as she bent over the lay out table across the room from him, quietly and intently examining evidence. The tiny, soft hands that worked so diligently on the task in front of her. The way the lab coat she wore swayed about her willowy body with each movement she made. How she sang along quietly to the music playing on the Ipod tucked into her pocket and one ear phone blasting tunes into her cranium.

He would have had to have been blind to not notice her. He'd noticed her the second she walked into the crime lab on her first day. The same way men noticed all attractive women that crossed their paths on a daily basis. It wasn't a personal thing. He'd had no desire to date her. His heart had always belonged to another despite the shit he'd been and the mistakes he'd made.

A beautiful woman was a beautiful woman. Didn't matter if she was your fiancee's best friend, or your best friend's girl. But what Danny noticed the most, what he couldn't tear his eyes away from was her mouth. Those soft, peach coloured full lips. And most specifically, the way, while she focused on her job, she had the tip of her tongue sticking out and the top of her piercing clamped between her teeth. She did it every time she was lost in thought or completely zoned in on something. And each time he felt himself shiver.

Sighing heavily, he finished processing the arrangement of clothing in front of him and double checked that everything was photographed and catalogued properly and that his name was on every single evidence tag. The lab, and the employees themselves, were going to be going through their yearly evaluation in just a matter of a couple weeks, and no one could afford any screw ups. Sinclair had his panties in a bunch over budget issues and cut backs, and everyone in that lab considered themselves a sitting duck.

Danny secured his evidence and pushed his glasses up onto his forehead. Sighing heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Got anything interesting there, Brooklyn?" he asked, glancing over at his friend.

It was safe to say she was, outside of Flack, his best friend. With no romantic feelings existing between them from the get go, they had segued smoothly and easily into a brother and sister type relationship. And a hell of a team work wise. The often smart mouthed Staten Island kid and the feisty little Brooklyn girl.

Samantha didn't respond. She continued to work on the bloody t-shirt in her hands. Peering at it intently through the large, illuminated magnifying glass mounted on the side of the table.

"Brooklyn?!" Danny called.

Again, no answer. Slipping his glasses back onto his face, he journeyed over and yanked one of the ear phones out.

Sam jumped, startled by the unexpected interruption.

"You're going to go deaf with these damn things in your ears all the time," Danny informed him. "Not to mention how damn loud it is."

"No sense listening to it if you can't hear it," Sam reasoned, and taking the second ear bud out, removed the Ipod from her pocket and turned it off before wrapping the ear phones around it.

"I was just asking if you found anything interesting," Danny told her.

"Not really," she sighed. "High velocity blood spatter across the board. A couple of hairs that I pulled from the inside of the shirt," she picked up a small, clear plastic evidence baggy and held it up. "It's human and I'm pretty sure, based on colour, length and texture, that it came from our victim. Other than that, I've got nothing. You?"

"Squat," Danny declared. "Fuck all. Hairs that are similar to the ones you collected. That's it. No foreign hairs or biological DNA."

"Maybe homicide is right," Sam said. "Maybe this is a straight up suicide. There's nothing putting any one else at the scene and there was that beginning of a suicide note that Scagnetti found when he first got there."

"But it was just the start of a note," Danny pointed out. "Most people actually finish the thing a couple of hours and even days before actually going through with the deed. And even you agreed, that judging by how shaky the writing was, it looked as if the vic was writing it under some kind of duress or threat."

"That's a long shot," Sam said. "Handwriting analysis couldn't even determine that. And if this was a suicide, where'd the gun go? He couldn't have just shot himself and the weapon walk off on it's own. We found no shell casings, no nothing. And it was a through and through. So where's the bullet itself? We scoured every inch of that place."

"So the guy killed himself and than someone came upon him and cleaned it up," Danny reasoned.

"Or someone killed him and cleaned it up," she said.

"Either way, Brooklyn, we got nothing to suggest it was anything other than suicide. We even have GSR on the vic's right hand. Supporting the evidence that he fired a gun recently and proving that he shot himself in the right temple."

"It only proves he fired a gun," Sam corrected. "The GSR proves nothing more than that."

Danny grinned. "I love how we go back and forth like this. How a tiny thing like you can hold her own. What about the vic's pants? Anything on those?"

Sam shook her head and sidestepped along the table to the neatly folded, blood soaked jeans encased in a plastic bag. "Blood spatter dictates that the vic was in the position we found him in when the fatal shot occurred. Nothing below the knee, showing he was sitting down and that from here…" she gestured to her knee and moved up to her neck. "…to here was above the table. I did however, find this…"

She scooped up a smaller evidence bag with a small, wrinkled and bloody piece of paper inside of it. "It says TD 212-555-6578."

"Obviously a phone number," Danny concluded.

Sam smirked. "Obviously," she said sarcastically. "Boy, you are quick on the ball. It took me forever to figure that out."

"Smart ass," he grinned. "We should run this number down to Adam. See if he can get us a name, and an address for this TD character."

"We?" she asked. "Or you?"

"Well I was planning on making a DNA run in the small chance that in the mix of all that blood there's another donor," Danny told her.

"Tell Adam to put a rush on that number," Sam said and smiled sweetly.

"You just have a way of turning me into your personal errand boy," Danny sighed. "You wanna grab some lunch after this? I'm starving."

"As much as I'd love to be treated…"

"Don't push your luck, Brooklyn…"

"I have to meet Angell for lunch," she sighed, snapping off her latex gloves. Rolling them into a ball, she tossed them into the trash can resting at the end of the table. "I called her yesterday and asked her to meet me."

"You're going to drop the bomb?" Danny asked. "About you and Flack?"

Sam nodded and began gathering up her evidence.

"Good luck with that. Think she's going to have a conniption?"

"Probably," Sam said. "She was crazy about him. She was pretty sure Don was the one. She was all but planning out their wedding and how many kids they'd have and what their names would be."

"Well she was seriously delusional than," Danny declared. "Because Flack wasn't feeling all of that. Why do you think he insisted they keep living apart? All those times she was pressuring him to shack up with her and he refused? He did it because she drove him nuts after too long and he needed to get away from her every so often. He had no intention on ever marrying her or having kids with her."

"He was with her for eight months, Danny," Sam pointed out.

"And your point? He may have been with her but he wanted you. He just needed to get some balls and go after you like I kept telling him to do. I was on his ass nearly every day since he met you to just suck it up and ask you out. But no. He had to be a stubborn bastard because he said he didn't know how you felt about him. And he was too scared to screw up that older brother, little sister thing you two had going on. Worried that if that fucked up, working together would be impossible. It was all a load of shit if you ask me."

"Sometimes starting out as friends first makes people better lovers," Sam said. "Maybe that's the case for me and Don."

"Lovers? Don't you actually have to sleep with the guy in order for you to call yourselves that?"

Sam smirked and carried the bagged clothes over to the evidence locker across the room. "I am not discussing my sex life with you, Danny Messer," she said, punching in the security code into the keypad mounted on the locker door. There was a dull click and the heavy metal door swung open. So if you and my boyfriend are going to delve into some locker room talk, I would prefer to not hear about it."

"No locker room talk," Danny assured her, as she placed her evidence inside and he hurried off to grab his. "It was completely respectful towards you. Flack wouldn't talk shit about you, or about what goes on between you guys. He was just bitching and moaning about not sealing the deal."

"Sealing the deal?" Sam snorted and waiting for him to set his evidence bags inside, closed the locker. "Is that what they call it these days? Before it was hitting it out of the park and tapping that ass and a wide variety of other tame and vulgar ways of saying it. It is what it is, Danny. Sex. Making love. Whatever. Don't use some sophomoric term because you're scared of offending me or hurting my feelings."

"You kidding me?" he laughed, snapping off of his own gloves and hurling them into the trash before peeling off his lab coat. "You've got a worse mouth and mind than I do. You should be worried about offending me and hurting my feelings."

"I'm the girl that your mother always worried you'd bring home someday," Sam teased him, shedding her own lab coat and hanging it beside Danny's on a coat rack mounted near the door.

"You're the girl that I was always making out with in the back seat of my old man's car or in my bedroom and than hiding you in the closet from my mother," he chided, slinging his arm about her slender shoulders and pulling her into him as they headed out the door.

"Sorry, Messer. Even as a teenager, I was way out your league," Sam said, golden eyes sparkling playfully.

"You wound me, Brooklyn," Danny told her and pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of her head.

"Hey it's the gruesome twosome," Adam called out as he stepped out of the adjacent AV lab. "You guys better watch. I hear that new Inspector is lingering in the shadows somewhere. Wouldn't want her to write you guys up for being unprofessional."

"Your sister and I are only unprofessional when it comes to the locker room or the closest available janitor's closet," Danny assured the lab tech.

"You are so lucky I know you're joking," Adam said, his voice, and face dead serious. "Or else I'd have to kick your ass for talking like that about my sister."

"Scary thing is that I know you'd do it," Danny told him. Holding the evidence bag containing the phone number in between his middle and forefinger, he held it out to the younger man. "Please and thank you," he said. "We need you to find out who that number belongs to ASAP."

"I've got about fifteen million other things to do," Adam complained. "Surveillance tapes to go through for Stella and a couple of lap tops I need to search, not to mention that Blackberry that belonged to your vic needs a good look through and…"

"Well I suggest you get to work than," Danny clapped the lab tech on the shoulder. "I'm heading to DNA. Sure you'd rather torture yourself with Angell, Sam instead of having me buy lunch?"

"Unfortunately, it's something that needs to be done," Sam told him. "I'll take a rain check though."

"A'right," Danny said and headed off down the hall. "Maybe I'll call my boyfriend and see if he's out of court yet and wants to hook up somewhere."

"He left a message on my cell," Sam called to her friend. "He got out quarter to eleven. He's probably back at the precinct already."

Danny offered up a wave to show that he had heard her before disappearing into the DNA lab to hand in the hair and blood samples.

"Have you eaten, Adam?" Sam asked her younger brother. "I can bring you something back if you want me to."

"I'm okay," he replied. "It's just…I really, really need to talk to you about something."

Sam frowned. "What kind of something? A bad something or a…"

"A not so pleasant something," Adam admitted reluctantly. "Or should I say a not so pleasant somebody."

His older sister sighed and reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "This not so pleasant somebody wouldn't happen to have a first name that starts with a Z would it?"

Adam bit his lip and nodded.

Sam put her hands on her slender hips and shook her head.

"He's been calling me non stop for nearly two weeks now, Sammie. I started screening all his calls about five days ago and he suddenly switched numbers so I didn't know who it was phoning. It's a constant thing. All hours of the day, too."

"Is he drunk?" Sam asked.

"Some of the times," Adam replied.

"And what are these calls like? Sober or intoxicated."

"Everything starts off nice and pleasant. Asking me how you are and if things are going okay with you. And than as the day drags on he gets nastier and nastier and when I refuse to give him your address or your personal cell number now that you've changed it or your extension here, that's when he goes off the deep end. About how he's going to come down here and find you and teach you a lesson. Or how he's going to come here and find you because he loves you and he screwed up and he can't stand the thought of living without you any longer."

"And what have you said to him?"

"I told him that if he loved you that much he never would have treated you the way he did. And if never would have treated you the way he did, that you'd still be in Arizona, as his wife, instead of all the way in New York City moving on with your life."

"And?" Sam pressed for more information.

"And he told me I needed to mind my own business before he came down here and taught us all a lesson."

"He's an asshole," Sam declared. "Has he said anything to you about Don?"

"He just wanted to know who this guy was that you were seeing. I guess Flack didn't tell him much about himself."

"Don's always too busy telling Zack to fuck off to engage in small talk with him. Zack knows his name and that he's a cop. A detective. That's it. Did you tell him anything more about Don? Or about me and Don?"

Adam shook his head. "All I told him was that you were extremely happy for the first time in a long time and that you deserved to stay that way and that it was in his best interest to just leave you alone and get on with his life."

Sam smiled and stood on her tip toes to peck her brother's cheek. "You're a Godsend, Peanut."

Adam blushed slightly at the use of his childhood nickname. One his sister had never been able to fully abandon. She was the only one that called him that and he didn't mind one bit.

"Thanks for giving me a heads up," Sam said, and started in the direction of the locker room. "If he calls anymore, just keep telling him off."

"Will do," Adam assured her. "Hey…you don't think he'd actually come here and cause trouble, do you?"

Sam paused with a hand on the door to the locker room. "He couldn't be bothered to fight for me when we were in the same city," she said. "Why in the hell would he take up some of his valuable time coming here? He's all talk, Peanut. He's pissed off with the way his life is going and all the regrets he has are biting him in the ass. He's not going to come anywhere near New York City. Trust me."

Adam sighed heavily as his sister disappeared into the locker room.

_Why does something tell me this is going to be one of those times I shouldn't have trusted you, _he thought, and turned and headed down the hall.

* * *

"So how'd it go?" Danny asked, as he slid into a booth at Ray's across from his best friend. The simple phone call had proved fruitful.

Flack had been on his way back to the precinct and had agreed to meet up for a quick lunch. Danny had found his friend at a window seat, checking messages on his Iphone and looking agitated and pissed off. Two moods that were a common occurrence with the homicide detective.

"It came, it went," Flack replied grumpily, pressing end on his cell and tucking it into the pocket of his suit jacket. "I waited until ten thirty to get on the stand, and once I do, I'm not on there for a half an hour and one of the members of the jury starts complaining that they don't feel well. So we take a short recess. Or at least what was suppose to be a short recess. Judge comes out and informs us we're excused for the day because said juror is too ill to continue."

"That's always a pain in the ass," Danny declared, holding up a hand to signal for the waitress. "You know when you got to go back?"

"The DA will be in touch," Flack said. "So who the hell knows? How goes things with that shooting in the Bronx you and Sammie caught this morning?"

"It goes," Danny sighed. "Lots of questions with this one. Thought it was a homicide and now we're leaning towards suicide. All the signs are there that this guy offed himself. Bullet wound to the right temple, partial suicide note, GSR on his hand, blood spatter that determines he died where he sat."

"But," Flack said, sipping a cup of black coffee. "There's a but."

"Wound was a through and through but we found no bullet in the path of trajectory. Just an empty damn hole in the wall. And no weapon."

"Someone could have found your boy dead and cleaned up a bit," Flack reasoned. "Or they found him and found it a necessity to hide what he'd done."

"My thoughts exactly. But why clean up the scene and call the cops? It was a neighbour that heard the gun shot and called."

The waitress stopped by the table long enough to fill Danny's cup and drop off two menus.

"They hear anything else?" Flack asked. "Any fighting or raised voices before hand? How about afterwards? They hear anything after the gunshot? Doors slamming? Someone running down the hall?"

"I know what questions to ask, Flack," Danny reminded him.

His best friend held up his hands in self defence. "Force of habit, Dan-o. I can't turn that part of me off. It's one of my faults."

"Sam bitching about that again?" Danny asked, snagging two packages of sugar from a small metal basket on the table.

"She says I don't know how to separate my cop side from my boyfriend side. That I go all detective on her when she needs me to be the patient and understanding and caring boyfriend."

"Let me guess," Danny said, smacking the packages against the palm of his hand before tearing them open and dumping them into his coffee. "You guys were talking about Zack?"

"Lucky guess," Flack snorted and flipped open his menu.

"Still say we should go to Arizona and hand that guy his ass," Danny said. "She hear from him all weekend?"

"He's left her some messages," Flack responded. "She had her cell off since Saturday morning and he doesn't have my home or my cell number."

"Lucky for him," the CSI said. "Think she should get a restraining order against him?"

"Honestly? I don't know, Mess. Because what good is a restraining order going to do when the guy isn't even in the city. A judge would laugh in my face. But than on the other hand, knowing what Zack is capable of and because I wouldn't put it past him to come to New York City, I think having an order of protection against him would be a smart move."

"And than there's the third part of you that doesn't want to go all paranoid, over protective boyfriend."

Flack nodded. "Exactly. I want to trust her enough to handle things on her own and to come to me if she feels things are out of control. But she's never had a guy in her life, other than maybe Adam and her step dad, that she's been able to rely on. It's hard for her to let that part of herself go."

"If you want my opinion, if I may be so bold to give it…."

"By all means."

"I'd be keeping a damn close eye on this Zack guy. 'Cause from what we know, he's unpredictable and vicious. He's not letting go of her without a hell of a fight. And it's better to keep an eye on that end of things without Sam knowing, than it is going all cop on Sam and having her pissed off on you."

"You're thinking he's going to show up here?"

Danny shrugged. "I don't know what to think. I just know that if it was Linds, I'd be doing whatever it takes to protect her."

"I'll kill him, Danny," Flack said, his voice cold. "If he even comes near her, I'll kill him. I waited too long to have her to just let him walk in and fuck that all up."

"Well let's just hope he keeps his ass in Arizona where he belongs."

Flack just nodded.

The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence. Their eyes on the menus in front of them, but their minds a thousand miles away.

"So I got a question to ask you," Danny said, after they'd received their meals.

"Work related or personal?" Flack inquired, grabbing the ketchup bottle resting on the window ledge and drowning his fries with the red, gooey condiment.

"Personal," Danny responded. "About Brooklyn."

"We haven't had sex yet so spare your breath."

"Wasn't what I was going to ask. What I want to know is if what they say about girls with tongue rings is true."

"What do they say?" Flack asked, popping a fry into his mouth. "And whose they?"

"They. Guys who have girls with tongue rings. And seeing as you're the only guy I know with a girl with a tongue piercing I figured you were perfect to ask. And you know what they say. About how these girls give better…you know…"

"No," Flack said. "I don't know."

"Come on," Danny argued. "Don't play stupid. You know what I'm talking about. I've heard that girls with tongue rings give really good…do I really need to spell this out for you?"

"Apparently," Flack said. "'Cause I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mama fungole," Danny huffed. "You're just loving seeing me squirm."

Flack grinned and nodded. "Don't be shy, Mess. Spit it out."

"Head, you moron. Head. I heard that girls with tongue rings give amazing head. You got a girl with a piercing. So is it true? Is it as mind blowing as I've heard it is."

Flack smirked, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of cheeseburger. He swallowed and took a sip of coffee before answering. "Let's put it this way, Dan-o," he said. "The first time she ever did it? I totally forgot the names and faces of any other woman I've had do it to me before her."

Danny stared at him. "You serious?"

"It's not just mind blowing. It's out of this fucking world. Plain and simple."

Danny snorted and shook his head. "You lucky bastard."

"Bet you're just wishing you'd hooked up little Brooklyn when you had a chance," Flack laughed.

"There was a time I'd considered it," Danny agreed. "When it seemed as if Linds and I were a complete lost cause. But I wouldn't give up my Montana for anything in the world."

"Good," Flack said. "'Cause I've loved Brooklyn and survived so she's not going anywhere."

"You're a goddamn sap," Danny complained, biting into his grilled cheese.

"I got a question of my own," Flack said.

"What's that?" Danny asked.

"Those bruises on your wrists are something else. What happened? Monroe get a little carried away playing cops and robbers this weekend?"

Danny blushed furiously.

"It's all good, Mess," Flack laughed. "Your secret is safe with me. Little Brooklyn's a perverted little thing too. She's already told me about her cop fetish. Her and Monroe are one in the same."

"Damn women," Danny grumbled. "So you seen that new Inspector lately?"

"Gillian Whitmore?" Flack asked and shook her head. "Gerrard's replacement? I think I've seen her twice since she's been here."

"What do you think of her?"

The detective shrugged. "She seems alright. I think she's said all of three words to me. Gerrard was a prick, but he got to know his people. Called you by your name. She calls out Hey you! And twenty-five guys all turn around. Locks herself up in her office. At least the old man was out and about. Showing up at your desk to make sure you weren't picking your ass or slacking off. He showed an interest in your cases. I'd take him on his worst day over someone completely non-existent like her."

"I think she's gunning for the lab," Danny admitted. "I think she's out to get some of us. I think she's got a big old shit list and she's getting ready to start checking off names."

"What makes you think that?"

The CSI shrugged. "Just a gut feeling."

"Doubt Mac is on that list. I heard he took her out for coffee."

Danny frowned. "When the hell did that happen?"

"I don't know when. I only know it did."

"So her and Mac are knocking boots or what?"

Flack shrugged. "Who knows. Good for him if he is. Guy deserves some action if you ask me. I just never thought he'd be the type to dip his pen in the company ink."

"Well he was with Peyton," Danny reminded his best friend.

"Banging the deputy inspector and banging the ME are two totally opposite ends of the scale, Mess."

Danny laughed. "True…I always thought he had more morals and good judgement than us little people."

Flack chuckled. "Exactly. Thought he was above the rest of us. Didn't think he'd be like us, getting lucky in the CSI garage at three in the morning and scoping out the supply closets."

"I gotta say though, Flack," Danny said, sipping his coffee. "The company ink pool has been mighty generous to me and you. Guess the good ones rose to the top of it and we scooped 'em just in time."

"Could you imagine if Sam had have hooked up with Mac?" Flack asked, and shuddered at the thought.

"Can't picture Brooklyn nailing the boss," Danny said.

"You kidding me? She's got a massive crush on him. Says it makes her all hot and bothered when he goes, and I quote, Marine Mac on people."

Danny nearly choked on his lunch. "You serious?"

Flack nodded. "Disturbing, huh?"

"No more disturbing than Montana crushing on Adam."

Flack grimaced. "Adam? Adam Ross? Lab tech Adam? As in my girlfriend's kid brother?"

"The one and only," Danny confirmed. "She says that he's adorkable. And that, and this is a quote from my soon to be wife, I could teach him everything he needs to know."

Flack shook his head. "There's something wrong with her and Sam, Dan-o. There's something seriously wrong with our woman."

"Tell me about it," he snorted. "But you know what? We wouldn't give them up for anything in this world."

Flack found no cause to deny that.

* * *

Sam found her friend at a quaint table at the back of their favourite Italian bistro a block from the crime lab. When their schedules permitted a sit down lunch filled with laughs and chit-chat that didn't involve work, it was the place they sought shelter at. They'd sit back and relax and dine on fettucini alfredo or homemade lasagna and tiramisu and sip lattes and cappuccinos. Angell would listen quietly and intently to Sam complain about her personal life. Or lack there of. Sam would tearfully talk about horrible times with Zack and the really, really good ones. Because despite it all, he hadn't always been a monster and there had been moments with him that had meant a lot to her.

Angell would beam and talk about how great things were in her life. About how amazing Flack was. A loving, attentive and caring boyfriend. Three aspects no one ever knew he possessed based on his personality on the job. And while she'd wax poetic about being madly and passionately in love, and how she'd give anything to spend forever with him and have a family with him, Sam would keep a brave smile on her face when in reality her heart was breaking inside. Because she had desperately wanted to be in Angell's shoes.

And now she was. And now her friend looked miserable and crestfallen as she sat at the table, her dark hair falling around her face. A hand to her forehead as she studied the menu in front of her.

"Sorry I'm late," Sam said, as she unbuttoned her soft pink wool pea cut and undid her black chenille scarf. Draping both over the back of her chair before slipping into it. "I got held up at the lab."

"It's okay," Angell gave a small smile. "I'm just glad you made it. I was really started to get paranoid about the way you've been avoiding me."

"It's not that I've been avoiding you, Jess," Sam told her, smiling her thanks at the young waitress who hurried over to fill her glass with ice water. "We've been working opposite shifts and there hasn't been a good time for us to get together. I haven't had a lot of free time on my hands. And I've got a lot going on that I'm trying to balance at the moment."

"Relationships are like that," Angell said with a sigh. "How goes things with the mystery boyfriend?"

"Things are going really good," Sam told her. "We're having a good time together. He's a really nice guy. Boyishly charming and very tender and sweet."

"And still a mystery," Angell added. "How come none of us have met him yet?"

"He works a lot of hours," Sam reasoned. "And he's a little on the shy side and hasn't been ready to meet all of my friends. He's wanted us to just have a lot of time together. That's all. I guess he's a little selfish that way."

"And does he have a name? A profession?"

"He's a cop. I told you that."

"And no one has ever seen him?"

"New York City is a huge place," Sam said.

"And he has a name?" Angell pressed.

"Of course he has a name," Sam laughed.

Angell arched her eyebrows and waited.

"Look, I'm just…" Sam fought to find the words. Nervously pushing a piece of hair behind her left ear.

"Whoa…" Angell reached across the table to grab her friend's left hand. "Not only does he have a name, he obviously has some serious intentions when it comes to you to give you something like that. When did you get that?"

"I've had it for a while now," Sam admitted. "Since Christmas. I've just kept it at home because I was afraid of losing it and never had time to get it sized."

_I am going to hell,_ Sam thought miserably. _One person can not lie this much and not avoid a life of eternal damnation._

"It's beautiful," Angell said with an appreciative nod.

"Thanks. He calls it a commitment ring."

"Boy is serious about you. Now what is this boy's name?"

Sam sighed and sipped her water. "His name's Don," she said.

"Don what?" Angell asked.

"Don Flack," Sam replied.

The other woman blinked. "Excuse me?" she asked, her eyes slowly narrowing.

"I'm sorry, Jess," Sam said sincerely. "I am so sorry. It's why I came here today. To tell you about this. About Don and I. And it's why I've been finding it so hard to hang out with you and talk to you and all of that. Trying to keep this inside and…"

"Trying to lie, you mean," Angell snorted.

"We never intended to lie. We were just protecting ourselves. We wanted to get to know each other outside of work before things got around the lab and the precinct. And we wanted to protect you."

"Bullshit," Angell snapped.

"We didn't want to hurt you," Sam insisted. "Because I knew how much you loved Don. And he knew how much you loved him and he felt bad that he couldn't give you that back. But we didn't want to hurt you."

"And this isn't hurting me?" Angell fought to keep her voice down. "This isn't hurting? To find out that my friend is dating my ex-boyfriend? And that she was probably fucking him while I was with him?"

Sam shook her head. "Nothing ever happened between Don and I when you were with him. Ever. We waited until after the two of you broke up and…."

"It was you!" Angell hissed. "That night that he dumped me because he said he had these feelings for someone else and needed to take a chance on her. That was you!"

Sam sighed and nodded slowly.

"How could you do that to me, Samantha? How could you just fall into bed with him knowing how much I loved him?!"

"That's not what happened, Jess. We didn't just fall into bed with each other. We started a relationship. It wasn't a sex thing. It still isn't. We love each other and…."

"You love each other?" Angell gave a laugh. "Just like that? You two fell in love that quickly?"

"Not exactly," Sam admitted.

"What does that mean? Not exactly?"

"Don and I…" Sam sighed. "Don and I have had these feelings for a long time. Since I came to New York. Only we decided the best thing for us was to be friends. Like this big brother, little sister thing. And it just got too much to bear. We had to do something about it."

"You've always had a thing for him?"

Sam nodded. "I just never acted on it. Especially after the two of you got together."

"So all those times I was going on and on about Don and I, you were just sitting there with all these feelings for him?"

"I never said anything because I knew how you felt about him. And you guys seemed so happy. I didn't want to screw that up, Jess. But it killed me inside. To hear you go on and on about how amazing he was and how great things were."

"Don't you fucking turn this into a woe is me, let's pity poor Sam party," Angell snapped. "Don't you fucking do that to me. You don't have the right to sit there and act like you're the one that was wronged when you were the one wanting to screw my boyfriend behind my back."

Sam shook her head. "That's not the way it was."

"You know, I should have known something like this was bound to happen. I always had this gut feeling that he had a thing for you. I'd notice these ways that he acted around you. The way he watched you. The way he smiled at you. The way his entire face seemed to light up when you walked into a room. How he always managed to find some way of being close to you while making it discreet enough that no one suspected anything."

"He wasn't like that, Jess," Sam argued.

"He was. And everyone noticed it except for you."

The petite brunette sighed.

"I mean what did I really expect? You're a beautiful, intelligent girl."

"And so are you!" Sam cried. "Look at you! You're stunning and you're smart and…"

"But not stunning and smart enough for Don Flack," Angell concluded.

"What do you want me to say?" Sam asked. "I've already said that I was sorry!"

"You're sorry!" Angell snapped, pushing her chair away from the table noisily and standing up. "What are you sorry for? For being a liar? For being a shitty friend? For being a home wrecking slut?"

Sam shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry that Don and I kept things from you."

"But you're not sorry that you hooked up with him, are you! You're not sorry you screwed around with him behind my back?"

"I never screwed around with him!" Sam jumped to her feet. "Nothing happened between Don and I until after he broke up with you! I'm not the other woman, Jess!"

"Maybe not physically. But emotionally. Emotionally he was with you the entire time he was with me."

"Things happen!" Sam cried. "I never expected him to come after me like he did! I never, ever expected him to ever feel the same way about me that I feel about him! It just happened and I don't regret making the decision to get involved with him! I love him and he loves me and…"

"You love him and he loves you," Angell chided, yanking her coat on. "Isn't that just the perfect little existence for the two of you."

"It wasn't my fault that he dumped you, Jess!" Sam said, not bothering with her coat as she chased her friend down as Angell headed for the exit.

"He broke up with me to be with you and you have the nerve to tell me it wasn't your fault!"

"I never asked him to come to me!"

"But you wanted him to," Angell snorted, pushing her way out into the bitter cold. "You just admitted you've had feelings for him for a long time."

"I never meant for things to happen the way they did," Sam said, stepping outside as well. "But they did happen and Don and I do love each other. And he deserves that and I deserve that. After Zack, I…"

"Spare me your fucking victim bullshit, Samantha! If you lied this much to him as you did to me, than I can see why the hell he treated you like he did!"

Sam shook her head and held up her hands in surrender. "You know what? I am not even going to dignify that with a response. You don't know what went down between Zack and I. What he was really like."

"I know enough. I was the one that listened to you talk about how he beat you and talked to you like a piece of shit! How he cheated on you with anything that crossed his path! But after this? After this I know enough about you to know that if you were like this with him, it's no wonder he felt he needed to keep you in your place."

"I never deserved what Zack did to me," Sam said, her voice quiet.

"And I never deserved what you and Flack did to me," Angell countered.

Sam's cell phone, encased in a leather pouch clipped to the pocket of her black dress pants, rang noisily. She sighed and pulled the Iphone out and checked the caller ID. "Don," she said with a heavy sigh. Talk about extremely bad timing, she thought. "Jess, I really need too…"

"Take it," she challenged. "Let's see how you and lover boy interact with each other. See what I'm missing out on."

Sam glared at her and pressed the talk button. "Detective Ross," she said in way of greeting. In case it wasn't a personal call.

"Sammie…it's me," Flack said. "I've got Lindsay with me. Where are you?"

"I'm at Lucerno's Bistro by the lab," she responded. "Why's Lindsay with you? What's going on?"

"Mac needed Danny to do some work for him on his case. But Adam got a name. For that phone number you found in your vic's pants."

"What are you doing on this case?" Sam asked. "Scagnetti caught it."

"Let's just say I have a personal interest in it now and Mac asked me to run with it."

"Donnie, what's going on?"

"That number you found? With the initials TD?"

"Okay…."

"That number belongs to Terrence Davis. My CI."

"And we're on our way to talk to him," Sam concluded.

"Linds and I will be there to pick you up in ten minutes," Flack told her and hung up.

Sam pressed end on the phone and slipped it back into its holder. "I'm sorry, Jess," she said to her teary eyed friend. "There's a break in the case and…"

Angell held up a hand to silence her. "We're done here anyway, Samantha," she said, and with her head held high, turned on her heel and headed off down the snowy sidewalk.

Sam sighed heavily and shook her head sadly and turned back towards the restaurant.

"And for the record!" Angell called to her, facing her friend once more, walking backwards. "I'm really sorry too. That you ever came to New York City!"

Sam didn't respond. She simply pulled open the door to the restaurant and slipped inside.

As much as it hurt to lose a friend, life had to go on.

And so did love.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you for all of your support! And a huge thanks to those adding me to alerts and favourites!**

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	7. Flack's Girls

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK (YES, THAT'S HER NAME THIS CHAPTER) AND THE SOON TO BE INTRODUCED TWINS.**

**A/N: AS MOST OF YOU KNOW FROM MY PREVIOUS WORKS, THE MUSE IS A SLAVE TO THE FUTURE CHAPTERS. AND WHAT THE MUSE WANTS, THE MUSE GETS. SO THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!**

**THANKS TO ALL OF YOU ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**THIS GOES OUT TO TWINKEYROCKS AND ILUVPETERPETRELLI. THEY KNOW WHY…..**

* * *

**Flack's Girls**

"And I don't guess we've been anywhere  
She hasn't made us late I swear  
Sometimes she does it just 'cause she can do it  
Boy it's just a fact of life  
It'll be the same with your young wife  
Might as well go on and get used to it  
She'll take her time 'cause you don't mind  
Waitin' on a woman.  
I've read somewhere statistics show  
The man's always the first to go  
And that makes sense 'cause I know she won't be ready  
So when it finally comes my time  
And I get to the other side  
I'll find myself a bench, if they've got any  
I hope she takes her time, 'cause I don't mind  
Waitin' on a woman."  
-Waiting on a Woman, Brad Paisley

* * *

"Mom-meeeee!" Five year old Kallison Flack bellowed from the living room of her family's modest, three bedroom, two storey home in Ridgewood, Queens.

Less than forty-five minutes, by subway, to mid-town Manhattan, Ridgewood was an urban, high density neighbourhood, but relatively quiet and homey. A strictly working class area, it was awash in, and known for, it's brick and stone homes. Such as the row house the Flacks had purchased and moved into just two years before.

Twinkling multi-coloured lights lined the three individual panes of the living room bay window. Removable stickers of Santa Claus and reindeer and elves had been plastered to the glass. More lights sparkled in the small bushes that lined the front walk. A Christmas wreath, made from various shades of blue and silver balls, hung from the front door.

"MOMMY!" Kallison screamed once more.

Screaming to be heard over Dora the Explorer blasting on the television and the insistent barking of the family dog. An eight month old tan and black mini Daschund named Wiener. That yapped at anything that moved. From the leaves and snow blowing across the front yard or the small back deck, or the flapping of the love birds Gracie and George, in their cage suspended from a chain anchored to the kitchen ceiling. A complete hideous name, Don Flack Jr had made the mistake of telling his daughters that their new pet, offered to him by a colleague after all the puppies in the litter had been sold but one, was a Wiener dog.

The name had stuck.

"You're going to have to come in here if you need me," Sam called back from the kitchen, where she stood at the table, placing handmade candy cane reindeer - complete with red pipe cleaner antlers and glued on googly eyes and a small back pompom noses - and a handful of Christmas cards inside a plastic shopping bag.

Beside her, kneeling on one of the kitchen chairs, Kellan, the oldest of the identical twins, finished the remaining touches on a picture of Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus she was painstakingly creating for Papa Mac.

Identical twin daughters. Born exactly three minutes apart. Thursday, September 11, 2011. They had each weighed just over five pounds and had been an impossible small fifteen and fourteen inches. Brought into the world via an emergency c-section after their mother, at barely thirty-four weeks gestation, began complaining of a horrific headache and lower back pain and nausea while at work. She had passed out in the main hallway of the crime lab and had begun hemorrhaging almost immediately.

The babies had been saved thanks to the doctors at St Vincent's Medical Centre, closet to the lab. Their mother however, still unconscious and unable to see or hold her babies, had almost not been as lucky. A radical and complete hysterectomy had been ordered by the attending obstetrician and consent forms had been shoved into the face of a distraught husband who should have been basking in the safe births of his children.

That was five years ago now. Kallison and Kellan were their miracle babies. And while the pain and sorrow of never being able to have other children remained, Samantha and Flack had accepted the cards they had been dealt and focused on their daughters. His girls were Don Flack Jr's entire existence. The wife that he loved more and more every day and thanked God for bringing into his life, and the two angels that had him wrapped around their baby fingers. Tiny, wee things like their mother. With rod straight, waist length nearly coal black hair and big blue eyes framed by long, thick, dark lashes. They were his babies. And they always would be. Those two girls and their mother his entire reason for living.

Tiny feet pounded on the hardwood floors as Kallison rushed from the living room and down the hallway and into the spacious, country style kitchen. Wiener scampering along behind her, his beloved chew toy - an old stuffed animal in the likeness of a seal that one of the girls had passed down- firmly in his mouth.

"We're going to be late!" Kallison cried.

"Daddy doesn't get off work for another hour," Sam gently reminded her. "And it takes less than that to take the subway there."

"But what if he gets off early?" she practically wailed. "Than he'll leave without us and we have to take the subway all the way back!"

"Daddy knows we're coming," her mother told her. "He's not going to leave without us."

"Yes he will!" Kallison insisted with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm almost done here," Sam said. "Your sister is just finishing a picture for Papa Mac. Did you make him one?"

Kallison slapped a palm to her forehead. "It's in my room!"

"Well you better go get it than," Sam told her. "You don't want to forget it."

The five year old sighed dramatically and hurried off.

"Mommy?" Kellan asked, colouring in the halo above Baby Jesus' head with a gold crayon that sparkled in the light.

"Hmmm?" Sam replied, packing the last of the candy canes and cards into the bag.

"If Mary and Joseph had Baby Jesus 'cause God gave him to them, does that mean God can give me baby too?"

"It doesn't work that way, sweetie," Sam told her daughter. "Baby Jesus was special. He was the son of God."

"I know dat. But I'm special too and I'm the son of daddy."

"You're the daughter of daddy," Sam corrected her with a grin. "And you and your sister are very, very, very special."

"So than how come God can't give me a baby brother or sister?" Kellan asked curiously.

"Daddy's already explained this to you," her mother replied. "That God felt that mommy and daddy just need two angels in our lives."

"Can Santa bring me a baby brother or sister?"

"Kellan, we've been through this. Mommy and daddy were only allowed to have two babies so God gave us you and Kallison. Santa doesn't bring brothers and sisters. He only brings toys and goodies for your stocking."

"And gramma and grampa buy us socks and clothes," the little girl said with a grimace.

"Very nice clothes," Sam reminded her. "And if they didn't buy them, you'd be wandering around naked. And you wouldn't want that would you?"

"No," she giggled. Her mother's giggle. Musical and heart warming. "Daddy said that all he's getting for Christmas is socks and underwear and ugly ties."

"All your daddy is getting is coal in his stocking for being on Santa's naughty list the entire year," Sam informed her daughter.

"Daddy's always bad," Kellan said with a heavy sigh. "He said that he was going to eat all the milk and cookies before Santa comes and that Santa would be mad and not leave us anything. Is that true, mommy?"

"There's enough milk and cookies for both daddy and Santa," Sam assured her. "Are you almost done there? We need to get going soon."

"How come we have to take the subway?" Kellan asked, handing her mother the finished picture. "Why can't we take the car?"

"Because we're meeting daddy at work so we can go out to dinner and go ice skating at Rockefeller Centre. And daddy has his car and it doesn't make sense for there to be two cars, does it?"

"I guess not. But it's awful cold out, mommy." She shivered dramatically to emphasize the point.

"That's why you and Kallison both have long johns on under your jeans and sweaters. And you'll have your winter jackets on and your mitts and your hats and scarves. You'll both be nice and warm. And there's always hot chocolate to keep you extra warm."

"With marsh mellows?" the little girl asked hopefully.

"Mini coloured marsh mellows," Sam assured her.

"Mmmm…" Kellan rubbed her stomach. "They're my favourite."

"Mine too," Sam said, and carefully folded the picture in two and slipped it into the bag just as Kallison came rushing back into the room, her own masterpiece fluttering in her hand.

"Can we go now?" Kallison inquired impatiently, watching as her mother neatly packed away her picture.

"You've both went pee?" Sam asked, glancing back and forth between her daughters.

Their heads bobbed up and down in response.

"Go and get your boots and your coats and wait by the door," Sam told them. "I'll be right there."

Kellan jumped down off of her chair and she and her minutes younger sister bounded out of the kitchen. Their giggles and high pitched, melodic voices drifting through the house as they raced through the living room and to the closet in the front hallway. Chaos ensuing as they rummaged for boots and hats and tore their winter coats off of the hooks that daddy had installed on the side wall of closet, low enough that his girls could take down their own jackets.

Sam made sure the sliding door that lead out onto the snow covered deck was locked up tight before snatching her keys from on top of the microwave. Before reaching for the plastic bag and the knapsack full of extra clothes and socks and mittens and hats for the girls, she paused at the sink and opened the cupboard over head. Where an alarming mixture of various prescription bottles and over the counter drugs that greeted her. Muscle relaxants for before bedtime, sleeping pills to ensure her at least eight hours when it was possible with two rambunctious five year olds in the house. Tylenol and motrin for pain and stiffness. The list went on and on.

Fibromyalgia. A chronic condition characterized by widespread pain in the muscle, ligaments and tendons. As well as fatigue and multiple tender points. For the past year and a half she had been dealing with it on a daily basis. The never ending aches and pains. The mornings when she was so badly crippled up she needed help getting out of bed and taking care of herself. When she had first started feeling ill, she had chalked it up to too many long hours at work and trying to balance children and a marriage. When the symptoms grew progressively worse, she had went to Sheldon Hawkes for an honest opinion. She was showing no sign of having any kind of illness or virus, and cutting back on her hours in favour of more family time and more rest had done nothing to make her feel better. He'd made a call to a med school buddy practicing neurology. After an MRI had showed nothing terminal, and blood work x-rays had ruled out rheumatoid arthritis and multiple sclerosis and lupus, he'd been the one to suggest fibromyalgia. There was no test to prove the diagnosis, but the symptoms and criteria for the diagnosis all matched up.

She was off work more than she was bringing in a steady paycheque. Even with pain killers and relaxants, there were days the suffering was almost too much to bear. And if she didn't have her girls and a husband that loved her and supported her -and took time off to care for her or brought someone in to do it- there was many a time she would have just thrown her hands in the air and given up completely.

She took down the Tylenol Three with Codeine and the Motrin and uncapped the bottles and shook two pills of each into her hands before putting the containers back and shutting the cupboard. She moved to the sink and snagged a glass from the drain board and turned on the cold water. Swallowing the medication with half a glass of water.

"MOMMY!" Kallison yelled from the front door. "WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

"I'm coming!" Sam called back, and scooping up the plastic bag and knapsack, ignored the pain that shot down the right side of her body. Flicking out the main kitchen light in favour of the florescent one glowing over the sink, she headed through her dimly lit home and to the two little girls waiting impatiently for her.

Those girls, and their father were her entire life. And they always would be.

* * *

By the grace of God, the latter half of Don Flack's day had gone relatively smooth. With a full contingent of detectives on shift and no one bailing early or calling in sick with a mysterious ailment they hadn't had until Christmas Eve hit, cases were spread out evenly. No one had to pull any more weight than what was absolutely necessary and shifts were sticking close to their scheduled finished times. Having wrapped up an open and shut robbery gone bad in Chinatown by the early afternoon and receiving no new calls after that, Flack had done little more than sit at his desk attempting to get work done on the mound of previous cases that awaited his undivided attention, and sitting back and talking nonsense shit with his co-workers and making his daily jaunts upstairs to the crime lab to simply hang out.

The bullpen was quiet. Unusual for an early Friday evening. The holding cells were empty and phones were silent. The only noises were the chatter of detectives, Christmas Carols playing on a portable stereo one of the younger guys had set up on his desk across the room, and the clicking of computer keys as people worked diligently to finish up last minute tasks before the next shift took over and their Christmas Eve could begin.

Flack was looking forward to having the next three days off. He had to work every second Christmas Day and Boxing day, and this year was his turn to be home with his family. Sam always took a week off at Christmas ever since the girls had arrived. She loved being home with them as much as possible. Both she and Flack would have preferred that she was home full time with Kellan and Kallison, but the state of the economy and their salaries didn't permit it. Even with the extra cash he'd been hauling in for the past year since he'd been bumped up to Lieutenant. For now, until he climbed the NYPD ladder even farther and he was raking in the big bucks, circumstances were pretty much stuck where they were.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Scagnetti sang from the desk facing Flack's. The older man hurriedly finishing up a DD-5 report.

"Do you not know any other words?" Flack asked, not looking away from his computer screen as he typed up what would be his last report for three days. "You've been singing the same damn words on and off for the last half an hour."

"Well excuse me for living Irving Berlin," Scagnetti teased. "If you're so good why don't you entertain the lot of us with a rousing rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas."

Flack grinned. "It's the Twelve Redneck Days of Christmas at my place," he said.

"I'll be sure to tell your wife that you feel your house is akin to a trailer park."

"She'd kick my ass," Flack declared.

"And so she should," Scagnetti told him. "If you're not happy with your living arrangements, I will gladly trade places with you. You can take my crappy one bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan and I'll move myself into your house with your astoundingly beautiful wife and your adorable daughters."

"You can have my house," Flack said. "But my girls are off limits. All three of them. Sorry, but they're mine."

"Didn't your momma teach you to share, Junior?" the older man teased.

"Those are my girls," Flack repeated. "No one comes between me and my girls."

"You're a sap, Donald Flack Jr," Scagnetti declared. "A hundred percent proud and true family man. God love ya. Never thought I'd see the day you'd settle down."

"You've been saying that every day for seven years," Flack told his friend and colleague.

"Maybe because it still shocks me that someone would be willing to put up with your sorry ass for richer or for poorer and in sickness and in health."

"I keep her drugged up," Flack joked. "Heavily drugged at that."

"Definitely explains a lot," Scagnetti said and sighed heavily. "Santa's going to come and my fat ass is still going to be parked in this chair filling this goddamn thing out."

"A hooker knocking on your door, dressed as a slutty Mrs Claus does not count as Old Saint Nick," Flack chided.

Scagnetti frowned at the younger man. "That's harsh, Flack," he griped. "She's not a hooker. She's an escort."

"My mistake," Flack chuckled. "You know what I should have bought you for Christmas, Tony? Gift certificates for that rub and tug around the corner."

"You're an asshole," the other man complained. "That place is a dive. I prefer the more upscale Asian joint over on Lex. You know, for an extra twenty you can get…."

"Daddy!" two tiny voices rang out in unison through the bullpen.

Detective and visitors alike looked up and smiled as two tiny, rambunctious little girls -one in a puffy pink snow suit with white faux fur trim around the hood and pink boots that sparkled in the light and the other in the same snow suit, only purple in colour and glistening purple boots - raced from the door leading from reception and into the central work area of the twelfth precinct.

Scagnetti noticed the way Flack's whole face and his eyes lit up at the sound of his 'name' being bellowed and the sight of his daughters scrambling towards him. His kids and his wife were everything to Flack. His reasons for doing a hard, thankless job or less than stellar money and for simply getting out of bed each and every morning. Flack was a damn good father that tried hard to balance his career with his family. At times it seemed a never ending struggle, but a simple kiss from his wife and hugs from his two angels made the battle seem worthwhile.

"Daddy!" the twins cried once more, as their dad crouched down and scooped them up effortlessly, one on each arm.

"Hey, girls," he greeted, squeezing them tightly and showering them with kisses. Kellan in the purple and Kallison in the pink, their black hair tumbling from underneath their matching white hats and down their backs.

"Did you miss us, daddy?" Kallison asked, curling an arm around his neck.

"Of course I missed you two," he replied. "Don't I always?"

"Yep," Kellan nodded energetically. "I missed you, daddy."

"So did I!" her sister cried. "I missed you, too, daddy!"

"But I missed you more!" Kellan told him.

"No! I did!" Kallison argued. "I missed daddy more 'cause I love him bestest."

"Uh-uh," her twin shook her head, hair swaying across her back. "I do!"

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do!"

"Girls…girls…" Flack spoke calmly and patiently. "I'm sure you both missed me. But you don't need to fight about it, okay? And I missed you guys but you both know that there's no running and yelling in here. Right?"

They both nodded.

"So I want you two to sit here…" bending down, Flack placed them both in his empty chair and pulled off their hats and mitts and tossed them on his desk. He helped them out of their coats, placing them over the back of the chair. "…and I don't want either of you to move into those wild banshees inside of you go for a nap. Alright?"

"But we need to hand out our candy canes!" Kallison argued.

"And our cards!" Kellan added.

"And you can when you're both more calm and quiet. For now, sit there and…"

He opened the middle drawer of his desk and took out two well loved Disney Princess colouring books and two packages of Crayola Scent-sations markers that the girls had asked him long ago to keep on hand for their visits. Sure, he got a lot of grief from the guys for having colouring books in his desk, but those were his baby girls and whatever made them happy, made him happy.

"…take these and colour some pictures to go with your candy canes," he said, arranging the books and the markers neatly on his desk before turning the chair around so the girls were facing the proper way. "I'm sure Uncle Tony would love a couple pictures of Belle to have at his desk."

"Whose Belle?" Scagnetti asked. "Is she hot?"

Flack glared at him.

"Belle is the princess in Beauty and the Beast," Kellan informed her 'uncle'. In a tone that clearly meant she thought he was complete and utter moron. "She fell in love with the Beast."

"Like your mom and your dad, than," Scagnetti quipped.

"No!" Kallison snapped. "Not like mommy and daddy! Mommy is prettier than Belle and daddy isn't as cute as the prince."

Scagnetti roared with laughter. "She speaks the truth! Shoots from the hip like her mother!"

"Too much like her mother," Flack grumbled. "And I'll have you know, Kallison, that you and your sister look just like me."

Kellan looked up at her father and pouted. "That's mean, daddy!" she cried. "I don't want to look like a boy!"

"No one says you look like a boy," Sam informed her, finally catching up, heavy back pack slung over her shoulder, plastic bag in hand. Out of breath from chasing the twins, and from the physical strain of carrying even the simplest of items. "Daddy means you got your hair and your eyes from him. And his ears and his chin."

"Thankfully they got their mother's nose," Scagnetti said. "Can you imagine tiny things like them having his nose? That would be damn tragic."

"What is this? Pick on Flack night?" Flack asked, giving his wife a small kiss in greeting before frowning at the sight of her flushed face. And the items she was hauling. "You shouldn't be carrying things, baby," he said, gently scolding her as he relieved her of the shopping bag and backpack.

"They weren't heavy at first," she panted, laying a hand over her heart. "It was carrying those and chasing them…"

"You should have called me when you got closer," her husband told her, clearing files off of the chair at the side of his desk and motioning for her to sit down. "Or I could have just come home and we could have headed back into town."

"Waste of trip," Sam said, accepting his hand as he helped her into the chair. "I'll be okay. I just got worked up chasing after the girls. Are you almost done?"

"There's nothing I can't take home and finish before I come back," Flack assured her, and stepping behind his daughters, leaned over them to close the case folders in front of them.

He gathered the files up to prevent his kids from getting too curious and opening them and getting an eyeful of gruesome autopsy photos. The folders he placed in a small black plastic box, no bigger than a milk crate, under his desk. He saved his work on the computer and powered it down.

"So how goes things?" Scagnetti asked the petite brunette. "Keeping yourself out of trouble or what?"

"Or what," Flack answered. "She's been racking up all the credit cards."

"'Tis the season," Scagnetti quipped.

"Things are okay," Sam told the older man. "Just really busy with work and things with the girls. Did Donnie tell you they're going into gymnastics?"

"Daddy says that we can go into the 'lympics one day," Kellan told her uncle as he nodded in response to her mother's question.

"I don't wanna go gymnastics," Kallison declared. "I want to play hockey."

"And mommy and I said next winter when you're six you **can **play hockey," Flack told her, from where he was crouched down by the chair, a yellow marker in hand, helping Kellan colour in Belle's dress.

"I want to play hockey, too," Kellan informed her father, a tiny hand on his back as she peered over his shoulder to check the progress of her picture.

"Last week you said hockey was stupid and it was for boys," Flack reminded her.

"I know…but I changed my mind, daddy."

"You said you wanted to do gymnastics or figure skating," he told her.

"I don't want to now. That was last week. I want to play hockey."

Flack sighed and feigned banging his forehead repeatedly off edge of his desk.

"Got your work cut out for with those two, Flack," Scagnetti chuckled.

"Dat's not his name," Kallison scolded her uncle. "I told you dis tons of times Uncle Tony."

"His name is daddy," Kellan piped up. "But mommy calls him Don or Donnie."

"And sometimes Donald when he's in trouble," Kallison added. "Like Donald Duck, right daddy?"

Both girls dissolved into giggles.

Flack just gave another heavy sigh and shook his head.

"You know who they remind me off, giggling like that?" Scagnetti asked Sam.

"Their mother?" Flack replied.

"Mind your own business and keep on colouring me my picture of that hottie Belle," Scagnetti told him and turned back to Sam. "There was this kids show when my nephew was their age back in '08. Called My Friend Rabbit. And there was these little ducks on them…."

"The Giggle Goose Girls," Sam said with a laugh. "I remember that show. Jade, Coral, Amber and Pearl."

"That's who they remind me of," Scagnetti told her. "So how you been feeling lately, Sammie?"

She gave a shrug. "There's good days and really, really bad days. This is a good day. I missed a lot of work last month. A lot. Too much. It's no wonder Mac keeps me around."

"Can't fire you for having an illness," Scagnetti told her. "Besides, everyone knows that you're Marine Mac's favourite and have been since the day you started. Not much has changed up there though. Still all the familiar faces. Well except for Stella."

"Stella's happy in New Jersey," Sam told him. "I talked to her yesterday. She's running the show and loving every minute of it. And she's got that new boyfriend of hers to keep her busy when she has time for a social life."

"What's he like?" Scagnetti asked.

"Donnie and I have never met him but he sounds nice. He's a DEA agent. And apparently he's almost sixteen years younger than her."

Scagnetti gave a low whistle and waggled his eyebrows. "The lady's a cougar, huh?"

"What does dat mean?" Kallison asked. "What does dat mean, daddy?"

"It means that uncle Tony has a big mouth and needs to watch what he says around you two," Flack replied, shooting a glare over at his partner.

Scagnetti chuckled and held his hands up in self defence. "You and them damn colouring books," he said, shaking his head. "You know I catch him scribbling away on his lunch break?" he asked Sam.

"You're so full of shit," Flack said, spelling the profanity.

"Daddy dat's a bad word," Kellan told him. "Mommy's going to wash your mouth out with soap. You said shit."

"I didn't say it," Flack corrected her. "I spelled it."

"It's the same thing," Kallison said with an exasperated sigh.

"Both of you are just too smart for your own good," Flack declared, putting the cap back on the magic marker and slipping it back into the package.

"Smart like mommy, cute like daddy," Kellan sing-songed, printing her name at the bottom of the picture in large, shaky letters. "Two l's right, daddy?" she asked. "Two l's in Kellan? Sometimes I forget."

"There's two l's," he confirmed, knees cracking as he stood up, waiting for his daughter to finish before holding the chair still while she slipped out of it.

"I need to get Uncle Tony's candy cane and his card, mommy," Kellan told Sam.

"I want to give it to him!" Kallison protested, jumping out of the chair.

Sam grabbed the plastic bag and rummaged through it before pulling out a Reindeer and a card. "You give him the candy cane and Kallison will give him the card."

"But I want to give him the candy cane," Kallison argued.

"Fine," Sam passed the card to Kellan and the Reindeer to her sister.

"Here, Uncle Tony!" Kellan cried, stepping alongside his desk, card in one hand, picture in the other.

"And dis!" Kallison chirped, holding out her own colouring the reindeer. "I made dis," she announced, nodding at the candy cane.

"No you didn't," her sister informed her. "I made dat one."

"Uh-uh," Kallison shook her head. "I made it."

"Did not!" her sister argued.

"Did too!!" Kallison fought back.

Flack sighed heavily. "Girls, come on. Do you two really need to fight about everything? Just give Uncle Tony what you need to give him so you can hand out the rest and than we can go and get something to eat and go skating. Alright?"

Scagnetti easily scooped the two girls up with his big, strong arms and settled them on his lap while they presented him with the pictures they had coloured and his candy cane and Christmas card. Although he had three ex-wives, Scangetti had no children of his own and no desire to ever, as he put it, fertilize a damn thing. But when anyone saw the transformation that came over him when he was in the presence of his two darlings, as he called the twins, it left them to wonder how a man with that much power and strength, could suddenly become so gentle and attentive and sweet.

And the girls adored him. Their little faces lighten up and their eyes dancing whenever they saw him at daddy's work or he paid an surprise visit to the house.

"This one's for you, daddy," Kellan said, candy cane in hand after she and her sister had finished with their 'uncle' and slid down off of his lap.

"How come I get one?" Flack asked. "I live with you guys."

"'Cause we love you, daddy," she replied.

"I love you, too," he said, taking the 'gift' from her and dropping a kiss onto her head. "You and Kallison made these all on your own?"

"Mommy helped a bit," she told him. "Do you like it? Do you think it's cute? Do you like it, daddy?"

"I love it, thank you," he said, tearing open the bottom of the wrapped and peeling it back and sticking the candy cane in his mouth.

His daughters looked up at him wide horrified eyes, their mouths agape.

"You're not 'spose to eat it, daddy!" Kallison cried. "It's just to look at!"

"Well I'm starving," he told her. "If you guys hadn't taken so long to get here I wouldn't be so hungry and I wouldn't have had to start eating the Reindeer."

"It's Rudolph," Kallison informed him, exasperation in her voice. "And you're always hungry, daddy!"

"These kids know you so well," Scagnetti chuckled.

"Of course we do!" Kellan cried. "We live with him! He's daddy!"

"Go and give these to Auntie Kaile," Sam handed a candy cane to Kellan and a card to Kallison. "And no running and no screaming. Got it? Or you'll get daddy in trouble."

"With the mean old dragon lady," Kallison said. "Right daddy, that's her name?"

"Shhh," Flack placed a finger over his lips. "Our little secret. Hurry up so we can get out of here."

The three adults watched as the two girls scurried across the bullpen to where Kaile Maka worked diligently at her desk, dark hair tumbling in front of her face as she finished up last minute paper work. Maka had come back from a long sabbatical spent taking care of a gravely ill family member in Philadelphia who had unfortunately passed away, shortly after Angell had asked for, and received, a transfer to another precinct. Angell had been unable to work with either Flack or Samantha following the disintegration of their friendships and work relationships and Maka, anxious to get back in the saddle, had effortlessly and seamlessly slipped back into the fold. And made tight, amazing friendships with those she'd never worked with before. She and Sam and Lindsay were practically inseparable. Although nothing, or no one, could ever come between S and M, as they were affectionately called, as best friends.

Maka's face lit up and she showered the girls with kisses and enveloped them in hugs and chatted animatedly with them, before pushing her chair away from her desk and allowing the twins to take her by the hands and 'pull' her over to where their parents were.

"Merry Christmas," Maka greeted Sam, as the petite brunette stood up slowly and carefully, obviously hurting, and Maka enveloped her in a warm, yet loose huge. Mindful of her condition and how even the lightest of embraces could cause considerable discomfort.

"Merry Christmas," Sam said, kissing her friend's cheek. "How goes the good fight?"

"It goes," Maka sighed and let go of the smaller woman. "You?" she asked, obvious concern in her eyes.

"I'm okay. I was doing a lot better before I went out in the cold though. I took some medicine. I'll be fine."

"Mommy's ouchies are bothering her again, daddy," Kellan whispered to her father, as he gathered up the twins' jackets and scarves and mitts and hats.

"Well we're going to make sure that she's comfortable and okay, aren't we," he said, running a hand over his daughter's silky hair.

Kellan smiled brightly and nodded.

It was a struggle. Living with someone with a chronic condition that had while somewhat manageable, still caused a considerable amount of pain and caused friction within the family. Because when she was suffering, badly suffering, to the point where she could barely get out of bed to go to the bathroom or take care of herself or the girls, the pain caused Sam to be extremely argumentative and emotional. And understandably so. Nothing made her happy and everything bothered her and she blamed people, mostly her husband, for everything that went wrong. Big or small.

But he loved her and vowed to take care of her to the best of his ability. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. From taking time off of work or hiring help when things got really, really bad, to picking up prescriptions and making sure she took her meds faithfully. He did research on the net and was always looking for something, medically or homoeopathically, that could make her condition more tolerable. He spent hours in the aisles of health food stores, some even in other boroughs and in New Jersey, spending outrageous amounts of money on supplements and foods that in the end did little more than put a dent in the problem.

She was his life. His forever. And as he stood there, tending to the angels that were the greatest two gifts his wife could have ever have given him, he thought, for seemed like the millionth time since they'd first met, that forever wasn't long enough.

* * *

It was shortly before midnight. The lights in the family room were turned out, leaving the room illuminated only by the hundreds upon hundreds of multicoloured lights that took up residence in the seven foot, Blue spruce Christmas tree erected in the far corner. Living in a house had given them the opportunity to have a real tree as opposed to the fake ones they'd been saddled with while living in an apartment. Real trees were considered fire hazards and therefore too dangerous to have in an apartment building. The girls had been ecstatic -as ecstatic as three years old could be- when they'd moved into their new house and got their first real Christmas tree. But had been absolutely overjoyed at the existence of a fireplace in the basement. It was gas, but they didn't know any better and insisted it was better for when Santa came to visit. Because everyone knew that Santa preferred to slide down the chimney as opposed to scaling apartment balconies.

That had been Flack's reasoning anyway.

Carefully and lovingly wrapped presents were laid out under the tree. So many gifts that they spread clear to the middle of the room and in some areas, were piled two or three items high. An outrageous amount of presents for one family. Especially considering most were for the girls. But along with the ones that Santa had delivered, came gifts marked from mommy and daddy and their various aunts and uncles and ones sent from Arizona from their grandparents and great grandparents. Five stockings hung on holders sitting on top of the fireplace mantle. A basic red and white stocking for daddy, a more elaborate pink and white embroidered one for mommy, and two Dora the Explorer ones with the girls' names written across the tops in silver glitter. All four were packed solid with goodies and small gifts. The fifth stocking, half the size of the others and filled with treats, was for Wiener the wiener dog. The girls had insisted Wiener get a stocking. He was after all, part of the family.

A small part of the family who was currently, clad in a white and red knit sweater (another idea of the girls. Buying him his own wardrobe), curled up tight in a pet bed in front of the fire place. Fast asleep and snoring louder than most humans.

An Il Divo Christmas CD played on the stereo across the room. The girls had fallen asleep after nearly three hours of constantly asking for drinks and if Santa had been yet. Their parents had thought that dinner out and an hour of fresh air and skating at Rockefeller Centre would have worn the two right out. In the end, mommy and daddy were more exhausted than the twins were and the girls were still raring to go. Too wound up from the excitement of Christmas Eve to fall asleep.

Four stories and umpteen glasses of water and threats from daddy that Santa wasn't going to come if they didn't go to sleep, Kallison and Kellan had finally succumb to sleep. Sharing Kellan's bed. The girls, although insistent on wearing the exact same clothes (Sam had long ago began putting different earrings on them and different coloured elastics or barrettes in their hair for people to tell them apart), had wanted their own rooms the moment they turned five. So Kallison was shipped down what had been a computer/storage room. Both had wanted Disney Princess themed bedrooms. Pink walls, white canopy beds with frilly pink and white bedding, and figurines and posters of the various characters everywhere.

Flack yawned noisily as he and his wife relaxed on the sectional couch in their family room. His legs stretched out, back against the arm of the couch, as Sam lied between his legs with her back against his chest. Both sipping red wine. Although only have a glass for Sam considering all the meds she was on.

"If I never put together another Barbie dollhouse for as long as I live, it will be too soon," Flack declared, his arm wrapped loosely around his wife's torso, thumb gently rubbing against the bare skin of her neck and her collarbone.

Sam laughed and cast a glance at the tree. Where two dollhouses, completely in tact and furnished and decorated, sat with big red bows gracing the tops of them. "Well you did an amazing job," she praised. "I can't believe you even set up the different rooms and put all of those little stickers where they were suppose to go."

"Wanted them to be perfect," he said. "Didn't want the girls to be disappointed."

"You have the patience of a saint," Sam declared. "And nothing you do could ever disappoint them. They adore their daddy. You know that. Their whole world revolves around you."

"Yeah? Well that goes both ways," he said. "Mind you, you're in there somewhere too."

"Gee, thanks," she laughed. "Nice to know I'm on the list of your favourite things."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're on the top of the list and you know it. You always have been and you always will be."

She smiled. "You're pretty decent husband. I think I'll keep you."

"You think?"

She nodded. "I think I'll keep you forever and ever and ever."

"That's 'cause you know I'm the only one dumb enough to tolerate you," Flack teased.

"No," she giggled as the feel of his nose and lips grazing the side of her neck. "It's because I love you and couldn't live without you."

"Yes, you could," he told her. "You're an amazingly strong woman that's more than capable of taking care of herself and our kids."

"I was trying to be all sweet and romantic and you go all morbid on me," Sam complained.

"I'm just saying…"

"Maybe I just don't want to live without you," she said. "Maybe I know I can take care of myself and our children but I just don't ever want to. We're a team, you know. Me and you. And I don't want to ever think about what my life would be like without you."

"Than don't think about it," he told her. "Think about how I'm going to be around to drive you nuts for like, say, the next fifty years."

"There's no way in hell I want to live until I'm ninety one. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I want to live to at least a hundred," Flack declared. "At least."

"You're mental," Sam laughed. "I'll be long gone before you are."

"I hope not," he sighed. "Because honestly, I don't think I'd be able to deal if that happened. It's best if I go before you. Trust me. And you know I'll be waiting for you, right? Up there by the pearly gates? I'm going to park my ass down and wait for you. No matter how long that takes."

She smiled. "You're such a sap, Donnie."

"I'm not a sap," he said. "I'm just madly in love with my wife."

She tipped her head back and grinned at him. "Remember a long time ago when we were in the bathroom of your apartment and I teased you about being one in a million?"

"Barely," he admitted.

"Well it's true," she said. "You are one in a million."

He smiled and kissed her softly, his fingers trailing along her collarbone and up her slender neck, holding her chin in his hand.

"Can you honestly believe we've been together almost six years?" Sam asked, settling back against him once more.

"What are you talking about? We've been together eight years and counting. It was November 2008 when I showed up at your apartment."

"Let me rephrase it. Can you believe we've been married six years?"

"Almost seven," he corrected her. "Seven on February third."

She sighed dramatically. "Do you have to be so damn difficult, Donnie?"

"It's in my nature," he said with a grin, and hugging her to him tightly, kissed her cheek. "And no. I can't believe we've been married that long. Or together for that long. Seems like just yesterday most days."

"And other days?" she asked.

"Other days, when you're really getting on my nerves, seems like a goddamn eternity."

"You're so mean," she said with a giggle. "Despite everything. The issues we've had and the fights and the mean words and the times we broke up almost more than we were actually together, there's not much I would change."

"We always came back to each other, Sammie. No matter what, we always managed to love each other and find our ways back to one another."

"Would you do it all over again? The good and the bad?"

"Absolutely. Would you?"

She nodded. "Without a doubt. Even the girls?"

"They're my babies, Sammie. My heart. I wouldn't give them up for anything in this world and you know that. Things didn't go exactly as we planned and our lives took a major detour when what happened happened, but you know what? This is our life. Our girls are everything to me. You're everything to me."

"I just wish things could have turned out differently," she sighed. "Children wise."

"Wasn't meant to be," he said with a shrug. "We were just meant to have the girls. No big deal."

"You know that if you ever wanted more children I'm not stopping you from…"

"Don't even finish that sentence, babe," Flack told her, kissing her neck. "Don't even think about what I know you're thinking about. You're my wife. There's only you and there's only going to be you. Plain and simple."

She sighed happily. "You're a good man, Donald Flack Jr."

"I try my best," he said, and pushing her hair away from the side of her face, kissed and nibbled his way from her ear, down her neck to her shoulder. Feeling her shiver underneath his lips, and underneath the fingers that were drifting along the neckline of her simple t-shirt.

"Maybe we should go upstairs," she said, shuddering from the sensations he was stirring inside of her. That he was still able to stir inside of her after eight years. His kisses and his touches never got boring. They still excited her and turned her own and made her want him more than she thought it was ever possible to want and love another human being.

"I think that's a good idea," he agreed, sucking lightly on the side of her neck, his hand sliding down the front of her to lightly cup her breast, his thumb drifting across her hardening nipple. "You can give me an early Christmas present."

"I have one for you actually," she told him.

"You do?"

She nodded. "A little something I bought for myself at Victoria Secret. Red velvet and black lace. Dangerously low cut front and back."

"Underwear? Thong of bikinis?"

"None, actually."

He grinned broadly. "That's my kind of early Christmas present," he declared.

"But first…what time is it?"

He consulted his watch. "Two minutes after twelve. Merry Christmas, baby," he kissed the corner of her lips softly.

She turned and kissed him. Long and deep. "Merry Christmas."

"You were saying…but first?"

"I'm going to call Lindsay and wish her a Merry Christmas," she said and slipped from his embrace.

"At midnight? What is wrong with you? Why do you two always do that? Call each other at exactly midnight when it hit's the twenty fifth?"

"Because it's Christmas and it's something we do," Sam reasoned and finished his wine.

"There's something wrong with you two," Flack declared, swallowing the remains of his glass. "I think that…"

The cordless, resting beside him on the couch rang noisily. All the ringers upstairs were turned off so the girls wouldn't be disturbed. He snatched up the phone and checked the call display.

"She beat you to it this year," Flack said, standing up and holding the phone out to his wife.

Sam took the phone and pressed talk. "Merry Christmas!" she greeted cheerily.

"Merry Christmas!" Lindsay exclaimed in return. "You called first last year so I figured I'd take the liberty this time. I'm up with the baby anyway. Danny's already out like a light snoring like a damn freight train."

The baby was now five months old. Makenna. A gorgeous little girl with her mother's curls and smile and her daddy's eyes. The last of the Messer children, she joined her five year old brother Daniel Jr and seven year old sister Amanda as the apples of her daddy's eyes. Amanda was petite like her mother and had the same head full of curls as her baby sister and her father's eyes and his charming, lazy smile. And his wry sense of humour. Daniel Jr was his father from head to toe. The glasses, the spiky blond hair. But inside he was quiet and sensitive. And extremely intelligent.

"So what are you two up to?" Lindsay asked with a small yawn.

"Actually," Sam said, smiling as her husband curled his arm around her frm being and kissed the side of her neck. "We we were heading upstairs and I was going to give Donnie a Christmas present."

"Lukcy guy," Lindsay said. "When's the last time you two actually had s-e-x? I'd speak up but DJ won't go to sleep and he's eavesdropping."

"Hmmm," Sam thought about it. "Last time we had s-e-x? I don't r-e-m-e-m-b-e-r."

"Nine days, thirteen hours and about seventeen minutes," Flack said loud enough for Lindsay to hear. "But whose counting?"

Lindsay laughed. "I better let you guys get to it. You've been making that man suffer way too long, Sammie."

"He enjoys the torture," Sam declared. "Wish everyone a Merry Christmas from all of us and we'll see you guys on Boxing Day."

"I will. And Merry Christmas from all of us here at the Messer house to all of you at the Flack house. Talk soon."

"Bye," Sam said and hung up and tossed the phone on the couch. Sighing and moaning lightly as her husband's warm lips and moist tongue teased her ears and the back of her neck. "Donnie?" her voice was barely a whisper.

"What, baby?"

"Let's say to hell with upstairs and just wish each other a Merry Christmas right here, right now."

She felt him grin against the back of her neck.

"You're just all into the spirit of giving at the moment, aren't you," he teased, and turning her around, seized her lips with his in a passionate, intense kiss that left them breathless.

She grinned up at him, her hands reaching for his belt. "'Tis the season," she said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of the support! And thanks to the lurkers for just reading it! But please R and R folks. It makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**Muchmadness**

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**shopaholic20**


	8. From the mouths of babes

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KALLISON AND KELLAN FLACK**

**A/N: HUGE THANKS TO TWINKEYROCKS AND ILUVPETERPETRELLI. THE TWO LOVELY YOUNG LADIES AND FANTASTIC FRIENDS THE TWINS ARE BASED ON AND INSPIRED BY.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**ALSO, THE WEDDING POLL IS TIED! I NEED ONE MORE VOTE FOLKS! THAT VOTE DECIDES IT!**

**DUE TO POPULAR DEMAND, THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER**

* * *

**From the mouths of babes**

"I can remember when you fit in the palm of my hand  
Felt so good in it, no bigger than a minute  
How it amazes me, you're changing with every blink  
Faster than a flower blooms they grow up all too soon  
So let them be little 'cause they're only that way for a while  
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love every day  
Let them cry, let them giggle, let them sleep in the middle  
Oh just let them be little  
I've never felt so much in one little tender touch  
I live for those kisses, prayers and your wishes  
Now that you're teaching me things only a child can see  
Every night while we're on our knees all I ask is please  
Let them be little 'cause they're only that way for a while  
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love every day  
Let them cry, let them giggle, let them sleep in the middle  
Oh just let them be little."  
-Let them be Little, Lonestar (co-written by Billy Dean)

* * *

Flack woke to the gentle shaking of his right arm and someone whispering in his ear. A tiny, soft voice that broke into his peaceful slumber. Before having kids, he'd been able to sleep through anything. Even Sam's snoring and incessant talking once he'd been sharing a bed with her long enough to get used to. She always joked that he'd been able to sleep through a tornado ripping through the room or a jet plane flying overhead. After the twins had been born and they'd been released after two weeks in the NICU still hooked up to apnea monitors, the smallest beep on the machines would have him bolting awake and tearing into the nursery to make sure that things were okay with his baby girls. While there had been times that there'd been short lapses in breathing and the monitors had alerted them to it, half the time the damn things were going off because one of the babies, in the process of moving in their sleep, somehow managed to knock loose the lead attached to the bottom of one impossibly small foot.

The man who'd once been called close to comatose while he slept, had quickly become an extremely light sleeper. He was the one that heard one, or both of the girls, squirming or whimpering in the next room when they were ready for the feeding or had wet diapers. Sam would still be snoring away while he was out in the kitchen warming up bottles or in the next room changing dirty asses. Not that he ever complained. Coming off of such a gruelling operation, never mind the quick and unexpected birth of the babies and the reality that you'd never, ever again carry a life inside of you, Sam had needed all the rest she could get. Taking extra time off of work had been a Godsend for Flack. He'd been able to spend those quiet, wee morning hours feeding his daughters and sitting with them in either the rocking chair in the bedroom or lying out on the couch with one, or both, fast asleep in his chest. Those moments had been precious. Minutes and hours and days that he'd never get back. Spending that time with them had been the best experience of his life. And had, in his opinion, made his bond with them closer than he ever imagined it could be.

"Daddy…" the voice again, accompanied by the insistent, firm shaking of his arm. "Daddy…wake up daddy…"

"Kellan…shake harder…" a second voice, identical to the first but speaking in a harsh whisper, demanded.

"Daddy!" Louder this time. The shaking more firm. "Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open and his head turned to the side. Finding himself face to face with Kellan. Her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and framing her tiny face. Clad in a Strawberry Shortcake flannel nightgown that reached her ankles, her treasured Holly Hobby rag doll, a gift from Auntie Linds and Uncle Danny on her first birthday, clutched tightly under her arm. Holly went everywhere with her. Inside the house and out.

"Kellan?" he asked groggily. "What's going on?"

"It's Christmas, daddy," Kallison piped up. Clad in pyjamas that matched her sister's. A tattered and well loved yellow and pink and white striped blanket clasped tightly in her hand.

Flack was thankful that both he and Sam had had enough strength and energy left after two intense love making sessions -the first one downstairs, the second in the privacy of their own room behind a locked door - to put night clothes on and remember to actually unlock their door. Had the girls attempted to get in and found the door secure, they would have been out in the hallway screaming at the top of their lungs and pounding until one of their parents let them in. A lock had become a necessity after one too many incidences of one or both kids wandering in, half asleep, at inopportune times. So once their business was finished, the door was unlocked and left open a crack in case the girls needed them. The main argument, after all was said it done, was who was going to be the one to actually get out of bed and unlock the damn thing.

And of course, there was a couple times, in the heat of the moment, that no one had remembered to lock it in the first place.

"What time is it?" he asked, propping himself on his elbows to look at his daughters.

Kellan moved towards the nightstand by his head and with her free hand, turned the digital clock around to face her. "It's…four…two…two…" she told him, laying a finger on each number as she rattled them off.

He groaned loudly and flopped onto his back. "Go back to sleep girls," he said with a loud yawn.

"We can't sleep, daddy," Kallison responded, reaching under the heavy duvet to shake his leg.

"Well you both need to," he told her. "It's way too early to be getting up. Mommy and I are still sleeping."

"But it's Christmas," Kellan informed him, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair and commence playing with his ear. A habit she'd picked up at an early age. Whenever she was struggling to be put to sleep or to fall asleep on her own, her parents would always stroked her ears. And now, she'd moved on to doing the same for her mom and dad. It got annoying fast. But no matter how much they demanded she stopped, the harder she found it to give the practice up.

"Santa's been, daddy!" Kallison chirped. "All the milk and the cookies are gone!"

"You two didn't go downstairs into the basement did you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

Kellan shook her head vigorously, her hair swinging wildly. "You said not to, daddy. Or else we'd be in big trouble."

"Good," he said. "I'm glad you two did as you were told. Now go back to bed for a little while and when it's time to get up and open presents, I will come and get you."

"But daddy…" Kallison pouted as she struggled, with her tiny stature, to scramble up onto the bed, carefully crawling up to him and sitting cross legged between her parents. "It's Christmas!"

"Yeah, daddy," Kellan said, trying, in vain to get up onto the bed as well. "It's Christmas."

"It's still going to be Christmas in a couple of hours," Flack informed his daughters, sitting up to help his baby girl up onto the cherry wood sleigh bed. Made even taller by the pillow top Queen size mattress.

"Thanks, daddy," she chirped, waiting until he settled himself onto his back once more before she climbed over him to join her sister.

"You two need to go back to sleep," Flack told them sternly. "Just for a little bit. Lie down and close your eyes."

"But daddy…." Kallison whined.

"Lie down," he ordered. In a voice that meant he was all business.

"You don't have to go all police man on us, daddy," Kallison complained.

He couldn't help but smirk. His girls were obviously listening to their mother way too much. And converting everything that came out of Sam's mouth to memory.

"Lie down," he repeated, lifting the duvet to allow them to scoot underneath. "And watch your mommy. She's not feeling well and took some of her medicine and she needs her sleep."

Sam had taken a muscle relaxant and a sleeping pill the moment they'd finished their business. And had barely gotten her pyjamas on before passing out. Every night for two years she'd slept on a heating pad and tonight was no exception. Flack had remembered to plug it in before falling asleep himself. The warmth was a relief to her aches and pains. Although to him, sleeping beside her under those circumstances was like sleeping next to a furnace. He had tried, on several occasions, to sleep on the couch. But couldn't bring himself to spend a night without his wife.

"Poor mommy," Kellan said with a heavy, sad sigh, rolling over onto her side, facing her mother. She reached out and softly pushed hair behind Sam's ear and stroked her mom's forehead.

"Shhh…" Flack whispered. "Let her sleep. She'll feel better when she wakes up. Just leave her alone and let her sleep."

"Nite nite, mommy," Kellan pressed a kiss to Sam's forehead. "Sweet dreams."

"Kellan!" Flack reached over to tap her on the top of her head. "Quiet. Leave mommy alone."

"I was just kissing her goodnight," his daughter informed him, than rolled over onto her tummy.

"You kissed her goodnight when she tucked you in," he reminded her. "If you're going to sleep in here with me and mommy, you both need to be quiet. Got it?"

"You're da boss, applesauce," Kallison quipped.

Both girls dissolved into giggles.

Flack sighed heavily and placed a forearm over his eyes. Another damn saying they'd picked up from their mother.

"Daddy?" Kallison whispered, turning over onto her side to face him.

"What?" he asked. "What?"

"Can I have a drink?"

"Me, too," Kellan spoke up.

He removed his arm from over his eyes and looked at them. "Are you kidding me?" he asked.

"I'm thirsty, daddy," Kallison replied.

"I'm thirsty, too," Kellan said.

He knew it was a no win situation. If he refused to get them drinks, they'd start crying. And if he got mad at them for crying, they'd only cry even harder. He closed his eyes briefly, composing himself and summoning all the patience he possessed, than sat up and tossed the covers off of him.

"Thank you, daddy," they called in unison as he climbed out of bed and headed for the ensuite bathroom.

* * *

Flack flicked on the light and closed the door slightly so he didn't disturb anyone. Although the bathroom down the hall, done up in Winnie the Pooh, was technically the girls' bathroom, their parents still kept plastic tumblers in their own washroom for the nights the girls insisted on sleeping with them, and waking up several times for a drink. The cups sat on the counter top. Next to the toothbrush holder. Both tumblers were from the Disney store. Kellan's boasted pictures of Cinderella while Kallison's was Sleeping Beauty. And if you ever mixed them up and gave them the wrong one…than there was hell to pay.

He turned on the cold water and filled each glass half full. Shutting off the tap, he headed back out into the bedroom, carrying two cups in one hand as he reached out to flick off the bedroom light.

"My throat gets itchy," Kallison informed him, sitting up and accepting her drink.

"Mine, too," Kellan said, getting up as well and taking her cup.

"I think you both are full of it," Flack told them, yawning noisily as he waited for them to finish. "And don't stall. Just drink the stuff."

Once finished and the cups handed over, he placed the tumblers on the night stand and waited for the girls to settle down once more, using Holly Hobby as a pillow, before climbing back into bed himself. He yawned noisily, and rolling onto his side facing them, draped a loose arm over his two girls. "Now go to sleep," he ordered.

"For how long?" Kellan asked.

"For as long as I say. When it's time to get up, I will let you know."

The girls both sighed heavily and nestled their heads into Holly Hobby. Their noses nearly touching.

"Daddy?" Kallison whispered a minute later, breaking the silence.

God give me strength, Flack thought. "Yes?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Merry Christmas," she chirped. "I love you."

"Merry Christmas, Kallison," he said, a bright smile stretching across his face.

"Merry Christmas, daddy," Kellan chirped. "I love you, too."

"Merry Christmas," he returned. "I love you. Both of you. Now go to sleep before I call Santa and tell him to take all your stuff back."

They quieted down once more. A content, peaceful warmth falling over the room and resting on the occupants of that crowded bed. Flack found himself easily, and quickly, drifting back to sleep once more. He was unsure how long he'd actually been out for when he felt the girls move underneath his arm and the sensation of someone touching his face. More specifically, someone prying one of his eyelids open.

"Daddy?" Kellan whispered. "Is it time to get up yet?"

"Go to sleep," he mumbled.

"We were sleeping," Kallison informed him.

"What does the clock say?" he asked.

Kellan sat up and leaned over him. "Five…one…six…"

"Go to sleep," he repeated forcibly, gently pushing the tiny fingers off his eyes.

"But daddy…" Kellan whined. "I gotta go pee."

"So do I," Kallison announced.

"You know what…" he nearly snapped on them as he bolted into a sitting position. "Both of you out of the bed and to the bathroom. Now. And when you get back, I want you to both lie down and I don't want to hear another peep out of either of you for at least two hours. Three would be even better. Got it?"

He climbed out of bed once more and helped them both down. Trying hard to ignore the massive pouts on their faces. Already feeling like a shit enough for nearly yelling at them.

"Why do you have to use a harsh voice, daddy?" Kellan asked.

"Yeah…" Kallison said. "You don't have to be so mad at us."

"I am not mad," he told them, sitting down on the bed, watching as they padded off towards the bathroom. "Just go pee and get back here. Please."

"That's better," Kellan huffed and they both disappeared into the washroom.

Flack shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck and yawned noisily as he took a seat on the edge of the bed and waited for his daughters to return. And waited for one of them to start calling for assistance washing their hands. One thing their parents didn't keep in their bathroom, was the step stools in the smaller washroom that the girls used in order to reach the sink so they could wash their hands and brush their teeth.

Behind him, Samantha switched positions in her sleep. The covers rustling around her body. She murmured quietly and he reached behind him in order to lay a hand on her shoulder or back and rub it softly until she fell back asleep. Instead, he felt her catch his hand in hers and entwine her fingers with his.

"Very impressive daddy skills, detective," she said in a sleepy voice. "Well, up until that last part, anyway."

Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. "Didn't you take a sleeping pill?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be out cold?"

"I only took the muscle relaxants," she replied.

"Have you been awake all this time listening to me?"

She nodded.

"You. Bitch," he hissed. Than winked at her.

She giggled. "That's not at all Christmasey honey," she complained. "Calling me names. Especially after those incredible gifts I gave you earlier."

He just grinned. Turning sideways on the bed, he leaned over and kissed her softly. "Merry Christmas, baby," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Merry Christmas," she said, giving a sleepy smile.

"Daddy!" Kellan cried from the bathroom. "I can't reach the sink to wash my hands!"

"Me either!" Kallison called.

He sighed and glanced at the clock. "It's barely past five thirty," he complained.

"Going to be a long day," Sam said.

Flack nodded.

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. "You take care of them and I'll get up and make you some coffee and start some breakfast."

"I always do Christmas breakfast and you know it."

"Than you take care of them and I'll make some tea for myself and some coffee for you and than you can whip us up a batch of Detective Sargent Flack's famous banana pancakes."

"With chocolate chips," he added. "Something new this year."

"You're a Godsend," she declared.

He smiled and kissed her once more. Long and soft. The fingers on one hand buried in her dark locks. Her hand on the side of his face. "I say we drug the kids and send them back to bed," he said, lips against her forehead.

"As much as I would love to say that's a great idea…."

"Daddy!" Kallison bellowed. "We need to wash our hands! Get all the germs and pee-pee off!"

"Make that coffee extra strong," Flack said to his wife, pecking her forehead before climbing out of bed and heading to attend to his daughters.

Sam smiled and carefully rolled over onto her back. Listening to the three most important people in her life talking in the next room. The girls in their tiny, angelic voices and her husband in his deep voice and his Queens accent.

Life wasn't perfect. But they had each other.

It was going to be a wonderful Christmas.

* * *

It had taken over a month to purchase all of the Christmas presents. Three hours to wrap everything and another two to put the things together that were too big to be covered with wrapping party. It would take months, if not the better part of a year, to pay off what was put on the credit cards.

But it had taken less than twenty minutes to turn the family room into a complete disaster area. Bows and wrapping paper littered the floor and every available surface. Toys had already been taken out of their respective boxes and assembled. There was no clear spot to walk on the family room floor. Even Wiener had been 'snowed in' by the debris. The only sign that he was around was the occasional movement of paper or his tail sticking out as he played underneath the refuse.

While the girls played with their Barbie doll houses and the assortment of dolls that Santa had brought along as well, mom and dad lounged on the couch with a couple of hot drinks and a chocolate from Sam's stocking and watched and listened to their girls playing together side by side with little or no fighting. They had been ecstatic with every toy that they had opened. Squealing with delight and their blue eyes sparkling and huge, dimply smiles spreading across their faces as they declared that each item was exactly what they had wanted. They had sat on the floor, back to back, and opened their gifts. A trick their parents had learned from a support group for parents with multiples. Because the girls always asked for the same things, sitting them back to back guaranteed that if one opened the present faster, they wouldn't ruin the surprise for their twin.

But the greatest moment, by far, was when Kellan and Kallison had bounded down into the basement after breakfast and had stopped dead in their tracks at the bottom of the stairs. In complete awe and wonderment at the amount of brightly wrapped presents. But totally enthralled and taken back by, the identical doll houses that waited for them. Both had given ear piercing shrieks and grabbed each others hands and jumped up and down and in circles at the sheer thrill of it. And both had sobbed, out of pure happiness, as they clung to their daddy's legs and told him it was the best Christmas ever.

"That damn dog is a pain in the ass," Flack complained, as a loud sneeze, of canine persuasion, erupted from under the mounds of paper. A flurry of activity ensued. That tip of his tail the only thing visible as Wiener chased a treat amongst all the mess.

"You love him," Sam declared. "Wiener the Wiener dog. Your life would be empty without him. Admit it."

Flack just snorted.

"I can't believe you left him out," she complained, pouting dramatically, as she held on tight to the small black velvet box that was home to the family ring that she had wanted for five years and her husband had finally gotten off his ass to buy. A thick white gold band with channel set stones. Sapphire, garnet, diamond and than another sapphire. The names of each holder of said birthstones engraved on the inside of the band.

"I was not going to put a dog's birthstone on a family ring," Flack informed her, his arm wrapped loosely around her torso as she sat between his legs, back against his chest. The same way they'd sat the night before.

"Why not? He is our family. He's our baby."

Flack rolled his eyes and kissed her temple. "He's a dog, Sammie. He's just the family pet. Human babies take precedence over four legged ones."

"I know that," she said. "But he is a Flack, you know. That's what the vet has written on his chart. Sex, male. Name, Wiener Flack."

"That is just not right," her husband grumbled. "And I never should have let the girls name him that. You know what that sounds like? When you're standing on the back porch calling him in at night after he's taken a shit? Wiener! Come here, Wiener! Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Sam tilted her head back and grinned up at him. "You're a wiener," she said.

He frowned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You have a good Christmas morning, baby?" he asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek with his knuckles. Blue eyes never leaving golden ones.

She smiled softly and nodded. "I'm certainly not complaining. You spoiled me. As usual."

Although the majority of her presents, despite the ring and two pairs of slippers from the girls and a Royal Daulton figurine bearing the name Samantha, had been gift cards for Bloomingdale's and JC Penney, her husband had gone to the trouble of sealing them in large boxes and stuffing them full of tissue before wrapping them and putting bows and ribbons on them. So she'd have the joy of having things to open. The ring box, he'd tucked into one of the branches on the tree, next to the ornament he'd bought for their first Christmas together. And than had made her go on a search through the tree, with the girls giggling because they knew daddy's secret, for her extra special present.

"I like to spoil you," Flack told her, nuzzling her cheek and ear with his nose. "Maybe I think you deserve nice things."

"You've always given me nice things," she said with a smile, hugging his arm to her. "But nothing can beat the best two gifts you'd ever given me."

"What are those?" he asked, pecking her cheek. "Your engagement ring and anniversary band?"

"Well those are incredible," she replied, holding up her left hand to admire the white gold three stone engagement ring - a large princess cut diamond in the middle, flanked on either side by triangular diamonds- and the band of channel side diamonds that sat on top of a thick, simple white gold wedding ring that matched his nearly three inch thick band. "But I was thinking more along the lines of the precious, beautiful baby girls you gave me."

"I didn't exactly give them to you," he said. "I just had a small part in making them."

"I wouldn't exactly call it a small part," Sam giggled.

He grinned and pressed his lips against her ear. "You're still a dirty girl, Tinks. Even after eight years."

"I can't help but pay it and you a compliment," she said. "And if I do remember correctly, you put a lot of hard work and sweat into the night they were conceived."

"Nothing that fun and enjoyable can be considered work," he told her. "And that night…that night's definitely gone down in history for the number of times we've…"

"Daddy!" Kellan called. "Can you help us with something?"

"What kind of something?" he asked.

"We want to take off Barbie's clothes and Ken's clothes and put them to bed," his daughter answered nonchalantly.

Sam nearly spit out an entire mouthful of tea. "Why would you want to do that?" she inquired.

"'Cause that's how mommies and daddies sleep," Kellan informed her. As if it was the only obvious answer in the world. "With no clothes on."

"Mommies and daddies wear pyjamas to bed," Sam said.

"Uh-uh," Kellan argued, shaking her head adamantly. "Not all mommies and daddies."

"Well daddy and I wear clothes to bed," Sam told her.

"Yeah but Uncle Danny and Aunt Linds don't," Kellan said. "I saw them. When we sleep over there the last time. I saw them with no clothes on in bed."

Flack's eyes widened. "You what now?" he asked.

"I saw it, too," Kallison piped up. "When we went to ask for a drink. They had no clothes on."

"And were they sleeping?" Sam asked curiously.

"They weren't sleeping," Kellan replied. "Uncle Danny was lying on Aunt Linds and she was giggling and he was whispering in her ear."

"He was what and the what?" Flack nearly shouted, horrified.

Sam squeezed his forearm as a sign to calm down. "And what happened after that?" she asked their daughters. "Did Aunt Lindsay say anything or…"

"Auntie Linds looked at us and said 'oh shit' and pushed Uncle Danny off of her," Kellan told her, not seeing the big deal, her attention focused on brushing Rapunzel Barbie's flowing locks.

"And than Uncle Danny fell off the bed!" Kallison exclaimed.

"And he smacked onto the floor really hard!" Kellan cried.

Both girls erupted into laughter at memory.

"And?" Flack pressed, struggling to keep his temper in cheek. "What happened?"

"And than Auntie Linds told us to go wait out in the hall and than Uncle Danny came out and he got us our water and made us go back to bed," Kallison responded.

"And he had clothes on," added Kellan. "I think him and Auntie Linds were having a tickle fight like you and mommy do sometimes, daddy. Remember? That time a long, long time ago when I came in to sleep with you guys and mommy was giggling and you were hiding under the blankets?"

"Okay…." Sam said, coughing noisily and untangling herself from her husband's embrace and standing up. "On that happy little note, I think it's time we start cleaning this place up."

"But mommy…." Kallison whined. "We were just playing."

"And you can keep playing once the mess is cleaned up," Sam assured her. "But it's getting late and we still have to get ready to go to grandma and grandpa's."

"But what about all of our toys?" Kellan asked.

"All of your toys will still be here when we get home. And tomorrow's another day and you can play with them all day long if you want. Okay?"

Both girls sighed heavily.

"Either that or daddy can call Santa and tell him to take everything back to the North Pole and give them out to little girls and boys that help clean up messes and don't give their mommies and daddies a hard time."

"Daddy wouldn't do that," Kallison declared.

"Listen to your mom," Flack told his girls as he stood up and stretched and yawned noisily.

"Go into the laundry room and grab me two big green garbage bags," Sam instructed her daughters.

They scampered off, their hair swaying across their backs.

"Nice," Flack grumbled as he began gathering up armfuls of wrapping paper. "Now our kids have seen not only us, but Danny and Lindsay having sex."

"It's not like they know, Don," Sam told him. "I mean, they didn't know when they walked in on us what oral sex was. So they certainly didn't know that they walked in on their aunt and uncle getting busy."

"That's not the point," he said. "The point is that they shouldn't be subjected to seeing things like that."

"Don, you heard Kellan. She thinks we were having a tickle fight for crying out loud. No harm, no foul."

"Could screw her up for the rest of her life. Make her want to have sex at a really young age or something."

Sam laughed. "Are you listening to yourself? That's ridiculous. She doesn't know the first thing about sex. You need to chill out a bit."

"How can I chill out? My baby girl just talked about walking in on us and her aunt and uncle getting it on. Separately, of course. Because man, the four of us? That's even too kinky for me."

"She doesn't know," Sam insisted. "She has no clue what mommies and daddies are doing in their beds with no clothes on. And she doesn't need to know. You talking about it over and over again? She's going to hear it and wonder what the big deal is. And than you're going to have to explain to her what the real deal is."

He physically shuddered at the thought.

"What are you going to do when she's old enough to date and bringing boys home and we're catching them making out down here?"

"Are you insane? Neither of them girls are dating until they're thirty. And even than I'm going to be waiting up, sitting on the front porch with a shot gun in my lap. And if some moron guy even touches a hair on their heads inappropriately…"

"Relax, honey," she rubbed his arm affectionately. "There's many years ahead before they are into that sort of thing. First you have to deal with periods and training bras. And not in that exact order either."

"Did you really have to, Sammie? Bring up bras and menstrual cycles when talking about my baby girls?"

"Your baby girls will grow up into young women, Donnie. Sorry to ruin that little fantasy of yours that has them five years old and madly in love with their daddy for the rest of their lives."

He sighed heavily. "I'm just not ready to think about stuff like that, babe."

"And what are you ready to think about?" she asked.

He shrugged, than smiled as his girls came running out of the laundry room trailing green garbage bags behind them. "I'm ready to think about making snow angels with them and having snow ball fights and going tobogganing and building a snow fort and snow men with them. That's the kind of thing I'm ready to think about," he said, running a hand over Kallison's hair as she stood in front of him and leaned her back against his legs and looked up at him. "Nothing long term, right baby girl?"

"Right, daddy," she agreed, than giggled when he leaned down to give her an Eskimo kiss.

"Well you know what I'm thinking about?" Sam asked, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the disaster before her. "Getting this mess cleaned up and than soaking in steaming bubble bath."

"You gonna need some help with that?" he asked with a grin, checking out his wife's ass as she bent down to begin cleaning up the mess. The t-shirt of her Care Bear pyjamas lifting up to reveal the massive tattoo that covered her lower back and spread from hip to hip. "'Cause I can pour the bubbles. And I'm pretty good scrubbing backs too."

She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him. "We'll see about that Mister Flack," she said.

"Daddy?" Kallison asked, looking up at him once again. "Is mommy your wife?"

"Yep," he replied. "She's my wife and I'm her husband. And I'm yours and Kellan's daddy. Why?"

"Well if you and mommy are married, that means that you have a crush on mommy, right?"

Sam looked over her shoulder once more, a grin on her face as she waited to hear his response.

"A big time crush," he said, and winked at his wife.

"And that means mommy has a crush on you, right?"

Flack looked pointedly at his wife.

"A massive crush," Sam told her. "I think I'll keep your daddy around. What do you think? Should we keep him?" she asked.

Kallison beamed and nodded. "Forever and ever," she replied.

* * *

Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer was on television. For what seemed like the hundredth time since the first of December hit. While Sam tended to Kallison in the girls' bathroom, Flack sat on the edge of his queen sized bed, in a pair of black Dockers and a simple blue dress shirt, as Rudolph was being persecuted for being different on the plasma tv mounted on a shelf on the wall at the far end of the room. The holiday classic had been a favourite of his when he was a kid. And it appeared as if one of his children had picked up on it as well.

Kellan stood in between his legs. Sipping on a fruit punch drinking box, her eyes riveted on the program. She'd seen it at least a dozen times. If not more. She could sing along to the different songs and knew a handful of lines. The show never got boring and she always asked if she could watch it when it caught her eye while her parents were flipping channels. Already dressed in a black crushed velvet dress with a red satin sash around her waist, black leggings and black patent leather dress shoes, she was biding her time while her father brushed out her waist length hair.

"Those other reindeer are mean," she announced in disgust. "Why are they so mean to Rudy, daddy?"

"Because some people are mean to anyone who is different," Flack told her, slowly dragging the paddle brush through his daughter's hair.

"How come?" she asked.

"Because they're scared of anything or anyone that is different," he told her. "Because they don't love themselves very much and they're not happy and they want to make everyone else unhappy too."

"That's stupid," Kellan declared.

"That's not a nice word," Flack told her, setting the brush on the bed and picking up a comb. "What did mommy and I tell you about calling things or people stupid?" he asked.

"That it's not nice," she replied. "And not to do it."

"Exactly," he said. "So what do you say?"

"Sorry, daddy."

"Good girl," he praised and kissed her cheek. He used the comb to separate Kellan's hair into two sections. "Are you sure you want pig tails?" he asked.

She nodded. "Braided pig tails," she clarified. "You do the bestest braided pig tails daddy."

"Hold this one than," he said, draping one section over her shoulder.

He combed out the second one than broke it into three equal pieces and expertly and efficiently, set to tightly braiding his daughter's hair. He had never dreamed, as a single guy hitting the bars and subsequently hitting on anything that looked remotely interested in him, that one day he'd be styling his little girls hair. First, he had never dreamed in a million years that he'd ever get married or have kids. Second, hair dressing was never something he'd ever admit to in a million years.

But when your wife suffered one of her horrifically painful, near crippling days, you learned things right quick and did things you'd always dumped on her. Making lunches, taking the kids to swimming lessons, doing umpteen loads of laundry and being a parent chaperon on field trips to Coney Island or the Museum of Natural Art and History of the art gallery. Had he not been as patient and understanding as he was, there would have been many a time his family would have simply fallen apart.

Not that he expected some kind of praise or an award. Because in reality, he enjoyed being domesticated. He enjoyed being a husband and a father.

He secured the first braid at the top with a Hello Kitty bauble and at the bottom with a simple elastic before moving on to the second section of hair. He took his time. Making sure the braid was tight and that it lined up perfectly with the one on the opposite side of Kellan's head.

"Daddy?" Kellan asked in a tiny voice.

"What, baby?"

"This part makes me feel sad."

"Why's it make you feel sad, baby girl?"

"It's the Island of the Misfit Toys," she cried. "All the toys that no one wants! That's not fair! That's not right that all those toys don't have homes or mommies and daddies."

"It's just a movie, Kellan," Flack told her gently, finishing with the second pig tail.

"But it's not fair! It's like that in real life, too! Lots of boys and girls that have no mommies and daddies or homes to go to or toys to play with."

"Don't worry about stuff like that, okay? That's not for little girls to worry about."

"And what about all the bad guys?" she asked, sniffling noisily, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was just like her mother. Overly sensitive. "There's lots of bad guys out there, daddy!"

"And there's lots of good people out there catching the bad guys," he told her, laying his hands on her shoulders and gently turning her around to face him. "You don't need to worry about stuff like this, alright? There's lots of people dealing with the bad guys."

"Will the bad guys come here, daddy? Will they come and hurt me and Kallison? And you and mommy? Will they hurt Wiener?"

"No one is coming to come here and hurt anyone," he promised, and holding her tiny face in his hands, cleared her tears away with his thumbs. "You don't have to worry about stuff like that, okay? Daddy will protect you and Kallison and your mommy."

"And Wiener, too?" she asked.

"And Wiener, too," he replied. "Although he's pretty tough. He may be tiny, but he's tough guy. He'd be able to scare the bad guys away. Bite them in the ankles."

Kellan giggled at that.

"I love you, baby girl," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And I don't want you thinking about stuff like that, okay?"

"Okay, daddy," she sniffled. "But it's still not nice that those other reindeer were mean to Rudy."

"No, it's not," he agreed. "But you know to be nice to other kids, right? Even the ones that seem different?"

She nodded.

"Good," he said and kissed her cheek. "Now let's go and sneak some of them gingerbread cookies mommy's taking to grandma and grandpa's. Sound good?"

Kellan nodded and took her dad's hand as he stood up and led the way from the bedroom.

They headed downstairs and into the kitchen. Where Flack poured them glasses of milk and quietly and sneakily, peeled the lid back on the Tupperware container holding the baked goods that Sam had made and planned on taking alone, and scooped up two Gingerbread men.

"Our little secret," he whispered to Kellan, carrying them to the table where she was kneeling on her regular chair.

"Shhh…" she said with a giggle, a finger over her lips.

He sat down in the chair beside her, listening to her chatter on about all of the toys that Santa had brought while they dug into their cookies and sipped their milk. Kellan had just finished her cookie when the doorbell sounded throughout the entire house. Flack frowned. The last thing they were expecting on Christmas Day was company. Wiener, crunching noisily on his bowl of kibble by the sliding door, jumped a country mile at the sudden noise, than began barking noisily and running in circles before tearing out of the kitchen and to the front door.

He left Kellan in the kitchen. Giving her a colouring book and some crayons that they kept in the bottom cupboard near the fridge to keep her busy while he headed to see who the unexpected visitor was on his door step.

"Daddy!" Kallison bellowed from the top of the stairs. "Auntie Mel is here!"

What in the hell, Flack thought, as he headed into the small front foyer and unlocked the dead bolt on the heavy wooden door. His younger sister Melanie, with her problems with alcohol and the fact she couldn't keep herself looking half decent let alone a steady job, wasn't exactly a welcome face in their home. She never sent cards on the kids' birthdays and had to be guilted into a simple phone call by her parents. And when she did show up, her visits were often late at night when she was fall down drunk and ranting and raving about her shitty, goddamn life. She terrified the girls and Flack didn't want someone like that around them. Blood ties or no blood ties.

He pulled open the door and shook his head in disgust at the sight in front of him. His sister in an impossibly short skirt, thigh high brown leather boots and a skimpy black suede jacket that barely came to her waist. Her hair soaking wet. The loose strands at the sides of her face nearly frozen.

"Melanie, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"Well Merry Christmas to you, too, Donnie," she snorted. "Are you going to let me in or let me freeze my ass off out here?"

"What do you want?" he repeated.

"I need a ride to mom and dad's."

"Call a cab. It'll cost you twenty bucks."

"I don't have any money. Come on…don't be a jerk and let me in."

"You live in lower Manhattan, Mel. How come you found your way here and you couldn't just skip past my place and go on to mom and dad's?"

"Maybe I wanted to see my nieces ahead of time," she reasoned.

"Sure you did…" Flack said. "How'd you get here, Mel?"

"A friend dropped me off."

"A friend?" he asked. "What kind of friend? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Pimp?"

"I don't…"

"Don't deny it. I know what you've been up to. You don't think other cops come back to me when they see your name and tell me everything you're up too."

"Come on, Donnie," she implored, shivering. "I don't need a lecture, alright? I just need to get warm. Please? Don't leave me standing out here."

"Don?" Sam's voice from behind him. He felt her hand on his back as came alongside of him. "Whose at the…" she paused at the sight of the woman on her porch. "…door," she finished with a frown.

Melanie offered a phony smile and a finger wave. She couldn't stand her brother's wife. And the feelings were mutual.

"I'm going to check on the girls," Sam said, and left brother and sister standing there staring at each other.

Melanie snorted. "She's still such a peach, huh Donnie?"

"Get the fuck off my porch," Flack snapped, and shut the door in her face.

* * *

**Okay, I left Flack's sis' name Melanie. Which was suppose to be her name until TPTB decided to change it to Sam. After all, we all know who the real Sam Flack is.....**

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! And the lurkers too! But please, please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**Brrtmclv**

**Twinkeyrocks**

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**Celine**

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**Bluehaven4220**

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**Wolfeylady**

**shopaholic20**


	9. Whoa Nelly

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**100 REVIEWS IN ONLY EIGHT CHAPTERS! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! THANKS TO ALL OF YOU! AND LETS SEND A HUGE CONGRATS TO MUCHMADNESS FOR BEING THE 100****TH ****REVIEW. SHE IS THE LUCKY RECIPIENT OF A (IMAGINARY) TRIP TO…NEW YORK CITY!**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO ARE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS. ONCE AGAIN I REITERATE THAT THIS IS JUST FOR FUN. AND THAT IF THERE IS SOMETHING YOU WANT TO BORROW, WHETHER IT BE A PERSON OR AN EVENT, PLEASE ASK BEFORE USING IT. I'M ACTUALLY A PRETTY NICE PERSON AND I'D APPRECIATE BEING ASKED, INSTEAD OF FINDING THESE THINGS OUT BY PURE CHANCE.**

**THIS IS A PRESENT CHAPTER. ZACK TANNER IS BASED ON ACTOR JASON STATHAM OF THE TRANSPORTER MOVIES. NOT WHAT YOU IMAGINED ZACK WOULD LOOK LIKE, HUH? **

**ENJOY, BEG 75**

* * *

**Whoa Nelly….**

"I can't wait to see you  
Want to see if you still got that look in your eyes  
That one you had for me before we said our goodbyes  
And it's a shame that we got to spend our time  
Being mad about the same things  
Over and over again  
About the same things  
Over and over again

But I think she's leaving  
Ooh man she's leaving  
I don't know what else to do  
(I Can't go on not loving you)

'Cause it's all in my head  
I think about it over and over again  
And I can't keep picturing you with him  
And it hurts so bad, yeah

'Cause it's all in my head  
I think about it over and over again  
I replay it over and over again yeah  
And I can't take it  
yeah I can't shake it."  
-Over and Over, Nelly feat. Tim McGraw

* * *

During the day, Terrence Davis' club was nothing to sneeze at. No scantily clad females serving drinks or waiting on tables. No DJ spinning the latest in rap or hip-hop. No revellers bumping and grinding on the relatively small dance floor. The room boasted little more than simple round wooden tables without their usual white and black patterned tablecloths thrown over them. A handful of couches and chaise lounges. Metal chairs with black vinyl cushions and wooden stools at the wall-to-wall bar that boasted a rather elaborate and eye catching water wall behind it. Rivers of water trickling down as a pretty young Asian woman clad in a skimpy red tank top and leopard patterned skirt counted bills from the register and giggled at the flirtatious behaviour of the male figure perched on a stool in front of her. A well built African American; his muscles were on fine display in a black undershirt. Large diamond studs sparkled gloriously on his ears and a Rolex watch took up residence on his left wrist. The platinum sparkling in the light each time he brought a glass of JD on the rocks to his lips.

"Terrence!" Flack called as he and the two girls stepped into the room. "Long time no see. I need a word."

"Ain't got time for a word," the other man responded without turning around. "I'm a busy man. Trying to run a legitimate business here. Don't be coming around and busting my balls."

"Looks like a legitimate business," Sam said, glancing around at her surroundings as they approached the bar. "Considering the girl you've got there looks about fifteen and is probably not in possession of a green card."

Davis turned around slowly, a slow grin spreading from ear to ear at the sight that greeted him. "Who are you two?" he asked, his eyes flicking back and forth between Sam and Lindsay. Both women were attractive. The one with the Posh Spice style hair cut was the more wholesome, bring home to momma type. However, the other one, with sultry dark hair and curves in all the right places, was straight up walking sex. His eyes, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, settled on her. "Cagney and Lacey?"

"Leave the stand up comedy to someone else, " Sam snorted. "Because Chris Rock, you ain't."

"Let me guess, Flack," Davis chuckled. "She's the mean one out of the three of you. The bad cop."

"Bend over and I'll show you just how bad," Sam said with a wink.

He smirked. "You're from Brooklyn," he commented.

She smiled politely. "Damn it's bright in here," she commented, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Here I was thinking you were wearing those shades because you just had hideous fashion sense. Thinking it was the cool thing to do."

"Why don't you take off your glasses," Lindsay suggested. "Show us your pretty eyes."

"I'm just fine with them on, boo."

"Take 'em off," Flack demanded.

Davis sighed heavily, removed his sunglasses, and set them on the bar. "So? What have I done to deserve a personalized visit from three of New York's finest? And by finest," he eyed Lindsay up and down, than Sam. "I mean that in every sense of the word."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Do you know a Christopher Rollins?" Lindsay asked.

"Should I?" Davis replied.

Sam opened the case folder she carried and pulled out a glossy photograph of their victim. Taken down in autopsy. "You should," she said, as she held the picture out towards him. "Your phone number was found on him."

"He dead?" Davis asked.

"A hole that size in the side of your head is usually fatal," Flack replied.

"Never seen that guy a day in my life," the younger man declared. "And what's this about my phone number being on that fool?"

"That's not how this works," Sam said. "We ask the questions. Not you. Do you know a Christopher Rollins?"

"I just told you that…"

"You're lying," Flack cut him off. "A guy like you doesn't give his name out to just anyone."

"So cut the shit and cooperate," Sam said. "Unless you want us to get a warrant to go through all your employee files and check each one of your girls for both age and citizenship."

Davis looked back and forth between the three cops, than slowly slid off the bar stool. "Maybe we can talk about this somewhere a little more private," he said. "Just the three of us," he eyed the two girls once more.

"No dice, Terrence," Flack told him. "Trust me; you'll want me there to protect you from these two. Especially this one," he nodded down at Sam. "So be a good boy and take us to your office and we'll all sit down and have a nice, long, friendly chat."

"A'right," Davis relented, holding his hands up in surrender. "Just saying me and the little ladies can get better acquainted is all?"

"In your wildest and wettest," Flack told him. Following behind Lindsay and Samantha as his confidential informant led them out of the main area of the bar and down a dimly lit corridor and up a short flight of stairs. A path that he and Danny had taken once before. The night they'd visited the club for the first time. When a beautiful relationship between him and Terrence Davis had begun to take shape.

* * *

Davis paused at the side of his office door, punching a security code into the computerized access system mounted on the wall to their left. His 'space' as he called it, was located behind the bar, his desk facing the wall of water, giving him a birds eye view on what was going on in his establishment.

"Ladies," he said in smooth voice as he pushed the door open and held it, motioning for Lindsay and Samantha to go first. He stepped in front of Flack, his eyes lingering on Sam's ass on fine display in a pair of well-tailored black dress pants.

Flack, who was red blooded male himself and knew just how alluring that ass was and how hard it was to keep your eyes off of it, settled a hand on the other man's shoulder and squeezed tightly as he leaned into Davis, lips near the man's ear. "You even think about touching that, Terrence, and I'll break every bone in your body. You hear me?"

Lindsay suddenly gave a loud, ear-piercing shriek and dove behind her best friend's petite frame. Sam stood, wide eyed and visibly shaking, at the sight that greeted them. There, curled up in the middle of the floor, was a massive Siberian tiger. Fast asleep and snoring loudly.

Terrence stepped beside Sam and smiled down at his 'baby'. "Wanna pet my pussy?" he asked the pretty brunette, licking his top lip.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking something like that?" she asked, recovering quickly from her initial shock.

He smirked. "You know," he said. "I'm always hiring around here. Always looking for a sweet young thing such as you to draw in the customers. I don't need a resume. You just say the word and I'll you in one of them string bikinis, working behind the bar."

"Terrence," Flack warned. "Be nice."

"Or on the bar," Davis said with a devilish grin. "In fact, I wouldn't mind bending you over the bar right now and…"

Flack grabbed a hold of the smaller, younger man by both shoulders and marched Davis across the office and behind the desk. Using a foot to pull out the chair, the detective nearly lifted the other man off his feet as he forcibly shoved him into the seat. "You may be my CI, Terrence, but you're walking a very fine line with me, my friend. That's sexual harassment. And if you think for one second that I'm going to tolerate you talking like that to my girl…"

"Your girl?" Davis smiled broadly as he looked at Sam and than up at Flack. "Lucky you. Bet she's a crazy little thing behind closed doors."

"I'm warning you," Flack glared at his CI as he walked around the front of the desk. "One more comment…"

"You gotta thing for cops, huh?" Davis said to Sam. "Tell you what. You ever get tired of walking on the right side of the law and you want to give the wilder, darker side a try, you know where to find me."

"Oh, Terrence," she smiled sweetly, and leaning over his desk, laid a hand on the side of his face. "I assure you that if you were suddenly the last man on earth, I'd become a lesbian."

Flack coughed noisily in vain attempt of hiding a laugh. While Lindsay, visibly amused, stepped cautiously over the sleeping feline and stood beside the homicide detective. One eye on Terrence Davis and the other on the tiger.

"Now tell us how you know Christopher Rollins," Sam said, tossing the autopsy photo down on the desk as she took a step back.

"Was he one of your peeps, Terrence?" Flack asked, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "One of your homies?"

"He is…was…my brother in law."

"In what way?" Lindsay asked. "You're married to his sister, he was married to yours…"

"He hooked up with my sister about five years ago now," Davis replied, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. "They've got a couple of kids. Been legally hitched going on three years."

"And you couldn't just tell us this outside?" Flack asked. "You had to play the stupid card?"

"Can't make your job to easy now, can I?" Davis grinned.

Sam sighed heavily. "Either cut your crap or…"

"A'right, a'right…" Davis chuckled. "Keep your panties on. Or don't. I prefer the latter option."

"Terrence!" Flack snapped. "One more comment and I'm yanking any deal I ever made with you out from under your feet. Quit playing games with us. Cooperate. Act in your best interest. Because trust me, she will tear you another asshole before you even know what hit you."

"Why couldn't you just tell us he was your brother in law out there?" Sam asked, nodding in the direction of the bar. "Is it some kind of top secret information or something?"

"I prefer to keep my private life just that," Davis replied. "Private. What goes down between my family and me is no one's business. And that includes yours."

"Well you see, Terrence, when someone turns up dead, it becomes my business," Sam informed him.

"Especially when the someone that turns up dead has your phone number on him and we come to find out, is a relative of yours," Flack added. "So what happened? Why'd Rollins and your sister split?"

"You marital counsellors, too?" Davis asked. "Why do most people split up?"

"There's about a hundred different reasons," Sam replied. "We only need one."

"Bitch was cheating on him. With a friend of hers."

"What was this friend's name?" Flack asked. "He have a name?"

"It wasn't no he. It was a she. And I don't see why her name is of any business to you."

"So you're sister was screwing around on her man and he found out," Flack concluded. "So what happened? He get pissed off? Rough her up a bit? You take exception to that and decide to pay him back? Make it look like a suicide so you wouldn't do any time?"

Davis laughed and shook his head. "That's what I love about the NYPD. Always trying to trick a brother into admitting to something he had no part in. If anything, I was his greatest ally. And I wouldn't, and didn't, kill him for messing around on her. Once a 'ho, away a 'ho I warned him to stay away from her. He didn't listen. His own fault in the end when the trifling bitch stepped out on him."

"Harsh words for your own sister," Lindsay commented.

"There's no love lost between me and that bitch. She owes me over twenty g's, boo."

"Bad business venture?" Sam asked.

"Bailing her out of trouble time and time again," Davis replied. "Supporting her crack habit. And before you ask? No. She's not capable of killing someone."

"People do a lot of crazy things when they're hopped up," Flack reasoned. "Maybe that's what happened to her. She went over to his place, all crazy on the stuff and killed her ex when he wouldn't take her back. She called you in a panic and you went over, cleaned up her mess, and made it look like he committed suicide. She's still your sister regardless of how screwed up she is. I can't imagine you not sticking up for your flesh and blood."

"Did you not hear me?" Davis asked. "She owed me twenty g's! Sometimes the green means more than the red if you know what I mean."

"When was the last time you spoke to your brother in law?" Flack asked.

"A few days ago. He called me. Looking for a job. He was hoping I'd hook him up. Let him work the doors."

"And were you going to?" Sam inquired. "Hook him up?"

"I was thinking about it. Look, I have no clue what happened to the guy. I had no idea he was even dead until you told me. I had nothing to do with his untimely demise.'

"Where were you last night?" Flack asked. "Between nine and midnight?"

"Right here," Davis told him. "Working. And yeah, I do have an alibi. My entire staff can vouch for me. They saw me come into the club at fifteen minutes to nine."

"We want names and phone numbers of all those employees," Flack told him.

"A'right, A'right," Davis said with a slow nod. "I'll get that for you. And start off with Monique out there. She and I were in here, on this exact desk, from nine o'clock until about quarter after."

"That's classy," Lindsay snorted.

"I'll give you credit, Terrence," Sam said. "That's fourteen more minutes than I would have given you credit for."

Lindsay couldn't hold it in any longer. She gave a loud snort and dissolved into giggles.

"Terrence," Flack chuckled as he shook his head. "This is one instance where you'll never get the last word, my friend."

Davis slowly stood up, and leaning his palms on his desk, leaned over it and stared Sam dead in the eye. "You wouldn't be able to handle this, baby girl," he said.

"Don't flatter yourself," she leaned over the desk as well and smiled sweetly. "I've handled bigger, and better. And the things that your 'boss' back there has taught me? I could show you a thing or two."

"I bet you could," he said, sizing her up. "And I am at your disposal. Ready, willing and able."

"You'll be waiting a hell of a long time," she told him. "And if I find out that you had anything to do with Christopher Rollins' death, I don't care whose CI you are. I'm coming back here and I'm bending YOU over the bar and slapping the cuffs on you. And trust me, I'm far from gentle."

Davis didn't respond. He stood there, hands firmly planted on the top of his desk, his eyes locked on the unwavering gold ones holding him hostage.

Lindsay shifted uncomfortably beside Flack. The tension in the room thick and unbearable.

"Knew you were a bad girl the moment I saw you," Davis said, his voice quiet.

"I'm the one you wouldn't be able to handle," Sam told him. "So take a step back or I'll knock you on your ass, Terrence."

"What are you going to do, baby girl? Smack me? Punch me? Throw me on the ground and arrest me? That's more pleasure than pain if you ask me."

"Don't tempt me, Terrence," she warned. "Now step back."

"I ain't doing anything. What? You like it when someone goes all gangster, bad boy on you? That kind of thing turn you on? If that's the case, you've come to the right place. Get rid of your friends and I'll show you just how big and bad I really am."

Flack stepped forward and reached in between his girlfriend and his CI, locked in an epic stare down, and snagged the autopsy photo off the desk. "We'll be in touch about your brother in law, Terrence," he said, then grabbed a hold of Sam's wrist and gently yanked her in the direction of the door. "Detective Ross, we're done here."

"I'm looking forward to hearing from y'all," Davis said. "Especially your girl there. She wants to be all ghetto superstar with me."

"How about you and I right here and right now, Terrence," she snapped, yanking her wrist out of Flack's grasp and starting towards the desk once again. "Think you're all gangster? Think you're all Fifty Cent when you're nothing more than a dime bag?"

"Come here, little girl," he chuckled. "Come here and assume the position and we'll…."

"You know what, Terrence…" she advanced on him.

Flack caught her by the back of her coat. Twisting the fabric firmly in his hand, yanking her back towards him, turning her, and propelling her towards the door. "We are done here, Detective Ross," he said forcefully.

Davis laughed behind them. "Good luck with her, Flack. She's a feisty one. Gonna have you on a leash and grovelling at her feet before long."

With his free hand, Flack yanked open the office door and pushed Sam out onto the landing. "You and Lindsay go and wait in the goddamn car," he ordered.

"Don't you…."

"Take her out to the car," Flack told an unsettled, almost frightened Lindsay Monroe as she stepped out behind them.

"But what are you…." Lindsay began.

"Me and you are going to talk about this later," Flack warned his girlfriend, before disappearing inside the office once more, slamming the door behind him.

Sam snorted in response and stomped down the stairs.

Her best friend in hot pursuit behind her.

* * *

"Figured you'd want this," Davis said, parked in his chair once more, holding a piece of paper out to the homicide detective storming towards him.

Flack grabbed the smaller man by the front of the shirt and lifted him clear off his feet. Kicking the chair across the room, he pinned a startled Terrence Davis to the metal filing cabinets behind his desk.

"If you ever, and I mean ever, talk like that to her again Terrence, I will rip your head off, shove it up your ass and shit down your throat? Do you understand me?"

"Pussy must be really good for you to get so hot under the collar about it," Davis said with a dry laugh.

Flack pulled the other man away from the cabinets slightly before slamming him angrily into them once more. "You work for me, remember Terrence? I saved your ass. Spared you from doing hard time. I'm not your friend. I'm not your buddy. We aren't ever going to be hanging out, having a beer together."

"Cool that….cool that. Take it easy there, Columbo."

"If you ever talk to her or about her like that again? I will come for you and I will toss your sorry ass in Sing-Sing where it really belongs. And that's only after I hand you your ass twice over. Am I making any sense, Terrence? Do you understand me?"

"Loud and clear, Flack. Loud and clear."

Sighing heavily, Flack let the smaller man go. And with a polite smile, smoothed the front of Terrence's shirt down before ripping the paper from the man's hands. "These are the names and numbers of all the employees who can verify your whereabouts?"

"Each and every one. I had nothing to do with whatever happened to Chris. You know, I'm kinda glad you paid me a visit today."

"Yeah?" Flack asked, his eyes skimming the list. "And why's that? You miss me, Terrence? Looking for a little TLC?"

"I was going to call you," Davis said, retrieving his chair and putting it back behind his desk before sitting down in it. "I've got some news."

"About?" Flack asked.

"You."

The detective frowned. "Me? What about me?"

"Someone's been watching you," Davis told him. "Watching you and your girl actually. Didn't know until she walked in here today who she was or what she looked like, but I'll give you credit dawg. She's mighty fine. Body like that?" he shook his head. "Off the hook."

"Whose this someone?" Flack asked.

"Some low down, dirty PI."

"Who hired him?"

"How should I know? I just caught wind of it. That this dude was watching you and your pretty young lady."

"And where'd you hear this?"

"Eyes and ears, Flack. Eyes and ears."

Flack sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. There were a million and one people he had pissed off in the span of his career that could quite possibly seek out revenge. But only a handful seemed intelligent enough, or had the kind of money it took, to hire out a private investigator.

"Think you can catch some more wind for me, Terrence?" he asked. "Think you can try and find out who this PI is and who hired him? Do some nosing around and see what you can come up with?"

"Do I really have to?" Davis asked.

Flack smirked and carefully folded the list of employee names and tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "You wanna stay out of prison?" he asked, heading for the door.

Davis sighed. "I'll see what I kind find out. I'll call you as soon as I hear something."

"You do that," Flack said, opening the office door and stepping out onto the landing. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he looked back inside at his CI. "Remember what I said, Terrence. Business is one thing. But when you fuck with my personal life…"

"I heard you, Flack," Davis assured him. "Loud and clear."

"Good. Don't make me have to tell you again."

Terrence Davis jumped slightly at the sound of the door slamming angrily. Muttering curse words under his breath, he picked up the phone and started making some calls.

* * *

Lindsay hurried to catch up to her best friend and colleague as Sam furiously threw open the front door of the club and stepped out into the blustery snow.

"Sam…wait…" Lindsay pleaded.

The tiny brunette ignored her, digging her hand into her jacket pocket and searching for the keys to the department issued Avalanche that they had brought in place of Flack's squad car. Lindsay had been behind the wheel up until they had picked Sam up at the bistro. Upon which, the girl from Montana had jumped out, tossed the other woman the keys, and demanded she take over. Lindsay just had no patience, or tolerance, for New York City drivers. Especially in the winter.

"Sammie…" Lindsay tried again. "Just hold up. Talk to me about what went on in there."

No response yet again.

Frustrated, Lindsay stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "SAMANTHA!" she bellowed. "STOP!"

Sam finally halted, turning to face her best friend. The wind whipping her hair about her face and bringing tears to her eyes. Or at least Lindsay thought the wind was to blame.

"What the hell happened in there?" Lindsay asked. "I've seen you stand up to perps before, but that…." she gestured towards the club. "I have never, ever seen you like that."

"He just pissed me off, Linds. Thinking that just because he's Don CI he can talk to us any way he wants."

"He was doing it to get a rise out of you, Sammie. As soon as you walked in and stuck up for yourself, he knew right away what buttons to push to get to you. And you fell right into the trap. He was playing a game with you and you went along with it. Hook, line and sinker."

"What did you want me to do?" Sam asked. "Let him talk like that to me?"

"You should have just let it go. When Flack told you to, you should have just backed off and let it go."

"He can't tell me what to do, Linds," Sam argued. "He's my boyfriend. Not my father."

"No. He's not. But work wise, Flack has more seniority than you do. He is two ranks higher than you are and it is his case now that Terrence Davis is involved. He could, if he wanted to, tell Mac to yank you off of it at any time."

"Well let him!" Sam cried. "Let him go and whine to Mac about how inappropriate my behaviour was. I'm tired of men dictating how I act and what I can say. I am my own person and I can handle myself. And if Don can't deal with that, he needs to.."

"He needs to what? If you can't separate the personal from the business, you and Flack should be on separate cases. Mac should…"

"Oh that's rich coming from you, Linds," Sam laughed. "Considering every time Danny so as much looks at you the wrong way, you're in tears and ready and ready to hop the first plane back to Montana. So if anyone shouldn't be working together…"

"I get that you're pissed about Terrence Davis being a bastard, Samantha. Okay? And I get that whatever went down with you and Angell, obviously wasn't good. because you've been a royal bitch since Flack and I picked you up. But to act like this? You have this uncanny ability of hurting the people who love you the most."

"That's just who I am, Linds," Sam said, going around to the driver's side of the truck. "I only hurt the people closest to me and screw them over."

"Sammie, I never said that. You just need to…"

"Your door's already open!" Sam yelled, then climbed in behind the wheel and slammed her door.

Lindsay sighed heavily, opened her door, and slid into the truck as well. "Sam," she tried. "I don't know what happened between you and Angell but…"

She was interrupted by the back door swinging open and Flack climbing into the vehicle.

"Can we just get the hell out of here?" he asked. "Before anything else can go wrong?"

"What happened in there after we left?" Lindsay inquired.

"Other then me giving Terrence Davis a permanent impression of a file cabinet handle on his back? Not much. Here's your list," reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the sheet of paper bearing the employee names and numbers and held it over the back of the seat.

"Are you sure that's all that went down?" Lindsay asked curiously.

"Let's just get the hell out of here and get on with the rest of the day, shall we?" Flack suggested with a polite smile.

"Can't possibly get any worse," Sam reasoned, starting the ignition.

* * *

Sam knew she was in for it the moment they climbed out of the truck back at the crime lab and Flack had grabbed a hold of her hand to prevent her from going inside right away. Lindsay had turned back when it became apparent that the colleagues she had thought she was gabbing away to weren't even walking alongside of her. The agitated, furious look on Flack's face had told her that it was in her best interest if she just kept walking. So she gave a small smile and continued on her way.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck happened back there with Terrence Davis?" Flack asked once Lindsay was out of earshot. Dropping his girlfriend's hand, he turned to face her.

"Nothing happened with him. I was doing my job."

"Doing your job? Going toe to toe with the guy was doing your job? You went far beyond the call of duty with him Sam. You let him goad you into playing his twisted little games with him."

"He was a goddamn pervert, Don. Did you think I was just going to stand there and let him talk to me like that? I was sticking up for myself."

"You were provoking him. Samantha. The more you said and the more defensive and nasty you got, the more he liked it and the more he went after you for it. Didn't you realize he was playing with you? Getting off in a way on the dirty little comments the two of you were tossing back and forth?"

"I wasn't going to put up with that shit. Not from him, not from you. Not from anyone. So I'm sorry if you feel I was out of line and inappropriate. You want me off the case, fine. Talk to Mac. I'm done discussing this and defending myself to you."

He caught her by the forearm as she walked away. "Who said anything about me wanting you of the case? I'm just trying to tell you that things got out of hand back there and you're never like that. You realize you could have cost me my CI?"

"One rat crossed off your list of many isn't going to kill you," she said.

"You should have let it go and walked away when I first told you to," Flack told her.

"Just like I should have just walked away and let it go when you told me to talk to Angell and tell her about us?"

"What does that have to do about any of this? What does Angell and our relationship outside of work have anything to do with you going toe to toe with Terrence Davis?"

Sam snorted. "You're such a man, Don. You just don't get things like this. You just don't get what a goddamn disaster my little talk with Angell was."

"We are not talking about you and your problems with Angell. We're not talking about you and me. We're talking about work. Two totally different things. Remember? The whole staying professional on the job talk we had not long ago?"

"I tossed away a friendship for you!" she argued. "I chose you over a friend and I swore to God a long time ago I'd never let some guy come between me and a friend. You have no clue what it was like talking to her! The things that were said! I did it for you! And all you can do is stand here and talk about work?"

"We're on the clock, Samantha," he reminded her. "And we're on the clock, there is no me and you. And if you can't deal with that and separate the private us from the working us than you need to…"

"I need to what?" she snapped. "Walk away from you like you wanted me to walk away from Terrence Davis? Is that what you want me to do?"

He sighed heavily and shook his head. "Of course that's not what I want," he said.

"Well you know what? I'm walking away from you right now. Because I can't stand here and talk to a brick wall. You're not even listening to me."

"Yes, I am. I am listening to you," he argued.

"No. You're not. You're watching my lips move but you're not hearing a damn thing. You want us to stay professional at work? Than that's fine. Let go my arm and let me go inside and do my job."

"Samantha, I'm just saying that you can't let personal stuff, like what went down with Angell, reflect on your work. You were pissed off and hurt about what went down and you walked into that club looking to take it out on someone. And you can't do that. You have to be able to let shit go the second you're on the job."

"Oh fuck the job for once," she huffed and yanked her arm from his grasp. "Fuck the job! I'm a goddamn human being, Don! I'm sorry if I have feelings! I'm sorry if you can't deal with the emotional shit that comes with having a girlfriend!"

"Samantha, this is about you jeopardizing a case," he responded angrily.

"But who cares about jeopardizing my feelings and my sanity, right?" she snorted and shook her head. Turning on her heel, she headed across the parking lot.

"Don't walk away from me, Samantha! You can't walk away from me!"

"You just watch me!" she yelled back, and disappeared inside.

* * *

He smirked at the sight of his fiancee storming across the snow-covered parking lot and slamming the door behind her as she headed into the New York City crime lab. She was tiny, but she was damn feisty, and like other men before him, that tall, broad shouldered, blue eyed cop standing with his hands in his pockets staring after her in disbelief, had no idea what kind of hell he was getting himself embroiled in.

Zack Tanner had made that mistake. Getting himself in so deep he had lost all ability to get himself back out. She had fucked with his mind. Crawled under his skin until she was permanently imbedded in there. He had fallen for her hard and fast. She had played with his feelings and emotions. Lied to him when he had trusted her. It was one of the reasons why had become the man he had always vowed he would never be. Abusive and controlling. A monster. She had pushed and pushed and pushed and he had eventually snapped and pushed back. He had smacked her around. Called her degrading, filthy names. Put her in the hospital with a shattered jaw and a busted orbital bone and a broken eardrum. Three weeks later, she had come back to him begging and pleading for another chance. Promising him that she had changed. She had learned her lesson. That she would be a good girl from there on out.

It had been good for a while. Damn good, in fact. She'd become what any guy would want in a housewife. She'd cooked, she'd cleaned. She'd only left the house to go to work and had come straight home after her shift was over. She was a maid and a servant. Gave him what he wanted, when he wanted it. In all aspects of his life.

And she had damn well enjoyed it and stuck around for more. She wouldn't have agreed to marry him, to be his forever, if she didn't want that kind of life.

Then it happened. A baby. The one thing that would change her for good. Being a mother would have been the ultimate form of a personality transplant for her. A child would have grounded her. Kept her priorities in check. Kept her home and taking care of her family instead of asking to go out with her friends all the time. Wanting his permission to visit her parents or fly half way across the country to visit her geek of a younger brother.

That baby was a Godsend. It had been a shock and completely unplanned, but it hadn't been unwanted. Hell, even he had stopped looking at the kid as the anchor that would keep Samantha were she belonged and began actually looking forward to being a father. He was excited at the prospect. Even going as far as attending doctors' appointments and ultrasounds and humouring his fiance by letting her drag him around the baby section in the mall. Their relationship had gotten better as soon as that pregnancy test came back positive. Samantha had stopped getting on his nerves so much. She was an insufferable bitch at the best of times. But once she was knocked up, she became tolerable. She stopped antagonizing him and picking fights with him. And in turn, he had stopped the drinking and the abuse and just concentrated on her and that baby.

And than the stupid little bitch had gone and fucked it all up. He'd asked her to quit her job at the crime lab. As a state trooper, he knew how physically demanding and dangerous a cop's job was. And he didn't want anything happening to her or that baby. They were his family.

But she hadn't listened. She had continued to work despite his orders that she quit. Samantha always had to be independent. Always had to make her own choices and take chances with things. She never could accept that everything he told her to do was for her own good. And their baby had paid the price because she was such an ignorant, ungrateful bitch.

Losing that baby had destroyed him. Pushed him back to the bottle. Brought his demons back again. And he had made her suffer for her mistakes. He had punished her just as she had deserved.

And what had he gotten in return for whipping her back into shape? For turning her into a passive, dependant, respectful woman? She'd walked out on him. Hawked the diamond ring he'd bought her and cleaned out the bank account. A night before their wedding. She'd simply run away from home.

Finding her hadn't been hard. It was amazing what putting the fear of God into her family could do. Samantha was his and nothing was going to change that. He loved her and would do anything for her. He would stop at nothing to get her back. To make her realize all that she had given up. And when he'd found out three months ago, through her own admission and because the sonofabitch she was fucking couldn't mind his own business, that she'd moved on with her life, Zack knew that Samantha was becoming further and further out of reach.

So he'd spent the next two and a half months making personal and professional changes. Two weeks ago, he'd moved to New York City but had kept his Phoenix cell phone numbers so Sam would be none the wiser. He hadn't been ready to go and get her yet. First he had wanted to see for himself just who and what he was up against.

The PI he had hired had been worth the money. The guy was as crooked and sleazy as they came, but he'd worked quickly and efficiently and within three hours of their initial meeting, Zack had had in his possession, photographs of his fiancee and the other man. Some fucking New York City cop that had no clue how to deal with a woman like her.

He looked at those pictures now as he sat behind the wheel of his rental car. Taken just three days ago. Friday night to be exact. The first few being of her leaving her apartment hand in hand with the new boyfriend. Others of her and him with another couple. Some tiny pretty girl with a chin length bob and a guy with glasses that just looked cop. Probably smelled cop too if you got close enough. The last few pictures were taken just meters from some cop bar. Zack had been able to handle seeing his woman holding hands with this other guy. Nothing scandalous about that. But when he'd seen those pictures of them kissing in the middle of that snowy sidewalk, he'd seen red.

And he still saw red as he looked at them now. That was his girl. His everything. His entire world. And no fucking New Yorky City guy was simply going to walk in to her life and steal her away.

He sighed heavily, his hands shaking with fury as he shoved the photos back into the manila envelope the PI had presented them to him in.

It's time, he thought, tossing the envelope on the front passenger seat. Waiting until traffic cleared, he climbed from the black four door Chrysler sedan and joked across the street towards the front entrance of the twelfth precinct.

Time to go and get back what's mine.

It wasn't hard to get access into busy bullpen. Zack had simply shown his badge and his identification to the duty captain and announced he was an old friend of Detective Flack's and that was that. He was given the green light. Weapon clipped to his waistband and all. Had he been in the mood to kill someone, it would have been damn easy. He could have simply walked up to that dark haired figure bent over his desk, intently focused on his paper work, and put a bullet in the back of his head before anyone was the wiser.

And it's what the guy deserved for just taking over his life. But Zack had different plans. Less sinister ones. The poor New York City boy didn't deserve to be punished for getting sucked into the kind of twisted, surreal games that Samantha Ross played with people's hearts and minds. In the long run, had things progressed between him and Samantha, a lifetime with her would have been punishment enough.

He stopped at the side of the desk. Half tempted to just keep on walking and head to the crime lab and get what he was really after.

But the plan had been put in motion. And this was just the first step.

"Detective Don Flack?" he asked.

He saw the way the younger man's entire body stiffened at the sound of the voice above him. The way this Flack kid gripped his pen so hard his knuckles turned white. All those smart ass comments during phone calls that were none of his goddamn business now coming back to haunt him.

* * *

The sound of that voice made the hair on the back of Flack's neck stand on end. That voice, and the person that it belonged to him, causing rage to quickly build inside of him. He looked up and blinked. Not expecting the sight that greeted him. Flack wasn't actually sure what he'd been expecting Zack Tanner to look like. Maybe he'd been expecting some weasly, sleazy, puny guy that beat on women because he wasn't big enough, or man enough, to take his anger out on someone of the same sex. He'd never asked Sam what Zack looked like and she'd never offered up a description.

All Flack knew was that Zack Tanner was not the man that Flack thought he'd be. He was close to six feet and built like a brick shit house. Broad shoulders and a massive chest and thick neck. His hands alone looked like they could snap a human being in half. He wore his medium brown hair in a brush cut and possessed the most callous, evil dark eyes Flack had ever seen in his life.

Now that the mystery of what Zack Tanner looked like had been solved, an even bigger one remained. How the guy possibly had the balls to show up in New York City.

"What's a matter New York?" Zack asked, amused by the awkward silence. "Cat got your tongue? Had enough to say on the phone. Can't think of anything sarcastic and mean once I'm here in person?"

"Maybe I was just contemplating beating your ass for having the cajones to show your sorry face around here," Flack responded.

"Not a nice way to talk to a visitor to your fine city," Zack said with a sigh and sat down in the chair next to Flack's desk. "But than again, I'm not exactly a visitor. I've been trying to get a hold of Samantha to tell her about my career change but she hasn't been answering her home phone or cell."

"Ever occurred to you, Zack that she doesn't want anything to do with you? That she just wants you to fuck off and leave her alone?"

"Don't tell me what Samantha wants. I know what she wants New York. I've known her a hell of a lot longer than you have. Besides, I thought she'd be excited to hear the news."

"And what news is that?" Flack asked. "You're finally given up and moving on with your life like she has?"

"You're a funny guy," Zack smirked. "Actually, I wanted to tell her about my new job."

"And what's that? Satan's looking for a right hand man?"

Zack stood up, and reaching into the pocket of his black leather bomber jacket, pulled out his badge and his wallet. He opened the wallet to his identification and tossed both it, and the shield, on the younger man's desk.

"I'm working out of here now," Zack announced. "As a United States Marshall. Hunting federal fugitives. So guess who's going to be kicking down some doors on raids with you, New York."

Flack didn't respond as he stared at the items resting on his desk. Emotionless as disbelief surged through him.

Despite Samantha's words early before they drove away from Terrence Davis' club, the day could get worse.

And the living, breathing proof was standing right next to him.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate all the kind words and support and all the amazing friends that I have made. But please R and R folks. It keeps me going and lets me know that you enjoy my work. Especially when I came this-close yesterday to never posting again. Thanks to Laurzz, Twinkeyrocks and bluehaven4220 for their reassurances and their friendships. And for making me realize I should never let one bad apple spoil the bunch.**

**Shorter list this time around, hopefully there's still lots of you out there reading.**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**Bluehaven4220**

**CavalierQueen**

**shopaholic20**


	10. One bad apple

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS AND ZACK TANNER.**

**WE HAVE A WINNER FOLKS! LOOKS LIKE A BEACH WEDDING THIS TIME AROUND!**

**THANKS TO ALL OF YOU ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS. AND FOR ALL THE SUPPORT AND KIND WORDS OFFERED UP WHEN I'VE BEEN DOUBTING MYSELF AND MY WRITING SO MUCH LATELY. **

**MUCH LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES TO LAURZZ**

* * *

**One bad apple**

"She walks into work on Monday  
Too much make-up on her face  
As if there's something more than time and lines  
She's trying to erase  
Secret shadows  
Paint and powder cannot hide  
And for every one she covers up  
A new one grows inside

She's the last to leave the office  
She's afraid not to go home  
She's afraid to be with people  
She's afraid to be alone  
And when courage feels like cowardice  
It all gets too confusing  
It's a twisted garden where you grow  
Black-eyed Susan

And your mama says:Run for your life  
From a path not freely chosen  
You can't last  
It's a crazy maze of tangled weeds  
And your footsteps are all frozen  
In the past  
It's a game of chance, girl  
You can't win for losing."  
-Black-eyed Susan, Prairie Oyster

* * *

Lindsay glanced up as the door to the unisex change room banged open. She had taken the ten minutes since returning from questioning Terrence Davis to hang up her coat and change out of her winter boots and into a pair of more work friendly shoes. And to check the messages, both text and voice, that had come through while her cell had been on silent.

She said nothing as Samantha stomped into the room and went straight to her locker four away from Lindsay's. Watching silently as her friend angrily punched the security code into the keypad on the front of the door and then through it open with a loud clatter. A piece of paper, that had been folded in two and then stuffed into the locker, fluttered to the ground. Sam mumbled a curse and bent down to scoop it up. Opening it and studying the contents, a slow smirk spread across her face. The glittering gold and silver writing advertising a department run charity costume ball being held at The Waldorf Astoria the day before Valentine's Day. All proceeds from a silent auction and the fifty dollar a person ticket going towards the paediatric oncology ward at St Vincent's Hospital.

"Apparently the kids got to pick the theme," Lindsay said, breaking the silence.

"Disney?" Sam asked. "They couldn't have picked something a little more wild and crazy?"

"Do you think you'll go?" Lindsay asked.

Sam shrugged. "It depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you're going to go."

Lindsay smiled. "I'm willing to dress up and make an ass of myself if you are."

"Disney could actually be interesting," Sam said, as she placed the piece of paper on the top shelf inside her locker. Shrugging out of her jacket, she hung it on the hook in the back. "I actually think I know what my costume is going to be."

"Already? You've known about it for all of thirty seconds," Lindsay laughed.

"Think about it, bumpkin. It's Disney. And what Disney character does Don always refer to me as?"

Lindsay smiled brightly. "You as Tinkerbell is so utterly perfect," she declared.

"I'll have to look up costume stores on the internet," Sam said, toeing off her boots and placing them on the floor of the locker. She grabbed a pair of simple black flats from a plastic bag hanging on the side hook and dropped them onto the floor. "Or maybe even the Disney Store knows where I can get an adult sized Tinkerbell costume. I want the whole nine yards. Cute little green outfit, sparkly wings, magic wand."

"Why bother with an adult size?" Lindsay teased. "You'll probably fit in a kids one."

"Ha, ha, ha," Sam said with a smirk. "Very funny coming from someone that can shop in the junior's department."

"Well if you're going with Tinkerbell, I am riding the Peter Pan train," Lindsay told her. "I'm going to go as Wendy. Do you think we can manage to both convince Danny and Flack to go with us and to get them to wear costumes?"

"It's never going to happen," Sam laughed. "Don wouldn't be caught dead going to something like that. He'd donate the fifty bucks to the charity itself. But there's no way I could get that man to dress up in a costume."

"Danny will laugh his head off if I even dare asking him," Lindsay said. "I think I'll wait until he gets the flier in his locker and see what smart ass comment he comes out with until I even venture into asking him to take me. But something tells me that you and I will be living the single life that night."

"If I'm not already living the single life," Sam snorted as she slipped into her shoes.

"Why would you say that? Did you and Flack get into that huge of a fight after I left?"

"Let's just say he said a lot of things that made sense. About me not being able to separate the business and the pleasure."

"Doesn't mean the two of you have to break up," Lindsay said. "Just means that both of you need to work on keeping those separate."

Sam gave a small smile and grabbed a bottle of extra strength Tylenol from the top shelf. "You don't have to be so diplomatic," she said. "You can just say that I have to work on keeping those things separate."

Lindsay sighed. "I don't want to get into another fight with you, Samantha."

"And I don't really feel like turning into an uber bitch anymore today," the brunette said and popped the lid off of the pain killers and dumped three into the palm of her hand. "That little bitch Terrence Davis has given me the worst headache of my life."

Lindsay stood up and went to her open locker and snagged a half empty bottle of water from the top shelf. "I'm sure some of my cooties won't bother you," she said with a wink, as she twisted the top off the bottle and held the beverage out to her best friend.

"I think I got a fair share of your cooties Friday night when you decided to play tonsil hockey with me," Sam laughed, giving a nod of appreciation as she accepted the drink and swallowed the pills with a large gulp.

"Admit it, Sam," Lindsay closed up her locker. "You've never been thoroughly or enjoyably kissed in your entire life."

Sam nearly spit water clear out of her nose. "I'll be sure to tell Don you're questioning his kissing abilities," she said through a fit of coughs.

"I'm sure he has mad skills," Lindsay said, as she straddled the bench and then lay down on her back. She yawned noisily and closed her eyes. "Think you could wake me up in a couple of hours? I'm beat. I need sleep. I crave sleep."

"Tell Danny to quit ravishing you so often so you can get some damn rest."

"Never," Lindsay said with a giggle. "I couldn't last without getting laid at least twice a day."

"Twice a day?" Sam laughed. "Lucky girl."

"Give in to the guy and you could probably double that."

"Probably," Sam laughed. "Let's just say when Valentine's night gets here, that man won't know what hit him. I am going to thoroughly use and abuse him. And he's going to love it and come back for more."

"I don't doubt that one bit."

Sam gave a small yawn and put a foot on either side of the bench and laid down on her back as well. So that the top of her head was touching the top of her best friend's.

"Wouldn't it be so funny is the Wicked Witch of the West walked in right about now and caught us taking it easy?" Lindsay asked.

"You have got this serious hate for Stella going on lately."

"It's not a hate," Lindsay said. "It's a tolerance. I merely tolerate her at the best of times lately. Maybe she's going through menopause or something."

"Maybe," Sam sighed. "Or maybe she needs to get laid."

"That makes two of you," Lindsay said with a giggle.

"Hey, I am getting some satisfaction, you know. It's not like I'm not putting out in other ways."

"Nothing can make up for lack of the Putang pie," Lindsay declared.

"Putang pie?" Sam laughed hysterically. "What the hell is Putang pie?"

"It's a saying of Danny's," Lindsay managed through her own laughter. "The wrestler The Rock used to say it a long time ago and stupid shit like that embeds itself into my fiance's head."

"It's like Donnie and his sealing the deal. I mean, who actually calls it that?"

"We have some strange men," Lindsay sighed.

"We do," Sam agreed. "But we'd die without them."

The other woman nodded in agreement and then lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"Look Linds…" Sam said several minutes later. "…about the way I acted outside of Davis' club. I never should have talked to you like that. I feel like shit doing for it. I know that you're looking out for me. And I want you to know that I appreciate it."

"I do know, Sammie. And I also know that it probably wasn't easy to talk to Angell today."

Sam sighed. "It sucked to be honest. I hated being put in that position. I wish Don had have just been honest with her right from the start. Because some of the things that she said…"

"She was hurt," Lindsay reasoned. "I'm sure she didn't mean anything that came out of her mouth."

"Well it was still nasty. Not that I really blame her. I lash out too when someone's pissed me off. She just wanted to hurt me as bad as I hurt her. And trust me, she succeeded."

"Was it really that bad?"

Sam nodded. "She got up in my face about deserving Zack."

Lindsay snorted. "No one deserves Zack. And speaking of which, did he ever call back after I told him to fuck off?"

"No. I'm sure it will keep him off my ass for a little while."

The door to the locker room clicked open and Lindsay slightly raised her head in time to see her fiance journey in, then stop dead in his tracks, eyes wide at the sight in front of him.

"What in the hell…." Danny said.

"Hi, honey!" Lindsay chirped.

"Uh…hi…." he responded, slowly approaching the bench. "What are you two doing?"

"Girl time," Lindsay told him. "You can leave now."

"You two can't have girl time somewhere else?"

"Five minutes," Lindsay said, resting her head back on the bench. "Come back in five minutes."

"But I need to get something out of my locker," he argued.

"Five minutes," Lindsay insisted.

Sam raised her one hand to wave goodbye.

"Women," Danny huffed and turned on his heel and walked back towards the door.

"I love you!" Lindsay called.

He snorted and closed the door behind him as he left the room.

Both Lindsay and Sam giggled.

"He'd go crazy without me," Lindsay declared.

* * *

"Quite the shock isn't it," Zack commented, smirking as he returned to his seat at the side of Flack's desk. "I bet the last thing you ever dreamed of when you woke up this morning beside that beautiful girl of mine was that her past was going to come back and bite you, and her, in the ass."

"Let me make something very clear to you," Flack said, as he calmly slid the badge and identification across his desk towards the unwelcome visitor. "I don't care who you work for. United States Marshall's, FBI, CIA, DHS or even the goddamn United States Postal Service. You don't come here, to my city, and walk in here like you own the place and park your ass at my desk and start talking bullshit. What you did, what I know you're capable of? You're not welcome here, Zack. So take your shield and ID and take a hike."

"Don't try and go big and bad New York City cop on me," Zack snorted. "I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast."

Flack smirked. "No. What you do is prey on women half your size and scare them into staying with you because you're not man enough to have a real relationship with someone. You can kick a dog to make them stay, Zack. But they don't look at you with respect. They look at you with fear."

"And I bet you think you know all there is to know about sweet, innocent little Samantha Ross, don't you," the other man snorted. "How long you been messing around with her now? Three months? That's about right, isn't it? It's been about that long since you started sticking your nose into mine and Sam's business."

"You and Samantha don't have any business," Flack informed him. "And to go back to what you said a few minutes ago? About her being yours? You lost her over a year ago, Zack. She left you. Remember? The day that she dumped your sorry ass is the day she stopped being yours. And with all respect to her, she doesn't belong to anyone. She's a grown woman with a mind of her own. She's not a piece of property or a possession."

"Spare me your feminist bullshit," Zack laughed. "The minute that a woman lies down in bed with you she's yours. Second that she decides to open her goddamn legs, you mark that as your property. So lay off this politically correct, diplomatic crap."

"I don't know what trailer park in Oklahoma you learned your morals and values at Zack, but where I come from? Men, real men, don't treat women like that. I don't know everything that went down between you and Sam. 'Cause really, what went on in her life before she came into mine, is none of my business. But she's told me enough that I've got a pretty good picture of the kind of person you are."

"And what kind of person is that, Detective Flack?" he asked. "Go ahead. Cough up a character sketch on me."

"Guys like you? That beat up on women? Degrade them, humiliate them, break bones, and put them in ICU? Guys like you are the perps we take into a darkened alley somewhere and give an old fashioned, passionate ass whupping to. And once we get guys like you to lockup, we spread the word around the other cons that you like to smack around the ladies and force yourself on them, and pretty soon, your watching over your shoulder each and every time you drop the soap in the shower. And you? You'd be extra popular. 'Cause the minute I let it spill that you used to be a cop…" Flack shook his head. "You'd be the most popular bitch on the cell block."

A small smiled tugged at the corner of Zack's mouth. "You as tough as you talk, New York? Or is that what you do? Talk?"

"Don't fuck with me," Flack warned. "Don't fuck with me and most of all, don't fuck with Samantha. Because if I find out, after I kick your ass on out of here, that you went anywhere near her? Trust me, you will answer to me. And I won't be as polite and welcoming as I am right now."

"Well how knight in shining armour of you,' Zack snorted. "Willing to protect your girl's honour at all costs. Unlucky for you that I happen to be that kind of guy to. And what you've been doing with my girl…."

Flack gave a small laugh and shook his head. "You just don't get it, do you? It's been over a year, Zack. Deal with it. Samantha doesn't want anything to do with you. She's moved on with her life. Accept it and move on. Find someone else's life to make a living hell. But leave her, and us, alone. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal. Only I don't take threats from punk ass flatfoots. So now," Zack leaned in close to Flack, his voice low and dead serious. "It's my turn to start making a couple of threats and issuing some warnings."

"We're done here," Flack said dismissively, picking his pen back up and going back to the paper work in front of him. "You need directions to the exit or a personal escort?"

"Listen to me you little shit," Zack hissed. "Because of you, Samantha won't return my calls. Because of you, she wants nothing to do with me. Because of you, she won't come home. Where she belongs."

"Because of me?" Flack laughed, not looking up from his work. "Because of me, she's finally happy and finally coming to terms with what a pathetic, sick and twisted prick you are. Because of me, she doesn't have to put up with the kind of shit you laid on her day in and day out. So do me a favour. Stand up and walk your ass away from my desk before I personally boot you on out of here. I'm a busy man, Zack. I've got work to do. I don't have the time to deal with shit like this. So thanks for stopping by, but get the hell out of here."

"You think you know her?" Zack asked. "You think that three months with her makes you an expert on what Samantha is like? You should be thanking me for coming here and offering to take her off your hands."

Flack sighed heavily, tossed his pen down onto the paper, and turned furious blue eyes on the man sitting next to him. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I'm a busy man. I have a lot of work to do. And that work does not include sitting here arguing with a deranged idiot who can't accept the fact his ex broke up with him. Shit happens, Zack. Fucking deal with it and get the hell out of my face."

"I spent years with her!" Zack hissed. "Years! For years she lied to me and manipulated me! Twisted me and turned me until I didn't know what end was up. I know what she's like! She's cold and vindictive and will fuck you over the second you turn your back. She's got you wrapped around her little finger already. Get the hell out while you still have a chance. I can control her! I know how to deal with her when she gets in her crazy assed moods. You won't know what the hell ever hit you. You really want to get your heart and your brain mangled like that?"

"You really want me to have to personally show you the fucking door?" Flack asked, his temper, and his voice, rising.

"Consider this a favour, kid. Consider me being a Good Samaritan to you. A guardian angel of sorts."

Flack laughed. "Guardian angel? Messenger of death is more like it. Just shut your goddamn trap and get the hell out of here, Zack."

"If you knew what was good for you, you'd walk away. You'd leave her alone and let her come home."

"Let me tell you how it is, Zack," Flack fought to keep his anger in check as he turned his chair to face the other man head on and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. "I don't give a shit what you have to say about her. Because all of this crap you're spewing? That's just showing me that you're nothing more than some punk ass bitch whose bitter that he can't have the girl. And if you think for one goddamn second that I'm buying a word of what you're saying, your head needs a serious shake my friend. I'm not walking away from Samantha. Just like she's not walking away from me. She's moved on. And I'm sorry if that pathetic, minute brain of yours can't quite grasp the concept."

"I'm doing you a favour here, New York. Trying to spare you a world of hurt."

"And I'm going to cause you a world of hurt if you don't get the fuck out of my face. You hire a PI to spy on me and Sam? Don't even try denying that. I've got eyes and ears on the street. I know it was you. And if you don't…"

"Who's your friend?" Scagnetti asked, as he suddenly appeared at his desk that was pushed against Flack's. Two take out cups of steaming black coffee in his monstrous hands. He had seen the intensity in his partner's eyes the moment that he stepped off the elevator from making a beverage run. He had noticed the way Flack's jaw was clenched tightly and how anger and irritation took over his whole face and body.

"Who the hell are you?" Zack asked, eyeing the much larger, stronger man with disgust on his face.

"I'm his partner. And when I see my partner ready to jump Bogart on someone's head, I feel I have a right to ask the questions."

"This is Zack," Flack said, looking up at Scagnetti with a smirk on his face. "You know. Zack from Arizona?"

"Little Brooklyn's ex bastard?" Scangetti asked with a frown as he passed Flack his coffee. "Ooops," he said, glaring at Zack. "Did I say that out loud? I meant ex-boyfriend. My apologies."

Flack smirked and sipped at his coffee. "Zack's going to be working out of New York City," he told his partner. "As a US Marshall."

"Oh goody!" Scagnetti cried, than gave a snort and a roll of his eyes. "Pardon me while I keep my enthusiasm in check."

"He also came to have a talk with me about Sammie," Flack added.

"You actually call her that?" Zack asked. "She used to get pissed at me when I tried to call her that."

"She has no complaints when I do it," Flack told him. "So what does that tell you right there?"

"Should be telling you a hell of a lot," Scagnetti said. "Like fuck off and leave her alone. Your coffee okay, Flack?"

"Perfect. Why?"

"Just checking. I was going to take off for a little walk. Thought maybe I could use returning a shitty coffee to the cafeteria as an excuse for what I really feel like doing at this moment."

"And what's that?" Flack inquired.

"I don't know…maybe breaking some sorry ass sonofabitch in half. You know my soft spot for guys that beat up on women."

"Talk a walk, Tony," his partner encouraged. "I can take care of said sonofabitch myself."

Scangetti's eyes narrowed as he looked down at Zack. "Make sure you're long gone by the time I get back. Like preferably out of the city."

"If you're heading back up to the cafeteria, Scag, grab me something to eat while you're up there?" Flack called to the older man as he headed off. "Like something small and sweet?"

"No eating Little Brooklyn while you're on the clock, Flack!" Scagnetti teased without looking back.

Flack grinned, took a swig of his coffee and turned back to Zack. "So where were we? Oh yeah. You were getting ready to take a walk."

"I see my reputation precedes me," Zack commented.

"And it's going to follow your ass on out of here, too," Flack told him. "So do me a favour. Take yourself, and the shit your talk about MY girl and get as far away from me as possible."

"Just thought I'd give you a fair warning," Zack told him as he stood up. "I take it you're one for pain and suffering."

"As long as Sammie's dishing it out in the bedroom, whatever she wants to lay on me is fine with me."

Zack smirked. "You got a smart mouth, don't you."

Flack smiled. "One of my finer qualities. MY girl happens to like my mouth."

"If you value that mouth and YOUR girl, you'll be watching whose toes you step on, Detective Flack."

"Been threatened by worse then you. Hell, I've had my stomach blown open from a bomb and an artery tied together with a shoelace. I think I can handle you. So thanks for stopping by."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Zack said, and clipping his badge to his pants and slipping his identification back into coat pocket, headed off through the bull pen.

"Hey Zack!" Flack called to him.

The other man paused and turned around.

"The exit is that way!" Flack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Don't even be thinking about going up to that crime lab."

Zack didn't respond. He simply shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked calmly past Flack's desk on his way towards the exit.

Flack snorted and shook his head. Picking up his cell phone from where it sat next to his mounds of case files, he pressed two on his speed dial and waited for the familiar voice to answer.

"Yeah…Messer?" he said into the phone. "I've got a huge favour to ask you…"

* * *

Terrence Davis' alibi had checked out.

Of the thirty-two employee names he had supplied Flack with, Lindsay and Sam had selected a random few a piece to call. All confirmed that their boss had entered the club, through the rear employee entrance, at roughly quarter to nine. And all had also seen Monique, the same girl behind the bar that very afternoon, head into Terrence's office at nine and report back to her post a couple of minutes past nine fifteen. Looking relaxed, at ease, and as one employee had so eloquently put it "well fucked".

It had been the last name that Davis had submitted that had turned out to be the case breaker. His own sister. She had no reliable alibi and couldn't account for her whereabouts around her ex-husband's time of death. Too high on the junk, she had told Lindsay, who after hanging up, had promptly called Flack and told him of the sister's shady behaviour and less than cooperative demeanour.

In the end, Christopher Rollin's had indeed died at his own hand. Analysis of his suicide not had proved that he was not under any duress at the time he had written it, and that, when compared to documents boasting his hand writing, he had indeed penned the note and under his own free will. His ex wife, aching with withdrawal and desperate for a fix, had lasted less than five minutes in interrogation against Flack. She admitted, with no shame whatsoever, that she had gone to her ex husband's apartment in hopes of asking him for a reconciliation -mostly because he was a pushover and would both take her back and support her habit- and had found his door unlocked. Curiosity, and the chance to pilfer some goods if her ex wasn't around, had been too much for her to bear and she had let herself into the apartment.

Only to find her ex, weapon still clutched in his hand, dead at the kitchen table, blood and brain matter splattered to hell and gone. She had calmly -even more calmly then how she told the story- pocketed the gun and then found a pair of tweezers in the medicine cabinet and removed the bullet from the hole it had left in the adjacent living room wall.

After that, she'd simply left.

When Flack had asked why in the hell she'd even do something like that and not just call the police, she'd rubbed the thumb and middle and forefinger of one hand together and declared it was all about the green, baby. She was the sole benefactor of a massive life insurance policy her ex-husband had taken out on himself and hadn't had enough brains to remove her name from.

Everyone knows that insurance companies don't pay out when there's a suicide.

And, she'd added, as she was being lead out of the room by a uniform, she had learned everything she needed to know about covering up the act by watching crime shows on television.

Now that the case had been closed and previous work either completed or well on it's way to being finished, Samantha was taking the opportunity to call it an early day. Well, earlier then most, considering she'd worked nearly two weeks of solid over time and couldn't remember the last time she'd managed to make it out at the time she was scheduled to be done at. She was looking forward to relaxing for the rest of the evening. It was only ten after six. With Flack having to work late in order to catch up on paper work that had been put on the back burner after spending the morning in court, Danny and Lindsay had invited her out to dinner. And while she was actually exhausted and wanted to do nothing more than go home and draw herself a steaming bath and spend an hour in it before climbing into her most comfortable pyjamas. And then skipping dinner in favour of getting some much needed sleep. But in the end, she had given in to a very persistent Danny.

She was standing behind her desk, coat half on and half off as she finished up some last minute tasks when a soft knock came to the open door of her and Danny's shared office. She glanced away from her computer screen and gave a brief smile at the tall, dark and handsome man gracing her doorway.

"Safe to come in?" Flack asked.

"I'm technically off the clock," she replied. "I've turned off the bitchy, she-Rambo side of me for the night."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and entered the office. "Hell of a thing about Terrence's sister, huh?"

"It's one of the stranger stories I've heard," Sam said. "But I guess people are capable of doing anything when they're desperate for cash. What's the word on her from the DA?"

"Last I heard, they were going to charge her with attempt to commit insurance fraud. There's nothing else they can really nail her on."

"Too bad being a strung out, crack head isn't considered a felony," Sam sighed. "They had kids, though. What's going to happen to them?"

"Apparently Terrence's mother has them. CPS didn't see a reason not to give them to her. She's got a nice place to live up in Far Rockaway, she's a church going woman, does all sorts of volunteering and what not in the community."

"Too bad some of her selfishness and charity didn't rub off on some of her kids," Sam commented dryly.

"Guess somewhere along the line, they lost their way," Flack reasoned. "I'm just glad that Terrence had nothing to do with it. There wouldn't have been too much I could have done to keep him out of prison this time."

"What a shame it would have been to lose your golden cow. So what now? You've come to ask me, or even order me, to go and apologize to the poor little boy for being so mean to him today?"

"I'd never order you to do anything, Samantha. I'm not your boss or your keeper. You and I didn't agree with the way you handled things. Doesn't mean you were wrong or I was right. Or vice-versa. We just had differences of opinion."

"If that's what you want to call it," she said.

"Look," Flack sighed. "I didn't come up here to fight with you, babe. I just came up here to be with you."

A smile tugged at her lips but she didn't respond.

"So you're heading out now?" he inquired.

"That's usually what off the clock means," she replied. Hating the sound of her own voice and the sarcasm and indifference that trickled from her mouth. She turned away from her work once more and gave him a genuine smile. "I'm just finishing up a couple of things," she said in a softer tone.

"You going out with Danny and Lindsay?"

Sam nodded. "Just for dinner and a couple of drinks. Are you sure you can't get away earlier? Even if it's just for a break?"

"I'm swamped, babe. I'm lucky I was even able to get away for a few minutes to come up and see you before you left."

After asking Danny to make sure to get Sam home safely and to stay with her until he was able to get home, Flack had then had to explain to his best friend was he was going all 'paranoid, overprotective bastard', as Danny like to call it. Flack had told the CSI, sparing not even the smallest detail, about his encounter with Zack Tanner. Everything from the ex from hell making a career change that now saw him working out of the city, to the things that Zack had said about Samantha and how he was there to spare Flack a lifetime of pain and suffering.

The only three people aware of Zack's presence in New York City, were Flack, Scagnetti and Danny, and all three had agreed to keep it that way. There was no reason to tell Samantha what had gone down until Flack was able to, in the privacy of her own home, tell her himself. News of her ex showing up out of the blue would only unnerve her and undoubtedly frighten her. The longer Flack was able to keep her away from Zack the better.

And until Flack was able to get to her place, that was Danny's job.

"Do you know what time you're going to be done at?" she asked, trying her best not to sound too anxious or needy as she saved her work and logged off on the computer.

"Couple more hours," Flack replied. "I'll be off at nine at the latest."

"And are you going to go back to your place or…."

"Depends where you're going. You going back to my place?"

She smiled. "I was going to go home. As in my home."

"I've got the spare key you gave me," he said. "Unless you want it back."

She frowned as she slipped her arm into her jacket. "Why would I want that?" she asked. "Do you want to give it back?"

"No…I was just thinking that maybe after this afternoon you wouldn't want me coming around anymore…"

"Don't be silly, Donnie," she said. "Just because we got into a fight doesn't mean I don't want you around. We are going to fight you know."

"I know. It's just…we seem to fight a lot."

"Some couples are just like that," she reasoned, grabbing her purse from it's resting place under her desk. She'd already gone to her locker and been halfway out the door when she realized there was still some work awaiting her attention.

"I guess," Flack said with a shrug. "I just don't like us being like that."

"So what do you suggest?" she asked. "That it's something we work on? Together? Listening and talking more instead of jumping to conclusions and biting each other's heads off?"

"I think that's a good start," he replied.

"And we can start on that when…."

"When I walk you to the elevator and kiss you goodbye," he said with a cheeky grin.

She gave one of those smiles that he'd found so damn adorable about her the first day they'd met. A smile that wrinkled the corners of her eyes and crinkled that flickered splattered nose. "I thought we are keeping things separate," she said, walking around her desk to join him where he stood. "I mean, you are on the clock, are you not?"

"Smart ass," he smirked, and brushed her lips lightly with his.

"I wouldn't want you to get fired or anything," she teased, as he followed her out of the office. She closed the door behind them and waited for the dull click and the red light to flash on the security keypad that indicated everything was locked up tight.

"I doubt I'm going to get fired for spending five minutes with my girl," he told her, taking one of her tiny hands in one of his much larger, stronger ones.

"I'd hate for people to see us holding hands," she winked up at him playfully. "I mean, we haven't exactly managed to tell anyone yet."

"I told a few people," Flack said. "Scagnetti and some of my guys. Mac…"

Sam's eyes widened. "Mac knows? You told him?"

Flack nodded. "I just gave him the heads up. In case Angell decided to open her big yap when she came into work tomorrow. I didn't want him finding out from someone else."

"And what did he say?"

"What does Mac always say in situations like this? The same thing he said to Danny and Monroe behind closed doors. To keep things separate. To carefully tread that fine line between business and personal. And to not let our feelings for each other jeopardize cases or the integrity of the lab."

"And did you tell him that we're adults and we know how to conduct ourselves as such?" Sam asked with a snort. "I mean, seriously. How old does he think we are?"

"He's just concerned about the lab, Sammie. Doesn't want any problems. Told me how difficult office relationships can be. Especially when they go south and the two parties still have to work together. That things can get nasty and complicated and how he didn't have the time or the patience to play referee."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him we weren't planning on breaking up. Ever. So he didn't have to worry about that."

"Did you really say that?" she laughed. "That we weren't ever planning on breaking up?"

"I did."

"And what did Mac say?"

"He gave me this look that clearly let me know he thought I'd lost my mind. But it's all good. Once he starts getting him some of the new deputy inspector, he'll lighten up."

"Donnie!" Sam exclaimed and slapped his stomach with her free hand. "You shouldn't talk about stuff like that! That's how rumours start!"

"Rumours start when Mac Taylor asks the dragon lady out for coffee," Flack told her. "I just pass along the information."

"And who told you this even happened?"

"A very, very reliable source."

"So it's hearsay."

"It's not hearsay, Sammie. It actually happened. The night after that whole madness with all those different Mac Taylor's. Was that not an episode of The Twilight Zone or what?"

"I can honestly saw that was the first time I ever saw someone set themselves on fire," Sam said with a shudder. "And I hope it is also the last. Can you imagine that, Donnie? Do something like that over losing someone you love?"

"Grief destroys some people," he said. "Some people never recover from things like that, babe. And I think most guys, when they're that crazily and desperately in love, would be more than willing to lay down their own life for the woman they're nuts about."

"You don't find that a little…I don't know…scary?"

"What? Willing to sacrifice yourself for the person you love?"

She nodded.

He shrugged. "Hasn't scared me for over a year now," he said.

She smiled. Dropping his hand, she sneaked her arm around his waist, under his suit jacket. "We weren't together a year ago."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't feeling things like that, Sam. And God knows you've given me more than a few scares and a handful of grey hairs since we first met. So I can just imagine what you have in store for me now that we're actually together."

"Well I promise you I will go easy on you," she said, as they stopped at the elevators and he reached out and pressed the down button.

"Danny's already waiting downstairs?" Flack asked.

"I told him I'd met him and Linds at the restaurant," Sam replied.

Flack struggled to hide a frown. "Why'd you do that?" he inquired.

"I was running behind. Ruby Tuesday's is always crowded so I sent them ahead to grab a table. Why?"

"No reason," he said with a shrug. "You want me to walk you over?"

"Aren't you working?"

"It's a five minute walk," he told her.

"A five minute walk I've taken tons of times," she reminded him. "I don't need you walking me there. I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

"Just thought it would be a nice, cute, boyfriend and girlfriend thing for us to do," he reasoned.

"You can do some nice, cute boyfriend stuff for me when you get to my place," she told him.

He sighed and nodded. Knowing that this was a no win situation for him. Letting her head off alone ran the risk of Zack confronting her and spilling all about his talk with her new boyfriend down in the precinct earlier that day. Not to mention what Zack might actually do to her. But if Flack persisted in walking her to the restaurant, Sam would get defensive and indignant and demand to know why the hell he was insistent on treating her like a child. And that would only lead to him having to tell her about Zack before he was prepared to.

The chime for the elevator sounded and the doors opened up.

"You're not going back downstairs?" Sam asked, as she stepped on and pressed the button for the lobby.

"I've got some lab techs I need to go and put the fear of God into it. See if I can't make them wet their pants."

"They'll be diving for cover as soon as they see you coming," she laughed. "So I guess this is goodbye."

He shook his head and laid a hand on the elevator doors to keep them open as he leaned in to press a long, deep kiss on her lips. "It's just see ya later," he said, pecking the tip of her nose before stepping back out into the hall.

"In a little while," she said with a smile.

He nodded and gave her a wink before the doors closed. Separating them.

Flack sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck. Hoping that she didn't manage to find her way into even the smallest bit of trouble during her short jaunt to meet her friends for dinner. He turned on his heel to head towards the labs, and found himself nearly chest to chest with a wide eyed, seemingly horrified, Adam Ross.

"You?" Adam squeaked. "My sister? You and my sister?" He gestured wildly at the elevators.

Flack smiled and clapped a hand on the younger man's shoulder as he stepped past him. "Surprise," he said with a chuckle, and kept on walking.

Adam shuddered at the mere thought of the brash and abrasive homicide detective and his sister indulging in anything more then friendship.

"Now that's going to give me nightmares," he declared, making a mental note to call his lovely older sister and ream her out for keeping such a secret from him.

And to ask her just what in the hell she thought she was doing.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you. And thanks to the lurkers too! I know there's lots of you and it would really, really make my day if you'd just drop me even the quickest, smallest of reviews.**

**I hope everyone out there is keeping their sanity during both exams and the excitement, and business of the holiday season!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**muchmadness**

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	11. Haunting Me

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS AND ALL PLOTS, OC'S ETC RELATED TO THE BROOKLYN SERIES.**

**A/N: I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DO THIS, BUT:**

**MY ATTENTION HAS BEEN CALLED TO SOME HEAVY DUTY POACHING. I WANT TO REMIND PEOPLE THAT SAMANTHA ROSS, ANY PLOT OR STORY LINE REGARDING HER BACKGROUND, FAMILY LIFE, APPEARANCE, HISTORY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS IN THE SHOW ETC, WERE CREATED IN MARCH 2008 WHEN MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN MADE ITS DEBUT.**

**WHILE I APPRECIATE EVERYONE WHO READS, I DO NOT LIKE BEING RIPPED OFF. IF THERE'S SOMETHING YOU WANT TO USE, JUST ASK. PLAIN AND SIMPLE.**

**AND AS USUAL, THANKS TO EVERYONE SUPPORTING ME AND MY WRITING! ALL THE REVIEWERS AND READERS AND THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS.**

* * *

**Haunting me**

"Step one you say we need to talk  
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk  
He smiles politely back at you  
You stare politely right on through  
Some sort of window to your right  
As he goes left and you stay right  
Between the lines of fear and blame  
You begin to wonder why you came."  
-How to Save a Life, The Fray

* * *

Danny Messer hated lying.

Since the Rikki Sandoval incident, telling even the slightest white lie always made him feel like a complete shit. That morning nearly two years ago was still blazed into his memory. Although Lindsay had taken him back the night she had showed up on his doorstep at his request, drenched by the pouring rain and ready, willing and able to listen to his apologies, Danny found it a hell of a lot harder to forgive himself. It made him sick to his stomach even now to relive the blatant lie he had told Lindsay that morning. About not being able to grab lunch with her because there were other things he needed to do. When in reality, Rikki was in still in his bed after a night of grief and despair fuelled passion.

Even now, he kicked himself in the ass for not only cheating and then lying about it, but for continuing on the charade when Rikki came out of the bedroom clad in his shirt. He should have just agreed with her when she had said she wanted to take a rain check on Messer's favourite omelette. He should have just nodded and shipped her on her merry way when she had expressed her regret at what had gone down between them. He should have said 'Yes, Rikki, you're right' when she had told him that the only reason they'd had sex was because she was grieving for her son and Danny was suffering immense guilt because of what had happened to Ruben.

But he hadn't. He hadn't turned her away. Instead, he had taken advantage of that grief and that guilt and had gotten her into his bed one more time.

All while the woman he loved more than life itself had been out there, trying to find ways to re-connect with him. To support him through his insurmountable sorrow. To get him to just open up to her.

And how had he repaid her for her unwavering devotion? He'd fucked Rikki. And to Danny, that alone made him a first class bastard for life.

So Danny had gone through dinner at Ruby Tuesday's, putting on a happy face, drinking a pitcher of beer by himself in an attempt to drown the unwelcome memories while inwardly cursing himself for being such an asshole. He had laughed and joked with the girls, teased the two ladies in his life known affectionately as Montana and Brooklyn. Let them beat him at a couple of games of pool. He had listened to Samantha Ross' musical giggle and had seen her eyes sparkle every time she gave that killer smile as she thoroughly relaxed and enjoyed herself. Completely oblivious to both Danny's discomfort and the fact that Zack Tanner, ex-fiance from hell, was somewhere out there just itching to get a hold of her.

The ladies in his life had decided they wanted to walk the eight blocks to Sam's apartment. Danny thought they were nuts. It was well below zero and the snow and the wind had both picked up and neither girl had remembered their hats and mitts from their lockers. Yet it didn't seem to bother them that their ears were turning scarlet red. Or that their noses were running and practically forming icicles on their top lips. Or that they were both so small and slight that the gusts of wind threatened to either topple them or scoop them up and send them airborne to another borough.

When Samantha Ross and Lindsay Monroe were together, their fun loving, almost childish sides were quick to surface. These women, who were quick to jump into action at work, whether it be skilfully and artfully interrogating a hardened perp, or chasing a suspect down the street and ultimately 'putting the boots to them' as Flack like to call it, suddenly became two entirely different people when they hung out. They laughed, and sometimes cried, easily. They told dirty jokes and used colourful language that made the guys blush. They belched out the national anthem time and time again. Never tiring of it and always ending up in fits of giggles each and every time. They hugged and kissed each other's cheeks and skipped down the sidewalk with their arms linked. When they were together, all that mattered was them. Their sisterhood. A impenetrable, heart warming bond that they had seemed to share from day one.

Danny was surprised, as he walked several feet behind them as they window shopped and occasionally paused to bend down and scoop up snow and shower each other with it, that those two lovely ladies had actually managed to survive without each other in their lives for so long. A friendship like that, a love if he could be so bold as to call it, was a once in a lifetime thing. And he hoped, for both of their sakes, that nothing would ever come between them.

"Penny for your thoughts!" Lindsay suddenly cried, snapping Danny out of his reverie. She stood no more than two feet in front of him while Samantha, in the near distance, let her eyes feast on the wares displayed in the front window of a shoe store.

He winced as something cold and rock hard collided with the middle of the forehead. "What the hell, Montana?" he grumbled and glanced down at the snow. A shiny, brand new penny rested at his feet. Sighing heavily, he bent down and snagged it and held it up, an eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face.

"I said penny for your thoughts," she giggled.

"I didn't think you meant it literally," he complained and tossed the offending item at her.

Lindsay caught the penny in mid air and slipped it into her jacket pocket. "Could be a lucky one," she said. "I mean, I've had three beers and I still managed to peg you off the middle of your forehead from two feet away. Damn penny must have some magical powers."

"Between chucking pennies at my head and using an improvised slingshot to fire bullets, I'd say your aim is pretty damn good there, Montana."

"Damn tootin'," she laughed, and making the shape of guns with both hands, blew on the tips of her index fingers before pretending to twirl the weapons and holster them. "Best damn cowgirl you ever did see, baby."

"Best damn something," he agreed, and reaching out, grabbed her by the hips and yanked her into him. Giving her a devilish grin before sealing her frigid lips with a deep, toe curling, mind numbing kiss.

"Mmm…" Lindsay said with a content sigh, after the kiss ended and her fiance rested his forehead against hers. "What was that for?"

"Just because," Danny told her, sliding his hands around to the small of her back and pecking the tip of her nose. "I can't kiss my girl just because?"

"You can kiss me for whatever reason you want," she said. "You know…I really miss your glasses."

"You do? Even though they were always poking you in the face every time we kissed? And you always had to peel them off of me if I fell asleep with them on or yank them off when we were in the middle of a little something something"

"Even then," she said. "You just don't seem like my Danny without them. My Danny's had glasses since the day we met. I found my Danny quite sexy and fuck-able in his glasses."

"Oh yeah?" he licked his top lip seductively and pulled the lower half of her body against his. "Well I'll tell you what. How about YOUR Danny goes and pops the lenses out of his glasses at home and just wears the frames. So he becomes sexy and fuck-able again. How does that sound, MY Montana?"

She grinned. "Sounds damn good to me," she declared.

He kissed her once more, his hands slipping down to cup her ass as his lips moved softly and slowly against hers.

When the need for air became a necessity and their mouths finally parted, Lindsay wrapped her arms around Danny's waist and snuggled her head into his chest.

"I love you so much, baby," he whispered into her hair.

She drew back and smiled up at him. "I love you, too. And I'm freezing."

"Yeah…you're starting to resemble Miss Jackie Frost. Why don't we hail a cab, get Brooklyn home in one piece and head for the hills? Spend some time in a hot tub before heading to bed for something even hotter."

"Sounds good to me," Lindsay chirped, and dropping one arm from around his waist, stepped to his side and turned in the direction where she'd left her best friend window shopping. "Hmm…" she said. "I wonder where Sammie went?"

Those were the worst possible words Danny Messer could have ever heard. Sheer panic overtook him as his eyes widened and his sight fixed on the now empty store front where Sam Ross had recently stood.

"Where the hell did she go?" he asked, and grabbing a hold of Lindsay's hand, nearly yanked his tiny fiancee off of her feet as he stormed down the sidewalk.

"Danny what in the hell?" Lindsay yelled at him. "Are you trying to dislocate my shoulder?"

"Where's Brooklyn?"

"She's probably stopped in at one of the stores," Lindsay told him.

"She can't be running off like that. Pulling these disappearing acts."

"She hasn't disappeared," Lindsay argued. "She's probably gone in to see something or buy something! What's gotten into you?"

"No running off!" Danny snapped. "She can't be running off like that!"

"She's a big girl. If she wants to go into a store and buy something, that's her business!" Lindsay exclaimed. "What are you? Her body guard or something?"

"I promised Flack," Danny said.

"Promised Flack?" Lindsay frowned. "Promised him what?"

"That I'd look after his girl. That I wouldn't let anything happen to her."

"Why in the hell would anything happen to her? What is up with Flack and this insane overprotective and possessive thing he's got going on lately?"

"He's not being overprotective and possessive," Danny informed her. "Not this time anyway. He's got a legit reason to be concerned."

"And what reason is that? He's afraid she's going run off on him with some other guy? Please. She's nuts about him and…"

"He's not thinking about that, Lindsay. He's thinking about Zack getting a hold of her."

"What?" Lindsay dug her heels into the snowy sidewalk to get him to halt. "Zack getting a hold of her?"

Danny sighed heavily.

Lindsay's eyes narrowed. "Daniel Messer…"

He gave another sigh. "Zack's in town," he reluctantly told her. "He paid Flack a visit today."

Lindsay's breath caught in her chest as her eyes widened.

"Apparently, Zack's going to working out of New York City. He went and got himself a new career as a US Marshal. So you know what that means? You know who just may be the one having Flack's back going through the doors on some raids?"

"Hell no!" Lindsay exclaimed. "He'd be pushing Flack into the room hoping he'd get killed."

"The guy is a raging psycho, Montana. The stuff that Flack told me? The threats that were offered up? The crap that Zack said about Brooklyn? The guy is not right in the head. He was spewing all this crap about him being the only one that can handle her when she's in her wild and crazy moods and how she's sneaky and manipulative and that Flack couldn't deal with that. That he shouldn't have to. Zack even went as far as to say that Flack should be thanking him for offering to take her off his hands. That he was sparing Flack a world of hurt by getting Brooklyn away from him."

"And what did Flack say?"

"He didn't go into details about that. But I can imagine that he stuck up for her. You know he's nuts about her Linds. I guess he told Zack to take a hike. And none to politely, either."

"And Samantha doesn't know that Zack's in New York," it was more of a statement then a question.

"Flack wants to tell her in private. Talk about it without an audience. He asked me to keep an eye on her and make sure she got home safely. Doesn't want me leaving her side until he's home or close to it. And then she goes off and disappears on me?"

"She didn't disappear, Danny. Look!" Lindsay grabbed him by the arm and yanked him over to the window of the shoe store. "See!" she pointed inside, at the tiny brunette standing at the cash register digging her wallet out of her purse. "I told you she was in there. She's buying a pair of shoes! Sammie can't resist shoes. They're crack to her. Whether she wears them or whether they sit in her closet collecting dust. Do you feel better now? To see her safe and sound?"

"I promised him, Montana. I promised Flack I'd…"

"And she's fine. Look at her!" Lindsay gestured in the direction of her best friend who was bent over the counter, signing the credit card slip. "Does she look like she's in grave danger at the moment?"

Danny sighed and shook his head. "It's just…I've let a lot of people down in my time, Montana. Too many, in fact. And I promised Flack that I'd watch out for her. He's always had my back no matter what and I don't want to repay him by letting something happen to his girl. And if anything ever happened to Brooklyn, he'd…"

"Hey guys!" Sam chirped, as she stepped out of the shoe store, clutching her Kate Spare purse and two plastic shopping bags. ""Wait until you see what I bought! These sexy thigh high black leather boots that will go perfectly with that little tartan skirt and bustier I bought last week! And these little red patent leather peep toes that are going to look so awesome with my…" her voice trailed off as she noticed the serious looks on her friends' faces. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Brooklyn," Danny began, his voice low. "We need to tell you something."

"Okay…what kind of something? Oh my God…" her face blanched. "Did something happen to Donnie? Is he okay? Did he get hurt or something?"

Danny shook his head slowly.

The bags and purse slipped out of her hands and she gave a startled gasp. "Worse!" she cried. "Something worse happened to him?"

"Of course not," Lindsay told her, laying a comforting hand on her best friend's shoulder as Danny scooped up the bags and Sam's purse. "Nothing happened to Don. He's fine. Danny and I were just talking and…"

"About what?" Sam asked, laying a hand over her pounding heart, breathing slow and deep in order to compose herself. "You both look like someone died."

"We were just getting ready to tell you that…"

"That we really need to snag a cab and get out of here," Lindsay cut Danny off. "My ears and my nose feel like popsicles. Let's hail a taxi and take off. Go to your place and have some peppermint hot chocolate."

"And you guys thought I'd be mad?" Sam asked, eyes flicking back and forth between them.

Lindsay smiled brightly and nodded.

Sam laughed. "Are you crazy? I'm freezing my ass off! I've been praying for the last twenty minutes that one of you guys would suggest getting a cab. I just didn't want to be the one to pussy out. I'm just going to run into the Starbucks and use the bathroom. I have to piss like a race horse!"

Danny and Lindsay both laughed as the tiny brunette scurried down the sidewalk and disappeared into the coffee shop several doors away from where they stood.

Danny, juggling the purse and bags in one hand, laid his free one on the back of his fiancee's neck and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Thank you," he said. "For not saying anything to her."

"The last thing I wanted to do was get her all scared and freaked out," Lindsay told him. "But I'm warning you, Danny, if she finds out by sheer chance and not from Flack that Zack is in town…"

"She won't," Danny assured her. "There's no way. I swear to God she won't."

Lindsay sighed. "Let's just hope Zack isn't sneakier than you and Flack both give him credit for."

Danny nodded in agreement.

_And let's just hope he's not as dangerous and as crazy as we think is,_ Danny thought. _Because that could be disastrous._

* * *

Danny and Lindsay, after two cups of peppermint hot chocolate with Bailey's each and splitting an entire package of Oreo cookies between them and Samantha, departed at quarter to nine. Flack ha called and said he'd be at Sam's apartment in less then an hour. Although Danny had been reluctant to leave, his best friend had insisted that he and Lindsay take off for the night. The uniform that Flack had parked out in front of Zack's apartment building had reported, during his last scheduled check in, that the former State Trooper and now US Marshall, had not left his apartment. All of the lights were still on and there'd been consistent signs of movement. Flack had been surprised how easy it had been to get the Feds to cough up Zack's address. He had told Zack's immediate supervisor that he'd been given Zack's name through the friend of a friend who had said that Zack was just the man he was looking for to help out on a case.

Flack was more then satisfied with the uniform and the news that Zack had, at least for the night, given up on contacting Samantha. However, not leaving anything to chance, that uniform would only be dismissed when Flack got his girlfriend's apartment and called the uni and told him to go home.

There was going to hell to pay when the deputy inspector found out that Flack had taken it upon himself to send a uniform on surveillance detail without permission from the brass. There was no possible way news like that couldn't get back to the dragon lady. And once it got to her, she would be quick in passing the word along to Sinclair. Shit rolled up hill in the NYPD. Flack knew that either a stern warning or an actual write up would be his punishment once the higher ups got involved. But aside from a view complaints from perps about his anger management and aggression issues, Flack had a clean record. His employee jacket was spic and span. And a write up was worth keeping a sonofabitch like Zack Tanner away from his girl.

After her friends had left, Sam had locked up her door and turned the volume up on the stereo and headed for the bathroom for a long, steaming bubble bath. She'd stayed in the water as long as her skin could take it. Sipping her third hot chocolate with Bailey's and every so often topping her bath up with hot water when it began to cool. While in the tub, she also finished up the last of Tolkien's The Silmarillion. She had already read the book -a chronicle of Tolkien's created world from the 'beginning' to the events leading up the War of the Ring- several times and never tired of it. She had all of Tolkien's works, along with various celebrity biographies and various titles by Jane Austen and Tolstoy, arranged on the bookshelves in her bedroom.

When the threat of falling asleep -from a mixture of fatigue, the relaxing hot water and the alcohol she had consumed- became a real one, she had reluctantly abandoned her bath and emptied the tub and cleaned up the room before drying off and climbing into a pair of watermelon pink and green polka dot satin pyjama bottoms and the pink tank top and green cover up that went with it. With her hair still damp and rolled and twisted into a makeshift bun held in place by plastic 'chop sticks', she headed back into the living room to tidy the place up. Dust the furniture and water the plants that had been suffering from lack of attention for way too long.

It was nine -thirty when the cordless phone resting beside her rang noisily while she sat on the couch, foot up on the coffee table as she applied the second coat of bubblegum pink -with sparkles at that- polish to her toes. Reaching to her left with her free hand, she snatched the phone and checked the call display, frowning slightly when she spied her brother's cell phone number. Adam rarely called while he was on shift. Mostly because he was worried about getting in shit for making personal calls while on the clock, and because he rarely found the time to take a break let alone phone to chat.

"What's up, Peanut?" she asked in way of greeting.

"You and Flack," came his response.

Sam closed her eyes briefly. She kicked herself for allowing her brother in law to find out through the office grapevine and not having the common sense to make him the first person she told about her not so new romance. "Angell?" she asked, vowing to hunt the bitch down and kick her ass from one end of the city to the other.

"I saw you two," Adam informed her. "Tonight. At the elevator. I saw him kiss you."

She couldn't help but grin at the obvious disgust that dripped from her baby brother's voice. "Okay…" she said, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she dipped the small brush into the bottle of polish.

"He kissed you," Adam informed her, stressing each word.

"Well…" Sam said, painting her big toe. "He kisses me a lot. And I happen to like it very much when he kisses me a lot."

"You what?" her brother asked. Sounding more serious and horrified then he ever had in his young life.

"I. Like. It. Very. Much. When. He. Kisses. Me," Sam spoke slowly, clearly pronouncing each word.

"And how long has this been going on for?"

"He's been kissing me A LOT for about three a bit months now."

There was a loud clatter as Adam dropped the phone. Or maybe he threw it across the room. Samantha wasn't entirely sure. But she was highly amused, and slightly irritated, with his reaction and his behaviour.

"Are you there?" she asked, when she heard his breathing once more. "Or did you pass out?"

"You and Flack?" Adam couldn't quite wrap his head around the obvious.

"Me and Flack," Sam confirmed. "For three and a bit months now."

"So there was never some cop that you were dating. The mystery guy."

"Sure there was. Don's a cop and he was a mystery to all of you. I never lied about that. I was dating a police officer and I was determined to enjoy him for as long as possible without having to worry about office gossip and spiteful rumours. So technically, I never fibbed about anything."

"You weren't exactly truthful either," Adam pointed out. "Everyone's been asking for months about this guy. What he looked like, what his name was, when we were finally going to meet him. We were all starting to wonder if he even existed or if you were just so lonely you made up this fantasy guy."

"Let me assure you, he is a fantasy," Sam said. "Everything I've ever fantasised about in my entire life in fact."

"Okay!" Adam snapped. "I don't want sex details Sammie!"

"And I told everyone all about him," she continued, leaning forward to blow on her wet polish. "I said he was tall, dark and charming and incredibly handsome. And I said that when I was ready to for everyone to meet him, they would. And well, Donnie and I decided we were ready for everyone to meet him. Well, technically you've already met him, but you get what I mean."

"I get that you're sneaky," Adam grumbled.

"We had our reasons for keeping things so secretive," Sam informed her brother. "We just wanted some privacy for a while. No drama."

"But I'm your brother," Adam reminded her, sounding hurt. "We tell each other everything. And you couldn't just pull me aside and tell me you were dating Flack? I mean, I could have kept a secret."

"I know."

"Don't you trust me?"

Sam sighed. "Peanut, I trust you more than anyone else in the world. You know that. Don and I…we just weren't ready to tell anyone. This isn't personal."

"Sure feels like it," Adam mumbled. "And why Flack? Seriously. Why him?"

"Because I was attracted to him and he was attracted to me and we were interested in each other and we acted on it," Sam responded. "We have fun together. He treats me like a princess. He's a good man with a huge heart. And I love him."

Adam made a spluttering noise, which he followed up with loud gagging and coughing.

"You just got a latte all over your Iphone didn't you," Sam said.

"You love him?" Adam managed through his sputtering.

"No. We love each other."

"Jesus Mary and Joseph," her brother muttered.

Sam grinned. "You sounded so much like Sarge when you said that."

Sarge, as he was affectionately known as to his two step-children, was a retired pilot. Both Air Force and American Airlines. He had met their mother when her children were sixteen and almost twelve respectfully. Their real father, an alcoholic and habitual drug user who had inflicted all sorts of hell on his kids through the years, had just passed away under not so peaceful and pleasant circumstances when Sarge and their mom had met, by sheer chance at a grocery store. A casual chat in the produce section had resulted in an invitation, on their mother's part, over for coffee. Sarge had accepted.

And never left.

Two months later he was shipping the entire Ross family off to his original hometown of Phoenix, Arizona. The rest, as the saying goes, was history.

"Sarge would be down here on the first flight to kick your ass if I was to tell him what you've been up to," Adam declared.

"And what have I been up to, Peanut? Meeting people? Making friends? Getting a sex life?"

"No!" Adam wailed. "Don't use the word sex to me! Thinking about you and Flack having sex makes me nauseous."

"Does it make you feel better to know we haven't had sex?" she asked. "Because figuratively speaking, we haven't. Unless you want to call mutual masturbation and oral sex actual sex."

"Stop!" Adam pleaded. "Oh my God! Just stop! I don't want to know! I don't want to hear it! Just please stop!"

"Well I am just saying that what we do is not real sex," Sam laughed.

"Don't go all Bill Clinton on me, Sammie," her brother said. "Just don't."

"You need to lighten up, Peanut," she complained. "Seriously. Maybe you need to be going out and finding yourself a Monica Lewinsky," she suggested. "Getting a little Oval Office type action might do wonders for you."

"That's the last thing I need," Adam informed her. "What I need is for my sister not to be dating someone I work with."

"Well seeing as that's not going to happen, I guess a Monica is your best bet."

"You are impossible," he sighed. "Utterly and hopelessly impossible. You couldn't find a normal guy to date?"

"Don's normal," Sam said. "He's the most normal person I know. He's got a steady, respectable job, doesn't live at home with mommy and daddy at his age. Doesn't collect coins or stamps or other boring shit like that."

"That is not what I meant," Adam huffed. "I mean you couldn't find a guy to date that you don't work with? New York City is a huge place. Lots of single guys out there."

"True," Sam said. "But I found a single guy that I was incredibly interested in and I fell in love with him. So no more browsing for me. I am perfectly happy with what I have. In fact, I…"

A loud knock at her apartment door cut off her sentence.

"I've got to go, Peanut," she said into the phone, hurriedly finishing her last toe nail before jamming the brush in the bottle and screwing the lid in place. "Donnie's here now. I guess he forgot his key. Or lost it."

"Let him knock a bit longer," Adam told her. "We're talking."

"And we can talk again tomorrow," Sam said, jumping up and setting the bottle of polish on the coffee table. "Right now, you have a job to get back to and I have a boyfriend I really, really want to spend some quiet time with. So I am hanging up now."

"But Sammie, I…"

"Talk tomorrow, Peanut," she said, finger hovering over the end button. "I really need to go."

"Just promise me you know what you're doing," he told her.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Sam assured him. "Bye for now."

He sighed, "Bye. If you need anything…"

"I will call you. Yes, dad."

"If I was your dad I'd…"

"Goodnight, Adam," she said and hung up.

Tossing the cordless onto the couch, she hurried through the living room and into the small front foyer, trying to walk on her heels to avoid messing up her polish.

"Somehow I knew you'd forget your key, babe," she spoke loud enough for the party on the other side of the door to hear her as she snapped open the dead bolt. "Sometimes I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached," she laughed as she reached for the door knob, turned it and threw the door open. "So what happened? Did you lose it or…"

Her words caught in her throat. Her eyes went wide as sheer panic and terror rushed through her at the sight that greeted her.

* * *

"Samantha," Zack said simply.

She couldn't respond. There were no words and no way to get them out of her constricting throat even if there were. She reacted as quick as her stunned brain would allow her to. She attempted to slam the door in his face, only to meet incredible resistance when her ex laid a large, strong hand on the door. Easily and effortlessly pushing his way into the apartment.

"Did you miss me, baby?" Zack asked, an evil, malicious smirk on his face. "I missed you. It's been a long year. I just couldn't resist being without you any longer."

"Get away from me!" she cried, backing up into the kitchen as he advanced slowly towards her. "Just get away from me, Zack!"

"Now is that anyway to talk to the love of your life, Sammie?" he asked, reaching out to gently touch her face.

She slapped his hand away. "Get the hell out of here!" she yelled, the small of her back colliding with the hard wood of her kitchen table. "Leave Zack! NOW!"

"I thought I'd come and win back what is rightfully mine," he told her, as he stood directly in front of her tiny frame and leaned forward and placed his hands on the table top. Pinning her between the piece of furniture and his strong body.

"I am not yours!" Sam informed him. "I stopped being yours a long time ago! So get the hell out of here and…"

He silenced her. Not with a blinding backhand like many times in the past. But by covering her lips with his in a rough, demanding, aggressive kiss.

She refused to give in to him. Refused to yield or submit. She shrieked against his lips and brought her hands up and pushed as hard as she could on his broad chest. When he didn't budge, she did the next best thing. Feigned enjoyment and responded eagerly to his kiss. Until she took his bottom lip into between her teeth and bit down as hard as she could.

Zack roared in pain at the feel of her teeth cutting deep. Instantly drawing blood. He drew away from her, fury in his eyes, his chest heaving with both anger and the desire he felt for her. Enjoying the fright in her eyes and the way she winced and turned her face away when he simply brought his hand up to touch his injured lip.

"Get the hell out of here, Zack! Leave before I…"

"Before you what?" he smirked. "Call the police? Call your boyfriend? I'll be finished with you before anyone manages to get here. So what are you going to do, Samantha?"

She opened her mouth, and just as a shrill, ear piercing scream began to erupt, Zack grabbed her by the chin, his fingers and thumb digging into opposites sides of her tiny jaw.

"Shut the fuck up!" he bellowed. "Not a goddamn word out of you! Not a word, not a sound! Understand me, Samantha?"

She nodded meekly.

"I didn't come here to hurt you," his voice softened, as did his eyes as he observed her face. "I just came here to talk to you. That's it. I don't want to hurt you, Sammie. That's the last thing I want to do, baby doll. I just came here to talk to you. To get you back."

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"I came to try to get you to see the error of your ways," he told her, the grip on her jaw loosening. He brought his other hand up and took her delicate face in his hands. "I miss you, Sammie. So much. I can't take being without you."

"It's over, Zack," she whispered. "It was over a long time ago. Please. Just leave me alone."

"I can't," he told her. His lips mere inches from hers. "I can't let you go. I want you. I need you."

"Don't do this to me, Zack,' she pleaded, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Please don't do this. Just go."

"I love you so much, Sammie."

"If you loved me you never would have done what you did for so long."

"I had to," he told her. "You needed me to be that way with you. You get crazy, Samantha. You get into those moods and you go insane and violent and I couldn't sit back and watch you hurt yourself. Don't you understand? I couldn't see you do that to yourself. I had to control it. And the only way to do that was to control you."

"No," she said, shaking her head adamantly. "You made me go like that. You made me go insane. You made me mental. You drove me that way. The way you treated me made me that way! You committed me for a breakdown I never had!"

"Are you still in denial, baby doll? You were sick. You needed help."

"I had lost my baby!" she cried. "You were blaming me! I was depressed! I was grieving! I wasn't crazy!"

"Listen to yourself. You're ranting and raving. You're out of control. Listen to yourself, Sammie Lou Who."

"Don't call me that!" she pleaded. "Don't ever call me that! Don't even call me Sammie!"

"What should I call you?" he asked calmly, stroking her lips with his thumb. "Cupcake? Do you remember that? I remember how you used to laugh every time I called you that. Said it sounded funny coming out of a huge guy like me. Do you remember that, babe?"

"Please…" she begged. "Please just leave. My boyfriend will be here soon and if you knew what was good for you you'd…"

Zack smirked. "The boyfriend. Homicide detective. My mistake. He's a detective Sargent. Don, right? Don Flack? There's a junior at the end if I do remember right. His daddy's some big legend in the NYPD. Think I heard somewhere that he'd been blown up and nearly died. And that he'd become the department golden boy after some huge drug bust."

"How do you know all of that?" she asked.

"I do my research. After I paid him a little visit today, I checked some things out. Your boy's got quite the career going on. Impressive. Sounds like he's a hell of a cop."

"He is," Sam said. "And he's an even better man and he's going to kick your fucking ass when he finds you here!"

"He already knows I'm here. I all but warned him I'd get to you. And where is he, Samantha? Obviously he never told you I was in town. And he obviously doesn't give a shit what happens to you or he'd be here protecting you wouldn't he."

"Just get the fuck out of here, Zack! What more do I have to say!"

"Tell me you miss me, Sammie. Tell me you miss me and you still love me."

"I don't miss you and I don't still love you!" she yelled. "Now get lost!"

"You love this new man of yours, Sammie? Look me in the eye and tell me you love him."

"Get out of here, Zack!" she screamed.

"Well that's a good sign," he said, smiling as he released her face and stepped away from her. "You can't admit it. Guess you're just using him, huh? Fill up some kind of gap in your pitiful little life."

She knew she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. That admitting any feelings towards another man would send Zack over the edge and have her receive a pummelling because of it. But she took the chance anyway. That maybe, just maybe, Zack had turned over a new leaf and hearing the truth would make him leave.

"I love him," she said, wiping her tears on her sleeve. "I love him and I want to spend forever with him. I want to marry him one day and have kids with him. Is that what you wanted to hear, Zachary Tanner?"

His eyes blazed and his jaw clenched.

"I want you to leave!" Sam demanded. "I want you to get the hell out of my apartment! Before Don gets here! Because I love him and I honestly don't want him getting arrested and tossed in jail for beating your sorry ass! NOW LEAVE!"

"How's he going to feel, Samantha? When he makes that kind of commitment to you and finds out you can't give him children. That you can't have babies? You think that's fair to him?"

"They never said I couldn't have children," she said. "Just that I might have a hell of a time getting pregnant! And you know what? He's man enough to accept if I can't and love me regardless."

"I love you regardless. And how much of a man is he? Does he do the things I do for you, baby? Can he do the things I can for you? The things that drive you wild?"

"He already does all of it and more," she responded. "He does it just by looking at me a certain way. And he's a hell of a lot better in bed then you could ever hope to be. So get the hell out of here and take your pitiful little life…" she glanced down at his crotch. "with you."

He smirked and turned to leave. Then spun back around and caught her across the face in a backhand that brought her to her knees. "You piece of shit!" he hissed and spit on her. "After everything I did for you! After I accepted you and your bullshit! After I loved you no matter what!"

She refused to cower to him. With tears spilling down her face and her hand holding her throbbing cheek, she rose to her feet on shaky legs. "Get the fuck out of here, Zack," she demanded, her eyes never leaving his.

He held up his hands in surrender. Then dug on hand into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a ring. Her engagement ring. A single solitaire diamond. A carat in total set in a thick yellow gold band.

"And to think I went to the trouble to get this back for you," he said, holding it up to her before tossing it on the kitchen counter.

And with that he turned on his heel and stalked through the kitchen and to the front door. Never looking back as he tossed it open, stepped into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

Sam raced behind him. Nearly blinded by tears and pain as she locked the dead bolt and slid the chain across.

"You'll regret this, Samantha," she heard Zack say from the hallway.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" she screamed. "FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She heard him stomp away down the hall. And eventually the screeching off the elevator door opening and then closing.

Letting out a choked sob, she turned around and let her back slide down the door until she was in a sitting position on the floor. Drawing her legs up, she hugged her knees to her chest and hung her head.

And finally, after years of pain and suffering at Zack Tanner's hands, Samantha Ross allowed herself to come undone.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate all of you! Even the lurkers! But please R and R folks!**

**Huge thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**Bluehaven4220**

**laplandgurl**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Afrozenheart412**

**wolfeylady**

**KassandraJ**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**Forest Angel**

**CavalierQueen**


	12. Letting it all go

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO THEIR ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**WARNING: THIS CHAP IS RATED SLIGHT M FOR ADULT SITUATIONS**

* * *

**Letting it all go**

"I could lose my heart tonight  
If you don't turn and walk away  
'Cause the way I feel I might  
Lose control and let you stay  
'Cause I could take you in my arms  
And never let go  
I could fall in love with you  
I could fall in love with you  
I could only wonder how  
Touching you would make me feel  
But if I take that chance right now  
Tomorrow will you want me still?  
So I should keep this to myself  
And never let you know."  
-I Could Fall in Love, Selena

* * *

It had taken Flack longer then he had expected to reach the apartment.

An hour had turned into nearly an hour and half courtesy of last minute paper work dumped on him by Deputy Inspector bumper to bumper traffic on Broadway. Stuck in the middle lane, he'd been unable to ease in between the cars on either side of him in order to take a detour down an alley or a side street. There were about five different short cuts that he could have taken Samantha's place and all were out of reach. So close yet so far. Had he not been confident in the competency of the uniform outside of Zack's apartment, Flack would have been panicking as the minutes ticked by while he was stuck behind the wheel of his SUV.

He parked a street away from Sam's building. She lived on a one way and finding a parking spot was always next to impossible. A block wasn't a far way to travel on foot, and despite the fact that in essence he was abusing power, he always shoved his NYPD placard in the corner of the windshield and parked in what would normally be tow away zones.

It was shortly before ten when he finally found himself slipping out from behind the wheel and snagging an overnight bag from the back seat of his black GMC Yukon. He locked the SUV up for the night and then jogged across the snow covered street and cut down the narrow, dark alley that separated Sam's building from the adjacent dry cleaners. He often joked that not only was dating her good for his sex life and a great cure for his loneliness, it was also good on his dry cleaning bill and the fact it took him less then five minutes to run next door. Not only was the place by her cheaper, it him fifteen minutes by car to get to the closest cleaners near his apartment.

The first time he'd made the observation, they'd been in bed and she'd asked him what he liked so much about her place. She was expecting something along the lines of 'Your place is bigger' or 'This apartment is closer to work' or even a 'Your place isn't a complete pig sty like mine'. Instead she'd gotten some lame ass comment about dry cleaning. Even now, he chuckled at the perturbed look on her face and the way she'd rolled her eyes and offered up a dramatic, exasperated sigh and flopped over onto her stomach with a curt goodnight.

It had taken him half an hour to convince her that he was only joking. Convenience and cheaper dry cleaning were the least important things to him. The truth was, her apartment felt like home. It was warm and relaxing and simply stepping into the door filled him with the utmost sense of happiness and comfort. It was well decorated, if not a little cluttered. She had furniture that didn't look like it had seen better days. Matching sheets and a comforter set on the bed. Dishes and saucers and cups that actually formed a complete set as opposed to odds and ends he'd inherited from his parents. Most of all, it felt like a home because even when she wasn't physically there, her presence was all around him. Her personal effects were on the shelves and taking up all the space. Her clothes were in the closets. Her smell lingered in the air. All the things that made Sammie surrounded him.

And when he stepped back into his own place after leaving hers, that loneliness returned once again. His place was cold and sterile. Nothing more than a place to lay his head.

Samantha was home. That's all there was to it. And it was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced before in his entire life.

As was the feeling, and the knowledge, that this was permanent. They were the real deal. Both his heart and his brain were telling him the same thing. Samantha Ross was his forever. And when that thought didn't send him running, Don Flack knew that something that felt that good could ever be wrong.

He rounded the corner of her building, the snow crackling under his feet as he picked up his pace. Anxious to get the hell out of the cold and into the warmth and comfort of not only her apartment, but more importantly her embrace. The thought of spending the night in her bed brought a broad smile to his face and a indescribable yearning in his chest. Whether he spent with her wrapped tightly in her arms or simply feeling her body beside him and hearing her soft, rhythmic breathing or her delicate scent permeating his sense, the act of being close to her was enough for him. Enough to chase away the demons for at least one night.

He had just set one foot down on the bottom step of the stairs outside of her building when his cell phone, tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket, vibrated against him. His head was down as he reached into his coat, fumbling for his phone, but he was still aware of the front door of the building swinging open and a large, strong looking figure stepping out onto the landing and then making its way down the narrow stairs. Flack backed up against the small to allow the person to pass, and had just pulled out his phone when that deep voice sent shivers down his spine and caused the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Because if the person that that voice belonged to was there, then someone had majorly fucked up.

"Long time no see, New York."

Flack looked up. Insurmountable worry and anger taking over his entire body.

Zack Tanner had stopped next to him. Their shoulders touching.

"So the big, bad detective has come to play knight in shining armour, huh?" Zack gave a smirk. "You're a little too late. I already managed to knock some sense into her."

For the first time in his life, Don Flack was at a loss for both words and actions. There was no words that could properly express the million and one terrible thoughts that were stampeding through his head.

"Enjoy her while you can Don," Zack said, as he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and continued down on the stairs. "Because that little Brooklyn girl is as good as mine again."

"Fuck you, Zack," Flack finally managed to formulate a response. "If you did anything to her…"

"Oh I did plenty," he chuckled as his feet hit the sidewalk. "You get to play the hero and go up there and pick up the pieces. Maybe she'll even show you her gratitude afterwards. She's quite the fuck, huh?"

Flack was going to give someone like Zack Tanner the pleasure of seeing him pissed off to the point of severe violence. So while all he wanted to do was head down those stairs and hand that sonofabitch his ass twice over, Flack just snorted and shook his head and hurried up towards the front entrance.

"Hey, New York!" Zack called to him.

Flack paused with his hand on the door handle and turned back towards the thorn in his proverbial side.

"I always thought you New York City cops were smarter than you are. Gotta give you credit. Putting a uniform on my door step? Clever. Too bad neither of you morons considered the fire escape or the back entrance."

And with that, Zack gave a chuckle and sauntered down the sidewalk shaking his head.

Flack's hands shook with rage and his heart hammered in his chest as he watched the other man head down the sidewalk and then disappear down the same alley Flack himself had just cut down. He wanted nothing more then to go after Zack and beat the living shit out of him. Kill him with his bare hands. Going to jail for the rest of his life was a small price to pay for ridding the world of a scum bag, nut job like Zack. Flack was pretty sure he could get a lighter sentence by pleading temporary insanity. Hell, if he goaded Zack into taking a swing at him, there was always the self defence card to play. He could probably even make it look like a simple accident. Toss Zack out into moving traffic and claim the man simply slipped during their fight. And he was sure, if he knocked Zack unconscious, he could managed to haul the big man to his truck, toss him in and drive to the Brooklyn Bridge, pull over and drop Zackie boy over the railing.

Murder seemed like an incredible option at that point. Being on the force for so long, and being around the CSIs, Flack probably knew about ninety nine ways to dispose of a body. And he was pretty sure, if he needed help doing it, Danny Messer would have his back the entire way.

He literally had one foot poised in front of him, ready to take action, when his cell phone, clasped so tightly in his hand that he was surprised he hadn't shattered it, vibrated once more. It snapped Flack out of his daze and he glanced down. Relief flooding his body at the sight of Sam's land line number on his call display.

"Are you okay?" he asked in greeting.

"Zack…" she managed through her sobs. "He was just…he was just here…I don't know what to do…"

"But are you okay?" he repeated, tossing open the front door and holding his cell phone to his ear as he fished the spare key out of his pocket.

"I don't know…I think so…Zack was here, Donnie…he was here and I don't know what to do…"

"I just ran into him outside…did he hurt you?" Flack asked, shoving the key in the lock, barely waiting for the dull click before tearing the door open and hurrying to the stairs.

"I'm scared," she sniffled. "What if he comes back?"

"He comes back and he's a fucking dead man," Flack told her. "I'm on my way up, Sammie. I'll be there in less then five minutes. You just stay where you are and calm down, okay?"

"Okay…" she said and disconnected the call.

* * *

Flack took the stairs two at a time. Hoping that the tears she was shedding were more from the fright of a confrontation with Zack, then they were that of pain. Because if Zack had inflicted any form of abuse and suffering on her, Flack was certain that there'd be nothing anyone could do to stop him from killing the bastard with his bare hands.

He was also pissed off at himself. He had thought he was doing the right thing by having a uniform outside of Zack's apartment. Someone he trusted to keep an eye on things and warn him if something was in danger of going down. Now he was kicking himself for being so goddamn stupid. For not considering other entrances and exits to the building. And most of all, for not telling Samantha ahead of time that Zack was in town. If she had have known from the get go, she would have been more prepared for when her ex came knocking at her door.

He had let her down. All the promises he had made to keep her safe and secure and make her feel protected were worthless. Because despite his best of intentions, he had now joined the list of the people who had done her wrong in her life. He had, without even trying, hurt her and betrayed her.

He tossed open the door to the third floor and stepped out into the hallway. It took less then a dozen steps to reach the door of apartment 303. And before he could get the key into the lock, he heard her tiny, meek voice from behind the door.

"It's open."

Hurriedly toeing off his shoes and leaving them by the side of the door, he grabbed the handle and twisted it and let himself into the apartment. "Sam!" he called, tossing his bag against the closet. "Where are…"

"I'm right here, Donnie," she said from below.

He looked down and found her, knees clutched to her chest, back against the wall as she sat next to the door. Her face streaked by tears, her cheek red and swollen, a small cut just below the eye. The beginnings of bruises on her jaw, in the shapes of fingers, clearly visible. Her entire body trembling.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Flack asked, quickly shedding his coat and tossing it on top of the duffel bag before dropping to his knees in front of her.

"He…he came to the apartment and knocked…" she began in a shaky voice. "I thought it was you. That you'd lost the key I gave you. I never thought to check the peep hole. I'm sorry, Donnie."

"What are you sorry for?" he asked, his voice soft, concern in his eyes as he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head towards the light to get a better look at her cheek.

"Because I didn't check who was at the door," her lower lip wobbled as she struggled to hold back tears. "I should have checked who it was."

"You thought it was me," he told her. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. If anyone who should be apologizing, it should be me."

"For what?" she asked, wincing as his fingertips examined the cut and the swelling on her cheek.

"I should have told you earlier that Zack was in town. That he came to me this afternoon. Spewing a whole bunch of shit. I wanted to wait to tell you until we were alone. So we could actually have time to sit down and talk about things. You can't do that at work."

"What kind of things did he say to you?" she asked.

"Like I said, a whole bunch of shit. I'm sorry, Sammie. I should have told you. I put a uniform outside of Zack's apartment and the last I heard, Zack hadn't left the building and there were lights on at his place. I never even considered there being a rear entrance or a fire escape."

"You had someone surveilling him? For me?"

Flack nodded. "Fucking stupid of me to not think about alternate exits. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You were," she said with a sniffle. "You did do the right thing. It's not your fault Zack's a sneaky bastard."

"What did he to do you, baby?"

"We had an argument. I kept yelling at him to leave. He said a whole bunch of things about me and about you and we got into it and he grabbed me and kissed me and…"

"He kissed you? For real?"

She nodded. "I bit his lip. To get him to stop. That's when he grabbed me by my face. Like this…" she demonstrated on Flack's face.

"Did he try to choke you? Anything like that?"

She shook her head. "Then we argued some more and he get upset and hit me. Backhanded me. I told him to leave and he did."

"Did he do anything else to you?" Flack asked, eyeing her wrinkled and slightly askew pyjama top.

"No. He wouldn't be that stupid. He knows I'd cut his ball off if he even thought about it."

Flack couldn't help but smirk. "Do you think you need to go to the hospital? Get some x-rays or…"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Just scared. I'm really, really scared, Donnie."

"I know you are, babe," he laid a hand on the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you. I should have been here."

"Will he come back?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"He'd have to be a complete and utter moron to come back here," Flack replied. "He knows I'm here. Sonofabitch walked right past me on the stairs."

"Did he say anything to you?"

Flack shook his head and cleared her tears with gently fingertips. She didn't know the evil and filth that had come out of Zack's mouth. "Just gave that smart ass smirk of his and kept on walking. We need to get some ice on that cheek. Okay?"

She nodded.

He kissed her lips softly before getting to his feet and offering his hands. Her own were shaking viciously as she curled her fingers around his hands and allowed him to help her to her feet.

"Please hold me, Donnie," she whispered, tears trickling from her eyes once more. "I really need you to hold me right now."

"Anything you want, baby," he said and wrapped both of his strong arms around her tiny body. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. Willing all the strength and warmth and love that existed inside of him into her quaking body.

After several minutes, he drew back and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before laying a hand on the small of her back and leading the way into the kitchen.

"Lock the door!" she cried. "Please lock the door! In case he comes back!"

Flack knew that Zack didn't have the guts to come back while there was someone there to defend her. But to put her fears and insecurities at rest, he went back to the front door and locked it up tight before rejoining her in the kitchen. She sat at one of the kitchen chairs, her elbow on the table and the side of her head resting in his upturned palm.

He went to the fridge and opened the freezer and snagged a cold gel pack Sam kept in there for the many nights he had come to her after a run in with a perp needing a some slight first aid and more than a little TLC. Good thing about the contraption was that if you didn't want it, or need it frozen, you could simply toss it in the microwave and heat it up to your liking. He shut the freezer and grabbed the dish towel from the handle of the oven and wrapped it around the gel pack.

"Tilt your head back, baby," he gently instructed, pulling a chair up in front of her.

"I can do it," she said.

"Well I want to do it," he told her, sitting down. He removed his tie and tossed it on the table and undid the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

She gave a little smile and dropped her head back slightly. Little out a small yelp when the cold came in contact with her injured cheek. "What is it with you men?" she asked. "Why is it you guys always know how to get us in the perfect spot? Knuckles right on the bone? Do you guys go to some school that teaches how to backhand someone properly?"

"Not all men hit," Flack informed her. "Not real men anyway. Are you sure he didn't do anything else to you, Sammie?" he asked, as he fixed her pyjama top, the thought of Zack having his filthy hands on her making him sick to his stomach. And his rage only worse. He had promised himself he'd stay calm for her. To think about caring for her. But all thoughts of that bastard were making it so difficult to stay composed.

She shook her head in response to his question. "He didn't touch me, Donnie," she assured him. "I'd tell you if he did. I never should have answered the door."

"You didn't know it was him, babe. You thought it was me. This isn't your fault."

"If I had have handled things better," she said. "If I hadn't have just took off like I did and took the money. If I had have just told him it was over and that I couldn't stand being there anymore then maybe…"

"Then maybe he could have kicked the shit out of you there and then. Only he wouldn't have stopped at just smacking you. He would have seriously hurt you, Samantha. He probably would have even put you in the hospital. Hell, he probably even would have killed you. You handled it exactly the way you felt you had to."

"But if I'd just explained, if I hadn't have just left…"

"I don't want to hear this, babe."

"If I hadn't have gotten smart with my mouth when he was here tonight, I…"

"Samantha!" Flack snapped. "Listen to me! I don't want to hear this! You didn't do anything wrong! It wasn't your fault when you were with him and it's not your fault now! He's fucking nuts! Don't you get that? He's a goddamn looney tunes! And you defend him and say it was your fault? That you caused this?"

"If I'd just…"

"For fuck sakes!" he bellowed, causing her to jump. "Stop it! Right now! Stop blaming yourself for him being fucked up! No woman deserves what he put you through! I'm not going to sit here and listen to you blame yourself! So knock it off! Understand me?"

She nodded, speechless, tears threatening once again.

"None of it is your fault," Flack said, his voice softening. "It was never your fault. And the sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"And that's another thing," he sighed. "You're always saying sorry. For everything. You drop something or knock something over you say you're sorry. You interrupt me when I'm talking and you say you're sorry. You speak your mind or offer up an opinion and you say you're sorry. Why the hell do you say you're sorry so much?"

"In case you're mad," she reasoned. "I don't want you to be mad."

"You need to stop this weak, dependant crap, babe. Because I know for a fact that you are far from weak. You're strong and you're independent. Zack puts this bullshit in your head and you believe it. You're not the way he says you are. You know that right?"

"He says that I'm crazy," she said. "That I get out of control and violent and that he had to treat me that way to stop me from hurting myself."

"And do you believe that?"

"I had some problems. With depression. Something happened and I lost it. I was grieving and I got depressed and he couldn't deal with it and he put me in the hospital. For nearly two months! Two months I was in there!"

"Just adds to my theory that he's nuts. Not being able to deal with something like that is his problem. He had no right treating you like that."

"He said that no man is going to want to be with me because of what happened. That because I might not be able to give someone a family that they won't want to be with me."

"What are you talking about, Sammie? What happened to you?"

"I got hurt at work. There was an incident with a perp and I…I was pregnant and I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged really bad and the doctors almost had to give me a hysterectomy. They said that because of all the scar tissue, that getting pregnant again may be close to impossible."

The words I was pregnant replayed themselves over and over again in Flack's mind. He was so stunned by her confession, of this previous life revelation, that he wasn't entirely sure he had even heard the rest of what she had said. Bits and pieces were floating around in his head. Something about getting hurt at work and losing the baby and how she bled out and the doctors weren't sure she'd ever have kids because of it.

"Please say something, Donnie," she pleaded. "Anything. Say anything."

"Zack said that?" he asked, once he'd finally found his voice. "That no one would want you if you can't get pregnant?"

She nodded. "That it wasn't fair to any man. That they wouldn't want me if I couldn't give them a family."

"Well Zack's full of shit," Flack declared. "Because honestly, when that time comes for me and you? When we get onto having kids? It's not going to matter if you can't have a baby. I'll love you no matter. Not having kids is not the end of the world."

"You don't want kids?" she asked.

"It's not that I don't want them," he replied. "It's just that if you can't give them to me, it's not going to kill me. So we adopt. Big deal."

"But that wouldn't be your own child," she said. "It wouldn't be something we made together."

He shrugged. "So what? We'd love it together. And that's more important then us actually making it. Don't you think?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you that right from the start. I should have told you."

"Why? You didn't need to tell me right off the hop. That's something you tell someone when things are getting serious and the talk about babies has popped up once or twice. We haven't really talked about that kind of thing. Important thing is that you told me."

She sniffled noisily. "You always seem to know exactly what to say," she said.

"I'm a work in progress," he grinned. "Ninety percent of the time I still open my mouth without thinking. And instead of talking about babies, we should be talking about what we're going to do about Zack. 'Cause honestly babe, the things he said today to me, about you…" Flack shook his head. "He's nuts. Plain and simple."

"What did he say to you?" she asked.

"Like I said, a whole bunch of shit," Flack told her, removing the ice pack from her face and standing up.

"Like?" she pressed.

"He just said that you were sneaky and manipulative," he told her, removing the gel pack from the towel before tossing it back into the freezer. "That he's the only one who knows how to control you. That if I knew what was good for me, I'd just hand you over to him."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him to take a fucking hike," Flack responded. He went to the sink and snagged a glass from the drain board and filled it with cold water from the tap. "You think I'd believe that? He's the sneaky and manipulative one. He's already proved that."

"He thinks I'm a bad person," she said. "That I've done him this serious injustice and I need to be punished."

"Like I said, he's a wackjob. We need to figure out what we're going to do about him."

"Throw him off the Brooklyn Bridge?" Sam suggested.

"Tempting," Flack said with a grin and sidestepped a couple of feet and opened a cupboard, taking out the bottle of extra strength Tylenol and carrying both to the table and returning to his seat. "But I was thinking more along the lines of a restraining order or filing charges. Or both. Say the word babe and I'll call one of my guys and have Zack scooped up. And have him walked into a few lamp posts for good measure."

"No restraining order," she said. "And I'm not pressing charges."

"Are you fucking nuts?" he asked. "He came to your place and seriously hurt you. You think I'm going to let that happen again?"

"It won't happen again," she assured him. "He made his point. He knows I've moved on."

"Only point that he's going to be making is when he either drags your ass back to Phoenix or he kills you. Or both. You can't honestly sit here and tell me that he doesn't deserve to be punished."

"Of course he deserves to be punished. Just a restraining order and charges aren't the punishment I had in mind."

"You want me to go over to his place right now? Take Danny with me for good measure? Scagnetti even? Because just say the word, babe and I'll be over there laying the beating of a lifetime on that motherfucker."

"That would only get you guys into trouble," she said. "Someone else needs to do it."

"You mean like hire someone?"

"I mean ask someone to do a favour. To teach Zack a lesson. To show him that he's fucking with the wrong people."

"And do you know anyone that's willing to do that? Because I don't. I can't think of a single person who would…"

"Terrence Davis," she said.

"What about him?" he asked her.

"Terrence knows people," Sam replied. "A lot of people. People that owe him favours. People that can't be, and won't be traced back to him, or us."

"Terrence Davis is a hardened criminal, Sammie."

"And he's also your CI," she pointed out.

"Doesn't mean he's going to be dolling out the favours for me any time soon. He'd either hang up on me or laugh in my face. Tell me to…"

Sam looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "He said that he'd help me," she said in a quiet voice.

Flack's eyes widened. "You talked to Terrence Davis?"

She nodded.

"When?"

"I called him after Zack left."

"Why the hell would you call him?"

"Because I knew that you wouldn't be able to do anything about Zack without getting in trouble. Same with Danny and anyone else we know. And I figured that Terrence had connections so I…"

"You called him at the club?"

She shook her head. "His private number."

"Where'd you get his private number?" Flack asked angrily.

She sighed heavily.

"Samantha…"

"You left your lap top here this past Thursday and if I knew that you kept information like that in there. So I went into it and looked it up," she admitted.

He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "You did what?" he asked, resisting the urge to shake some sense into her.

"I didn't know what else to do," she told him. "I knew that I needed someone to help me and I…"

"What about me?!" he snapped. "I'm your boyfriend! You couldn't ask me?"

"Like I said, I didn't want you getting caught, Donnie. Because if you get caught doing anything to Zack, you'll lose your shield and I…"

"Fuck the shield, Samantha!" he shouted. "Fuck it! You think I care about the job when it comes to protecting you? You're all that matters to me!"

"And you're all that matters to me. Which is why I couldn't ask you to go after Zack. I love you and I don't want you losing your job because of someone like Zack. I went in a different direction to protect you."

"You went into my personal information and called my CI to protect me?" he snorted. "Excuse me if I find you hacking into my shit a little twisted."

"I didn't hack into it," she argued. "I just turned the lap top on and went into some of your files and…"

"Those files are none of your business, Samantha. Those names and those numbers in there? Of people that I used for information? None of that is your business."

"Then you shouldn't have just left it here," she reasoned.

"Well excuse me for fucking trusting you enough to not go through my stuff!" he bellowed, jumping to his feet and pacing the kitchen. "Those people in there depend on me to keep them and their identities safe, Samantha! And you go in there and look at them?!"

"I was only looking for Terrence," she told him. "That was the only name I was interested in, Donnie. I didn't look at anything else."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered and leaned against the sink. He put his elbows on the ledge and his face in his hands. "I can't believe you would do that, babe. How are these people suppose to trust me? I need these people! I need the information they give me! And you're going through their names and their numbers? For fuck sakes."

"I was only looking for Terrence," she repeated. "That was the only name that mattered. And when I got his number I closed everything up and logged off."

Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So what did Terrence say?" he asked, turning around to face her. Arms folded over his chest.

"He said that he'd help me. I told him about my problems with Zack and Terrence said he'd help me."

"Just like that?" Flack asked. "At what cost?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Don't have a blond moment, Samantha. You know what I mean. He said he'd help you. What does he want in return?"

"Nothing. He said he didn't want anything."

"Bullshit," Flack snorted. "Guys like Davis don't do things for people without wanting something in return. Guys like him always have a price. So what is it this time? Money? He knows we both work for the city. I've already given him a get out of jail free card so it's not that."

"He doesn't want anything, Donnie. He just…"

"If you even dare tell me that his cost was getting you alone so he could fuck you as payment…"

"What?!" Sam yelled, bolting to her feet. "You actually think I'd do something like that?"

"He wouldn't just be something like this to help you out," Flack told her.

"All he said was that he'd help me out! That he couldn't stand assholes that beat women and that he'd help me! That's it! How the hell can you even think I would sleep with someone as a form of payment? What? I'm some kind of fucking prostitute?"

"I never said you would do it. I just know what guys like him are like Samantha. And if he thinks that that's what you're going to do for him…"

"He wants me to meet him. He wants me to come to the club tomorrow afternoon."

Flack shook his head. "You're not going there alone. No way in hell."

"And that's what I told him. I told him you'd never go for that. And you know what he said, Donnie?"

Flack shook his head.

"He said he respected that. And that he respected you. And that you could come with me."

Flack sighed and ran a hand over his face. "This is insane, Samantha. Absolutely insane."

"But he trusts you," she said, stepping in front of him and laying her hands on his sides. "And you trust him enough to be a CI."

"Doesn't mean I trust him enough to let him do my girlfriend favours."

"But you trust me, right?" she asked. "You trust me enough to do right thing, don't you?"

"Of course I do, babe. You're not the issue here. This man is a hardened criminal who…"

"Who you let give you information to go after other hardened criminals. That's trust, Donnie. You have to trust him not to give you fake info and lead you into getting yourself killed. I'm just asking you to trust him. He doesn't want anything in return. And even if he did, he wouldn't be getting anything."

"I just hope you know what you're doing, Samantha. You don't fuck with people like this."

"I know. But he was the first person I thought of. And I trust you to have my back."

"I'll always have your back, babe," he told her, laying his hands on her hips. "Even in sheer insanity like this."

"I wouldn't have called him if I didn't think I had any other choice," she said.

"There are other choices. Laying charges. Getting a restraining order. Calling his supervisor and telling him what happened and getting Zack's badge and credentials yanked."

"That's tame compared to what he deserves. He deserves a beating and you know it."

"I do. But I wanted to be the one to give it to him."

"You mean too much to me to have you go to jail for Zack," Sam told him. "Trust me, Donnie. Please."

"I do trust you," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "There's never been a question about that."

* * *

"I just want him to leave me alone," she whispered, resting her head against Flack's chest.

"Soon, baby," he assured her, kissing the top of her head. "Once he gets his ass handed to him by some of Terrence's boys, he won't bother you anymore. I promise. And if he does…that's when I take care of him personally."

She shivered at the determination and vehemence in his voice. "Please don't do anything," she pleaded, turning her golden eyes up on them. "Because the thought of losing you because of Zack…"

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, and slid his hands up her back and over her shoulders. Tenderly holding her delicate face in his strong, rough hands, he trailed kisses over every inch of her porcelain skin.

Beginning with her smooth forehead and travelling down her nose and then to the her eyes. His lips were soft and moist and warm on her skin and moved gently over her injured cheek and up the other side of her face. While those hose feathery kisses made her tingle from head to toe, the tenderness of his actions brought tears to her eyes. The touch of his lips and the way he held her face filling her with sending surges of love and adoration sweeping through her entire body.

His lips finally reached hers. Pressing kisses along her top lip and then her bottom before seizing her mouth in a long, deep and intense kiss.

It was then that she felt all her inhibitions and hesitations begin to crumble. The fears of love and intimacy being stripped away. And she opened her mouth to his, sighing as his tongue sought her, brushing against it tentatively at first before seizing it urgently and demandingly, she realised that she had never needed, or wanted, someone so desperately in her entire life.

Her hands slipped from his sides and drifted up his chest, her fingers setting to work on snapping open the buttons on his shirt as his moved his hands away from her face and his lips drifted away from hers and trailed across her cheek. One hand settled briefly on her hip before sliding around to explore the contours of her ass while the other reached for the plastic sticks holding her hair in place. Yanking them out, he let them drop to the floor with a clatter and then combed his fingers through her luxurious brunette locks. Twisting and gripping her hair tightly and gently yanking her head to the side, exposing her slender neck to his greedy lips.

She yanked his shirt out of his pants and finished with the buttons, the feelings of desire and longing almost too much to bear. Moaning at the sensation that surged through her as his teeth grazed across her skin and his hand slipped down the back of her pyjama bottoms and down the cleft of her ass. She reached for his belt buckle, quickly and effortlessly undoing it before popping open the button on his pants and sliding down the zipper. Enjoying the sounds of his harsh breathing and the low moan he gave as she slipped her hand across the front of his boxers.

"Sammie…" he was panting as he broke away from her, his hand moving from her ass to intercept her hand that was moving it's way down the front of his boxers. "We gotta stop."

"What?" she asked, her golden eyes perplexed, sweat beading on her forehead and her face flushed. "Are you kidding me?"

He shook his head. "We can't…I mean, it's not that I don't want to…'cause trust me, I do. I think you can feel the evidence of that."

She smiled and nodded and licked her top lip in eager anticipation.

"But we just can't. That whole monthly visitor situation."

"It's called a period, Don," she said. "And it stopped this morning. I'm one of the lucky ones that go for three days and adios. So, there's no reason for us to stop…" she reached into his boxers once again.

"Samantha, listen to me," he stilled her hand once more. "All the other times we've come close, you've always bailed on me in the end. And I was cool with it. I was. I understood. But this time? This time I'm afraid I won't be able to stop when you tell me to. 'Cause honestly? I have zero self restraint left."

"Neither do I," she told him. "I can't take it anymore. Wanting you and needing you this bad. I'm not going to tell you to stop this time."

"You said that last time."

"But this time I mean it," she vowed. "I'm serious, Donnie. I'm through being afraid. I just…I want you. I need you. More than I could ever possibly tell you. I need you to want me and need me."

"I do want you and need you. Don't ever doubt that, baby."

She smiled and grabbed him by he front of his short and yanked him down into a passionate kiss. "Make love to me," she said, her voice quiet and sincere, her golden eyes locked on his blue ones.

He buried his fingers in her hair once more and kissed her. Hungrily and greedily. Releasing the grip on her hand, allowing her soft, warm fingers to stroke him from root to tip. "We better go into the bedroom then," he told her, pressing feathery kisses to her jaw. "'Cause the last thing I want this to be is some quick fuck on the kitchen floor. Or the counter. Or the table."

"I don't know," she said, a devilish smile on her face. "Ever seen the movie Bull Durham? The part where Kevin Costner just pushes everything on the floor and ravishes Susan Sarandon right there and then? That always did something for me."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Well how about tomorrow morning after you make me breakfast I shove everything on the floor and we recreate that scene ourselves?"

"Promise?" she asked. "Because I will hold you to that, you know."

"I hope you do. There's something sexy about the idea of licking maple syrup off of every inch of your body."

"If that's the case," she removed her hand from his boxers and hurried over to the cupboard near the stove. Tossing it open, she rummaged through the shelves until she came up with a small bottle of syrup and held it out for him to see, a triumph grin on her face. "It's that stuff I got in the duty free shop when Linds and I went to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls last summer."

"What? Some guy in an igloo sell it to you?" Flack asked, doing his pants back up.

She rolled her eyes. "That's a stereotype. Canadians do not live in igloos or drive dogsleds."

"That stuff is going to make a hideous mess of your sheets," he informed her.

"No more of a mess then what the mint chocolate chip ice cream did when you decided to use the stufff as erotic body paint a month ago."

He grinned. "Hundred and one ways to eat ice cream," he declared. "Eating it off of Samantha Ross is at the top of my list."

"Well you can add licking maple syrup off of me to your list of kinky shit you love," she said and held the bottle out.

"You sure about this Sam? It's going to make a hell of a mess."

"I know how to do laundry," she told him. "And we can put a towel down over the sheets."

"Maple syrup, huh?" he smirked as he took the bottle off of her.

"It was originally your idea," she said and grabbed him by the hand. "So you better make good on it."

"Hope your neighbours are either heavy sleepers or they don't mind noise," he told her, allowing her to yank him out of the kitchen.

"Why's that?" she asked.

"If you thought all the other times we've done things have been noisy, just you wait. You're going to have a sore throat for a week with all the screaming you're going to be doing."

"Promises, promises," she laughed. "Let's just see what you got, Detective Flack."

"Be careful what you wish for, Sam," he said with a chuckle, then reached out and picked her up effortlessly and tossed her over his shoulder.

"I wanted Rhett Butler!" she giggled. "Not Caveman!"

"Frankly my dear," he said, slapping her ass. "I don't give a damn."

She laughed. "Donald Flack, you are so corny."

"Horny, Sam. I'm horny," he corrected her, and pushing her bedroom door open with his foot, carried her inside and dropped her into the middle of the bed.

"Well then," she said, pushing herself up towards the headboard. "I guess you should get down here and do something about that."

"Get them clothes off and I'll get right on it. Or you, I should say."

She grinned and peeled off her sweater and tank top as lifted her ass off the mattress and yanked off her pants as he uncapped the maple syrup and sat it on the night stand before disposing of his own clothes.

He climbed onto the bed, capturing her lips in an intense kiss, gently using his body to push her onto her back before coming down over top of her, propping on one arm as the hand of the other explored every inch of her exquisite body. Feeling her shudder and seeing the goosebumps that pricked up on her silky skin. Hearing the hitch in her breath and seeing the slight nervousness in her eyes as his hand drifted between her legs.

"You nervous?" he asked.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sammie," he promised, pressing kisses along her collarbone.

"I know," she breathed, burying her fingers in his hair. "It's just…I've only been with one other person…"

He raised his head to look at her. "You serious?"

She nodded again.

He kissed her softly. "I'll be gentle," he said. "You trust me?" he asked.

"With my life," she replied.

Smiling, he let his lips travel down the length of her body.

She groaned loudly and closed her eyes and dug her heels into the mattress and her fingernails into his scalp at the feel of his moist, deft tongue on her clit.

She had come so far in such a small amount of time.

She was giving herself to him.

Wholly and completely.

Forever.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Please, please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**bels81172**


	13. Fantasy versus reality

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI: NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M. A STRICT M IN FACT. IT CONTAINS ADULT SITUATIONS. AS MY FRIEND LAPLANDGURL WOULD SAY, JUST TWO ADULTS IN A NORMAL RELATIONSHIP. IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE, IT'S BEST TO SKIP WAYYYYY AHEAD. THANKS, BEG75**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Fantasy versus reality**

"We were drawn from the weeds  
We were brave like soldiers  
Falling down under the pale moonlight  
You were holding to me  
Like a someone broken  
And I couldn't tell you but I'm telling you now  
Just let me hold you while you're falling apart  
Just let me hold you so we both fall down  
Fall on me  
Tell me everything you want me to be  
Forever with you forever in me  
Ever the same  
We would stand in the wind  
We were free like water  
Flowing down  
Under the warmth of the sun  
Now it's cold and we're scared  
And we've both been shaken  
Look at us  
Man, this doesn't need to be the end  
Just let me hold you while you're falling apart  
Just let me hold you so we both fall down."  
-Ever the Same, Rob Thomas

* * *

Daylight was just beginning to peek in front underneath the blinds when Samantha woke from the peaceful, content sleep that she had been immersed in. Exhaustion had gotten the better of her and Flack at three in the morning. The multiple bouts of intense and passionate love making draining them both physically and emotionally. The first ending with not only a powerful, mind blowing orgasm of the likes that she had never experienced before in her entire life, but with hot tears that spilled down her face and sobs that shook her entire body. Tears of release. Years of pain and suffering at the hands of one man finally being lifted off of her shoulders because of the gentle words of encouragement and kisses and touches of another. Someone that loved her regardless of all the issues she brought to the table. Who treated her with respect and made her feel safe and secure.

She knew, just by looking into his eyes and in the way he held her, that he would never hurt her and that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. It was so overwhelming, to feel that loved and that cherished, and to trust someone and love them as much as she did him, that the tears came quickly and easily. Embarrassing her and startling Flack. He'd never, ever had a woman cry after sex. It was a new one for him and he'd had no clue how to deal with it. Had he done something wrong? Caused her pain and discomfort despite the fact that he had been as tender and patient as possible? Two qualities he wasn't exactly famous for. But her inexperience with men had called for him to be gentle and loving. She was almost a virgin she'd been so nervous and self-conscious and so tight. There had been some discomfort, but he'd been pretty sure, by the noises she made and the way she raked his back and shoulders with her nails, that she'd been right into it and had gotten off. More than once.

So what the hell was her issue?

Despite being more than a little unnerved and freaked out, he had also found himself mellowed by the sex and the incredible feeling of being inside of her. The bond that now existed between them was impenetrable. Their connection seemed even stronger that it had before. The feelings they had for one another being passed between them with the simplest of glances and briefest of touches. Samantha had a way of drawing out the sensitive, tender side that he didn't even know he possessed. A side he reserved only for her.

Which was why her crying, after what had seemed like an amazing experience on both of their parts, had shocked and concerned him. And as they lay there, their sweaty, sticky limbs entangled and his hand alternating between softly stroking her hair and her back, he'd kissed away those tears and listened quietly and understandingly to her reasons for her emotional meltdown, as she called it. How she'd never known sex could feel that way. Be that intense, the pleasure all consuming. And almost frightening. And, that by giving herself to him completely, she was entrusting him with every inch of her being. Which absolutely terrified her.

He had no intention of ever hurting her. Physically or emotionally. And he'd looked into her eyes when he promised that to her, then kissed her long and soft. The taste of maple syrup still lingering on both of their lips. Both their bodies and the sheets below them bearing witness to the creative use of the sticky, sweet liquid.

They'd stripped the bed bare and tossed the dirty sheets into the laundry basket in her closet before putting fresh bedding on. They'd showered. Ridding themselves of the syrup and lathering and rinsing each other with gentle hands. It hadn't taken long for things to take an amorous turn. Turning a fifteen minute shower into a nearly forty five minute one before returning to bed, their bodies dripping with water and resuming their activities.

They'd fallen asleep shortly after things had been completed. Managing to mutter simple I love you's before surrendering to sleep. Flack lying on his side with a strong, protective arm over her body as she lay snuggled tightly into him, her breasts flattened against his chest and her head tucked under his chin and her leg draped over his thigh.

Which was not how she found herself in as he eyes flickered open. There was a chill in the room. The cause for her being woken from a blissful slumber. Some time during the past few hours, they'd not only managed to kick the heavy duvet off of the bed, but to arrange themselves in different sleeping positions. Flack on his opposite side, back facing her, and Sam flat on her stomach, face buried in her pillow. Shivering from the low temperatures and lack of clothing, she sat up briefly to retrieve the comforter from the foot of the bed. Lying down, she yanked the thick blanket up to her chin and tossed the remainder over top of her boyfriend's motionless body before rolling over onto her side and cuddling up against his warm back,

She sighed contently and wrapped her arm around his waist and closed her eyes. Never wanting to leave that bed. Or the person she shared it with. She just wanted to lie there forever. Feeling the heat that radiated off his body and listening to him breathe. The outside world forgotten and all their problems and stresses pushed to the back burner.

Her eyes snapped open once more as her bladder made it perfectly clear it had a mind of its own. Groaning loudly, she tossed the comforter off of her and slipped out of bed and hurried for the bathroom. Snagging Flack's shirt on the way and shrugging into it in hopes of warding off the chill in the apartment. The heating system in the building was proving to be less than stellar despite the landlord insisting that it had been completely overhauled just the winter before. It didn't help matters that all the windows were shot and couldn't keep out the simplest of drafts.

Definitely not worth the money I'm paying to live here, she thought, after she finished her business and returned to the bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read quarter to eight. Way too early to be up on a day off, she grumbled internally as she slid back into bed and fluffed her pillow and lay back down on her side. Pulling the comforter around herself and the sleeping body that now faced her.

She watched Flack as he slept. A smile curving her lips at the sight of him so comfortable and peaceful. Long, dark eyelashes falling on his scruffy, unshaven cheeks. His body rising and falling with each steady, deep breath he took. For a man, he was damn beautiful. Of course, he would never want to hear her actually say that to him. Donald Flack Jr was a man's man. He preferred ruggedly handsome or devastatingly attractive. Whatever way it was said, he was damn gorgeous and even more irresistible. Even with the grey hair he was sporting despite his young age.

She reached out and traced his top lip, a fingernail grazing over the small scar on the left hand side. A run in with a perp during his days as a uniform. His first war wound, as he called it. There were many others. Most small and insignificant. Small cuts and injuries made during his career or fights in high school or playing hockey. Nothing that compared to the larger, thicker scars that remained from the bombing that had nearly taken his life and crushed his spirit.

Danny had told her, in confidence, that Flack had taken a beating, both physically and emotional. She knew little about his actual injuries. Other then shrapnel had been embedded in his chest and his stomach ripped wide open. She had heard that Mac had used a dirty shoelace to tie together a severed artery, ultimately saving Flack's life. Danny had talked about the months his best friend had spent in the hospital and the seemingly endless and horrifically painful hours of rehab that he had endured.

Flack rarely spoke of the incident that had nearly killed him. He had told her bits and pieces the night that she had gently coaxed him to remove his shirt and then even more gently kissed and caressed the scar that marred the left side of his stomach. She respected that it was a painful time in his life. That he was attempting to put it behind him and didn't need her asking any questions. She figured, in due time, he'd open up about what he had been through, both physically and mentally.

For now, she just thanked God for sparing him. Because despite her insistence's that she was going to take things slow and not allow herself to fall hard and fast, the man that lay sleeping in front of her was the love of her life. And she couldn't even begin to imagine never having met him.

"You know," Flack said, his eyes closed. "It's rude to stare."

The sound of his voice startled Samantha out of the daze she'd managed to fall into. She grinned and pressed a kiss to his nose. "Faker," she said with a giggle and curled her arm around his neck and moved closer towards him.

"I was awake as soon as you got out of bed and went to the bathroom," he told her. "I just wanted to lie here and see how long it took you to actually say something. Considering I know how difficult it is for you to stay quiet for very long."

"That's not very nice," she pouted, settling her face alongside of his on her pillow.

"It's just you Brooklyn girls never know when to keep your traps shut."

"Bite me!" she exclaimed, then laughed when he bent his head and nipped gently at her shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around her slender body and pulled her tight against him. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he buried his face in her hair and relaxed in the warmth of her embrace. They lay quietly together, her foot sliding up and down his bare leg, her breath soft against his throat.

"How come you put clothes on?" he asked curiously.

"I was cold," she replied.

"But now I have to go through the trouble of getting you naked again," he complained.

"Poor baby," she said, kissing his neck. "Like that's a hard feat. It's not like I resist and you have to work hard to get what you want."

"Just takes up thirty seconds of my time that I could spend doing other things,' he reasoned.

"Yeah? What other things?"

He grinned. "If you had have come back to bed naked I'd be able to show you."

She laughed and pushed him away. "You're a dirty minded perv!" she complained.

"Maybe," he said with a chuckle and reaching out to lay a hand on the small of her back, yanked her into him. "But you like me being that way."

"No I don't," she told him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"No?" he asked, brushing her hair away from her face.

She shook her head. "I don't like you being a dirty minded perv at all. I LOVE you being a dirty minded perv."

He grinned and captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

She buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him back with everything she had. Sighing contently as his tongue parted her lips and her teeth and invaded her mouth hungrily and demandingly. Moving away from him slightly as she felt his hand slip between them and reach for the top button on the shirt.

"See what I mean?" he asked, breathless from the kiss as his fingers effortlessly began popping buttons open. "I have to do this when I could be doing other things."

"You could still be doing the other things with the shirt on," she informed him.

Flack shook his head. "I've got plans for you," he told her, finishing with the shirt and pushing it off of her pale shoulder.

"What kinds of plans?" she asked, shuddering at the feel of his tongue drifting along her skin.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he replied, and tangling his fingers in her hair, tipped her head back to expose her throat to his lips. "Do me a favour?" he asked, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below her ear.

"Okay," she squeaked.

"You trust me?"

She nodded.

"I want you to take the shirt off and lie on your stomach. Can you do that for me?"

"What are you going…."

"Can you do that for me?" he repeated.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"I won't do anything that you're not comfortable with," he told her, moving away from her as she sat up and peeled the shirt off. She had an amazing body. Silky, pale skin and curves in all the right places. He'd never been into women that were skin and bones. He preferred substance. A bit of meat on the bones. Nothing was more uncomfortable then cuddling up to a stick. And this woman….

Terrence Davis' words echoed in Flack's mind. Off the hook. That was the only way to describe what she looked like without clothes on. And what a simple glimpse of her body could do to him. The thought of taking those breasts in his hands and those nipples into his mouth and running his hands over her thighs and touching her until she was whimpering beneath him enough to bring upon a raging hard-on. And to know that she was relatively inexperienced and for the most part, ready and willingly to allow him to teach her things, was the biggest turn on off them all.

She tossed the shirt aside and arranged the pillows neatly before turning her back to him and lying down on her stomach. Her smooth back and round, firm ass and short, yet shapely legs begging for attention. Attention he was more than ready, willing and able to give.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her hands joined on the pillow, chin resting on them.

"It's a secret," he replied. "You just need to lie there and relax and trust me."

She sighed heavily. "Okay…" she said, hesitation in her voice. "Just don't…"

"You've already told me that that's en exit only," Flack reminded her. "Like I said, I'm not going to do anything you're not comfortable with. You want me to stop, just tell me. Alright?"

She nodded.

"Open your legs," he instructed.

"Donnie, what…?"

"Open your legs," he repeated, his voice gently, his lips brushing against the back of one thigh.

She shuddered. And did as she was told.

"Just relax, baby," he whispered, kneeling in between her legs and running his hands from the back of her knees, up her legs and over her ass. Travelling slowly up her back to her shoulders and back down again.

"I don't know if…"

"Trust me," he said, pressing a kiss to the small of her back, his fingertips tracing the entire outline of the massive tattoo of lotus flowers that stretched from one hip to the other.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before relaxing underneath him.

"You'll like this, Sammie. I promise."

"Okay…but what…" her words were cut off by a small whimper as she felt his moist tongue on the small of her back.

"Put your arms above your head," he said, running his own hands along her sides.

She did as instructed.

"Good girl," he praised, then lowered his head once more. The tip of his tongue coming in contact with the small of her back once more. Then ever so slowly, travelling the entire length of her spine.

She whimpered underneath him. Seduced by the sensation of his tongue and the touch of his fingers grazing along her ribs and teasing the sides of her breasts and his hot breath on her skin.

"You like that?" he asked, his hands pushing her hair over her shoulders and his lips brushing against the nape of her neck.

She gave a tiny squeak and nodded.

He suckled at the back of her neck, his hands drifting along her arms to her hands. Entwining his fingers with hers as his teeth and lips and tongue worked her to a near frenzy by simply concentrating on her neck. He released her hands and slid his hands along her arms once more before giving her skin a soft nip and then travelling the length of her spine once more. She was going crazy underneath him. Whimpering and moaning and digging both her toes and her fingers in the sheets.

"Open your legs a bit wider," he told her, his breathing ragged, sweat beading his forehead.

She opened them, tensing as his tongue dipped between the cleft of her ass. "Donnie…don't…"

"I'm not," he assured her, kissing the inside of her thigh before sliding a hand underneath her, two fingers tips brushing against the fine hair between her legs before pushing into her warm, wet and welcoming body.

She groaned loudly at the delicious intrusion.

His thumb found her clit and stroked it firmly. Once, then twice, before she came quickly, screaming into the pillow below her. Her inner muscles contracting around his fingers, her legs closing around his hand. He kissed along the small of her back, not speaking as he waited for her body to stop trembling and her muscles to relax.

* * *

After several minutes, her legs parted and her muscles allowed his fingers to slip out of her. She was face down in the pillow still, panting and whimpered.

"You okay, babe?" he asked, sitting up and leaning over her to kiss her shoulder.

She nodded and raised her head. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" he asked, using a finger to clear away the tears that trickled down her face. "Having an orgasm? That was the whole point. You were suppose to have one."

"I'm on a bit of a hair trigger apparently," she said, a sheepish look on her face.

"Hey, more times I can get you off, the better it is for my ego," he grinned and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I'm just glad you liked it as much as I thought you would. You good?"

She nodded and blew her bangs out her face. Then attempted to roll over onto her back.

He stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I want you to stay like that," he told her. "Okay? So far, other then the shower, it's been missionary. Not that I'm complaining. 'Cause it feels damn good. But I want try something different. Alright?"

"You won't…"

"Exit only, Sammie. I heard the first time and I respect that. Here," he grabbed his pillow. "Take this…I want you to put this under you. Just below your stomach. So it raises your hips a bit. Alright?"

"I feel so stupid," she complained, taking the pillow and lifting her body slightly to place it under her.

"Why?" Flack asked.

"I'm embarrassed."

"What's to be embarrassed about?" he inquired, leaning over her to and reaching for the top drawer on the nightstand. Opening it up, he snagged two condom packages from the nearly empty box inside. One he placed on the mattress within reaching distance. The other he kept in the palm of his hand.

"I don't know anything," she replied. "I feel like you won't enjoy it as much with me because I don't know very much."

"It's the exact opposite, babe," he told her, kissing her shoulder. "Knowing that you haven't been with a lot of guys and that I can teach you things and make you feel things that no one else has? That's a huge turn on. And there's other things, too. That make me enjoy being with you more than I would someone else that's been around."

"Like?"

"Like the fact I love you with every fibre of my being. Do I need to come right out and tell you the physical stuff?"

"You mean because I'm tight?"

He grinned. "That's a nice way of putting it. But yeah, that extra friction because of that? It makes it fucking amazing for me when I'm inside of you."

Her cheeks flushed.

He couldn't help but give a small chuckle. "You blushing, babe? Why are you blushing?"

"The way you talk," she said. "I just never…I don't know…I've never had someone talk like that when we've been…you know…"

"You've never had someone talk dirty to you? You serious?"

She blushed even more.

"It turn you on?" he asked, his lips against the back of her neck as he ran a hand over her thigh and her ass. The tone of his voice sending shivers through her entire body.

"A little," she replied.

"A little?" he chuckled. "Is that why you've got goose bumps and shivering from head to toe?" he asked, trailing kisses along her shoulders and up her neck to her ear. Licking it and nibbling at the lobe before pressing his lips to it. "I bet your wet already too. Is that all because you love me talking like this to you?"

"Maybe," she said. "But it could also be because it makes me wet to think about you fucking me."

A wide smile appeared on his face. "Now who's talking filthy?" he asked, licking and suckling at the back of her neck. His hands drifted up her sides, fingertips grazing along her soft skin and briefly pausing on the sides of her breasts before slipping down to her hips and onto his ass once again.

She whimpered and shuddered as his fingers traced feathery, circular patterns on her ass and his lips travelled all the way to the small of her back. Her nerves completely on edge. Filled with the most overwhelming feelings of want and desire. To the point where she felt as if she couldn't breathe or formulate a simple thought.

"Donnie…" she pleaded, her fingers digging into the sheets as his tongue traced her tattoo once again.

"What, baby?" he asked. "Tell me what you want."

"I want…" her breath hitched as his hand slipped between her legs. "I want you. So bad."

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he said. "Don't be shy."

"I want you to…I want you to fuck me…please…I can't…I can't take much more of this…"

"I'll take care of you, Sammie," he whispered, his lips against her back. "Don't you worry about that."

"Hurry, please," she pleaded.

"You have no idea what that does to me," he said, his eyes sweeping over her naked and trembling and perspiring body "Hearing you beg like that. You have no idea how bad that turns me on, babe. Maybe I should make you do it for a little bit longer and…"

"Stop it!" she cried. "Please! Just stop it and hurry up!"

He smiled triumphantly and sat back on his heels and tore open the foil package clasped in his hands. Normally, her being on the Nuvaring would have been enough protection as far as they were both concerned. But while she'd recently gone through a round of blood tests for work which had shown she was clean, he hadn't found the time or the opportunity to go in for some voluntary tests. He didn't think he was carrying anything. In fact, he was certain he was completely clean. But it was better to be safe then sorry. Until then, doubling up on protection was their best bet.

After rolling the condom down onto himself, he gently pushed her legs apart and moved his body over hers, propping himself on one arm as he used his free hand to position his aching cock at her moist entrance.

"Just relax, Sammie," he whispered. "Just lie there and relax, okay?"

She nodded, then groaned loudly at the sensation of him filling her completely with one strong, fluid thrust.

He moaned at the delicious friction and slight resistance he met. Her lack of experience and lovers made her close to being a virgin. And it had been along time since he'd been with a woman that had never had sex. Years, in fact. Most of the women he'd been with had been around the block and then some. Not something he was entirely proud of, but the sole reason he was such a firm believe in using latex each and every time the need, and opportunity, for sex arose.

"You okay?" he asked, completely still inside of her, allowing her body to stretch to accommodate him.

She shook her head.

"You're not okay?"

"It's not very comfortable," she told him, sounding apologetic. "Is there any way we can…"

"Get up onto your hands and knees," he told her, holding the condom in place as he pulled out of her.

"Can't we just…"

"Do it," he demanded.

She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him. "I love it when you get all bossy and aggressive like that."

He smirked. "You going to do it or do I have to make you do it?"

She didn't respond. Or react.

He grabbed her by the hips and yanked her up off of the mattress. "I said on your hands and knees!" he barked.

She obeyed, her cheeks flushed and her hair mussed and her breathing ragged.

"You are so beautiful, baby," Flack told her, running his hands along her thighs and over her hips, kissing the small of her back. "You have no idea how beautiful you are and how bad I want to fuck you."

"So then just do it," she said through gritted teeth.

He grinned, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed into it her with a fast, determined thrust.

She cried out. Her hands fisting the sheets as her head fell forward.

With one hand on her hip, he slid the other up her back before gripping her shoulder tightly. His teeth gritted as he moved in and out of her at a slow, steady pace. Sweat trickled down his back and coated his shoulders and chest. Each stroke striking that sweet, hidden spot that she had always considered a myth. He'd shot that misconception down right quick the first time that he'd ever gone down on her and used his fingers to give her the first G-spot orgasm of her entire life.

He tightened his hold on her hip and her shoulder and began moving faster and harder. Something he had learned, that despite her relative inexperience, she seemed to enjoy a hell of a lot.

The constant assault on her sweet spot and the feel of his lips and his teeth on the small of her back had her gasping for air and pleaded for release in a matter of minutes. Keeping with his fast pace, Flack reached around her with one hand to find, and stroke her clitoris with a deft finger. She came undone almost immediately. Screaming his name, her nails tearing at the blankets below her. The contracting of her inner muscles sending him over the edge almost immediately after. Driving into her one last time before biting his lip to keep back the noises that threatened to erupt from him at the sensation of her body milking him.

Her arms and legs gave out and she collapsed face first onto the bed. His own shaky legs threatened to buckle as well, and just as his body threatened to crush her, he managed to plant his palm on the bed and hold himself up. His entire body quaking as his cock continued to pulse inside of her. He was vaguely aware of her trembling and whimpering face down on the bed. Her lungs struggling to draw air, her entire body drenched in sweat.

He closed his eyes tightly and struggled for several minutes to compose himself before slowly and gently pulling out of her now still body. Her breathing had returned to normal. Her body had stopped shaking. But the whimpering, panting noises continued.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, his voice quiet and gentle as he placed kisses along her spine.

She nodded.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked, stroking her hair. "Please tell me I didn't hurt you."

She shook her head and turned her face sideways on the pillow. "It's a good hurt," she assured him.

He leaned over her and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I love you, Sammie. So much."

"I love you, too," she said.

He kissed her once more. "I'll be right back, okay? I just need to take care of some business."

She nodded and buried her face in the pillow once again.

Flack climbed off of the bed and headed through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Disposing the used condom in the trash before grabbing a drink of water and journeying back out into the bedroom. Grinning at the side of the bed at the sight of his girlfriend, completely naked and lying on her back. Arms and legs spreaeagled and snoring lightly.

"You were born a man," he said with a smirk. "I swear to God you were."

Grabbing the comforter, he covered her to her chin before climbing back into bed as well. Lying on his side, he draped an arm over her and rested her forehead on her shoulder.

It was only a matter of minutes before sleep claimed him as well.

Two young lovers, content and comfortable.

* * *

The I Hop restaurant located on Seventh avenue was packed with customers. Mostly families out to enjoy the all day breakfast and the famed pancakes and waffles of all different flavours. Some workers from the surrounding establishments conducting casual business meetings. University students either chatting and giggling noisily in small groups or sitting solo with their noses in their text books.

It was shortly before noon hour when Sam and Flack were shown to the last available booth -a window one near the back of the crowded, noisy restaurant- by a young, blond waitress bearing the name Tiffany on her name tag. She was no older then twenty and clearly in over her head with the lunch rush. She was extremely frazzled and out of her element. Telling them several times in just the journey from the front entrance that she'd it was her first witnessing gig and she'd only been on the job for three days.

"That's okay," Sam assured the young girl, giving an understanding smile as Flack helped her out of her jacket. "I know what it's like to be new on a job like this. I was a waitress at Denny's a long time ago."

Flack arched an eyebrow as he tossed their jackets into the corner of his side of the booth. He removed his Mets cap and laid it aside as well. "You were?" he asked his girlfriend.

She nodded and slipped into the booth. "My first two years of college I worked at the Denny's close to campus," she said, as he slid in across from her. "I worked all shifts, but my favourite was the Saturday and Sunday breakfast rushes. The place was an absolute zoo and you were lucky if you had a chance to breathe, but the tips were massive."

"How'd you ever stay sane?" Tiffany asked, dropping their menus before them. "I'm just going insane and it's a Tuesday!"

"Well I was usually still on a buzz from getting so pickled the night before," Sam laughed. "But I took notes. Lots of them. Until my brain learned how to remember orders from the clothes costumers had on. Because let's be realistic, faces all start to look the same when you're in a rush. The worst though? The dirty old men that liked to pinch your ass and call you sweetie pie."

Tiffany snorted. "We get tons of those in the late afternoon. And they're the worst tippers, too. But then in New York City, it's hard to find great tippers."

"Well we tend to be gracious," Sam assured her. "Probably because we both work for the city and now first hand how ungrateful and bitchy people could be. But instead of sexual comments and old men grabbing our asses, we got spit on and shot at and have to deal with all the crazies."

"So either your NYPD or cab drivers," the young waitress said with a laugh. "I'm going to go with the former. Anything to drink while you check out the menus?"

Flack ordered a cup of coffee and some orange juice while Sam ordered the biggest chocolate milk the place could provide her with. They were both starving, and for the most part, exhausted despite the couple of hours of sleep they had managed to grab before finally waking up and forcing themselves out of bed and into the shower and clothes. The memory of the night and early morning they had spent lost in each other, giving and receiving nothing but intense, mind numbing pleasure, still fresh in their minds. They had managed for several hours to forget about anything and everything going on outside of them. But the grins on their faces were permanent. As was the bond and trust that now existed between them. She had given him the most sacred and intimate part of her. And he wasn't about to let that go.

"You never told me you were a waitress," Flack said, after the young woman had returned with their drinks and they scanned the menu.

"I guess it just never came up in the last year and a bit we've known each other," Sam said with a shrug as she sipped her chocolate milk through a straw. "I don't think my college years have ever come up in a conversation between us."

"I think the most we've talked about is what school you went to and for what," Flack told her. "I just never thought you'd have been a waitress for some reason."

"It was a way to pay for my books and groceries and have some spending money," she said. "My step dad agreed to pay my rent and my tuition. The rest was up to me. I worked as a shooter girl at a bar, too."

"Seriously?"

Sam nodded. "I used to carry around these little trays of shooters in test tubes. Zambuca, blow-jobs, B-52's, JD. A whole variety of stuff."

"What kind of bar?" he asked curiously, eyes on the menu as he sipped his coffee.

"It was a Hooters," she replied casually.

He nearly spit his drink clear across the table. "It was a what?" he asked, coughing and sputtering.

"A Hooters," she answered. "Come on. You're a guy. Like you've never been to one before."

"Of course I have. I just…you? You were a Hooters girl? You paraded around in them little shorts and a skin tight t-shirt with your girls hanging out?"

Sam nodded. "Breasts, Don. They're called breasts. And yes, I wore the little shorts and the t-shirt. And let me tell you, squeezing C-40s in that shirt was not an easy feat. The manager loved me because he said I seemed like this quiet, scholarly type yet I had these tattoos and my belly button and my nose pierced at that time."

"You had your nose pierced?"

"I got it done my first year of college. I had eggplant purple hair back then too."

His eyes widened.

"I was always changing my look," she said. "Always dyeing my hair crazy colours or getting freaky high lights put in. I had bleach blond chunks once. Not my best look I have to admit. But yeah. I had my nose and my belly button pierced. And my lip at one point in time."

He shook his head.

"I was a freak," she laughed. "Once I graduated and went for my masters I really toned things down. Got rid of any piercing that people could see and covered the tattoos up more. Got my hair back to normal. Phoenix PD never would have hired me looking like that. But yeah…I was a Hooters girl. I made damn good tips, too."

"Guys probably were tripping all over themselves to get to you," he commented. "I know Danny and I would have been falling all over each other hoping you'd be our waitress."

She smiled. "You're just prejudiced. I made decent money, but the Barbie girls with their teeny waists and their bleach blond hair and their massive Pam Anderson boobs stole the show."

"Natural girls are the way to go," Flack declared. "Anything bigger than what you got would be a waste if you ask me. Can't believe you were a Hooters girl. Your step dad must have loved that."

"Oh he didn't know," Sam said, snapping her menu closed. "He still doesn't. Neither does Adam. They'd be mortified. I told them I was working part time at the library to make cash."

Flack snorted. "In the meantime you're putting up with drunk guys grabbing your ass, among other things and shoving their phone numbers down your shorts."

She grinned. "Are you speaking from experience, Detective Flack? Is that your personal technique for landing a Hooters girl?"

"I'm neither going to admit or deny that," he responded and closed up his menu. "This next question is going to make me sound like a real asshole."

"Donnie, after the things that have happened between us and been said between us, I highly doubt that."

He sighed heavily and sipped his coffee and leaned over the table. Blue eyes fixed on golden ones. "Like the tattoos and all the different piercing's and that whole wild child thing you've got going on, I guess I just find it a little weird that you hadn't been with any one before Zack."

"So you're either trying to ask me if I'm being honest about being inexperienced or if I am, why I didn't sleep with more guys in my time when I've obviously had chances."

He nodded. "Sorry, babe. See what I mean about sounding like an asshole?"

She waved it off. "It's an honest question considering I know how I come across to people being as eccentric as I am. I just like to have fun. I like to go out and party and have a good time. I like to be a little different. That's all. But it doesn't, and never has, gone further then that."

"Because you didn't want it to or…" he gently pressed.

"I've never felt this over whelming desire to be with a lot of men," she explained. "I've never felt that I needed sex to exist. I've never considered it to be a huge part of me. I've never needed it to be a part of my life. Does that make sense?"

"You never felt you needed to, you know…"

She laughed. "I was, and I am, perfectly capable of giving myself an orgasm. I just didn't feel the need to have a man in my life to do that for me."

"And now?" he asked.

"And now I'm almost thirty-four years old and it's the first time that a man has been able to do things like that for me," she admitted.

"So Zack never…"

"Zack was all about himself. Soon as he got off, that was it. Game over. He didn't care about me or my needs. So being with you? It's an entirely different ball game. Not just because of the way you talk when we're doing this. Which I have to admit, totally turns me on. But because you actually pay attention to my wants and my needs and you do something about it. You know that you're the first person whose ever given me oral sex?"

His eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

She nodded. "I'm thirty-four and ninety percent of all of this is new to me. So if I'm nervous and I don't seem to know what I'm doing, you know why. It's not because I don't like what you're doing and I don't enjoy it. It's just…I don't know. It's just that I don't know what to do or how to react. I'm afraid of looking or sounding stupid, I guess."

"Samantha, I've already told you that all you need to do is relax and everything will come nice and easy. Just relax and trust me."

She smiled. "Trusting you is the easiest part," she said. "And the scariest, in a way."

He leaned across the table and kissed her softly. "I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. "Ever."

She touched his face softly and started into this incredible, oceanic eyes. "I know," she said confidently.

* * *

"We need to talk about Terrence Davis," Flack said half an hour later, as the waitress departed after dropping huge plates of pancakes and breakfast sausages down in front of them.

"I was hoping we could avoid that topic of conversation until we got to his apartment," Sam sighed, digging into her buttermilk pancakes smothered in whipped cream and strawberries.

"I think we need to talk about it now," he said. "Get a game plan. Walking into a thing with a guy like Davis without planning things out before hand is dangerous. I've dealt with a lot of guys like him, Sammie. You don't take things like this lightly."

"I know. I just…I guess I was hoping it would be a simple in and out thing."

"There's nothing simple about any of this, babe. We're going to talk to my CI about getting his people to take care of your ex fiance. You know what could happen to both of us if the department ever caught wind of this? We'd lose our badges. And probably wind up in jail."

She sighed heavily. Davis had instructed them to be to his upper east side apartment for one o'clock. And to not look like cops. So both Sam and Flack had went casual in jeans and sweatshirts.

"Now I'm more than willing to take that chance. But I need you to be absolutely sure that you're willing to take it too. Because if you're not ready to face the consequences, tell me now and I'll go and see Davis on my own and make sure nothing can be traced back to you."

"You'd do that for me?"

"I'd walk through hell for you, Sammie. You need to be totally honest with yourself and me. Is this what you really want?"

She nodded.

"And you can live with the fall out if there is any?" he asked.

"Can you?" she responded.

"I'm willing to lay everything on the line for you and you know that. But I need to know where you stand in all of this."

She thought about it for several seconds. "I want Zack to be taught a lesson," she said quietly.

"That's not what I'm asking, babe. I'm asking if you're ready to deal with any shit that might come from this. We're hiring someone to take care of a problem. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Terrence said that…"

"Davis is full of shit. If he told you that he doesn't want anything in return, he's full of it. And you need to tell me if you're ready to deal with what could come from this in the end."

"Zack needs to be taught a lesson," she said forcibly. "And I don't care what shit I catch for it. It has to be done."

Flack nodded and dug into his blueberry smothered pancakes. "We need to be a united front with this, Sammie. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Now what are we willing to give to Davis in return for doing this?" Flack asked. "I mean, I told you last night that Davis doesn't do things like this free of charge. Have you thought about it all?"

She nodded again.

"And?"

She reached for her purse sitting beside her and zipped it open. She took out a small blue velvet box and a piece of Kleenex and held both out to him. "I'm willing to give him these," she said.

Flack put down his fork and knife and took the two items from him. He opened the blue velvet box first. Inside was a pair of what appeared to be platinum and diamond hoop earrings.

"My step dad gave me those," she explained. Her voice sounded pained at the mere thought of giving the earrings up. "They were his grandmother's. They're white gold and near flawless diamonds originally from Tiffany's. They're over a hundred years old. He got them appraised and I know for a fact they're worth more than thirty thousand dollars."

"Samantha, you can't give these away. They obviously mean a lot to you and…"

"It's all I have," she said. "Those and what's in the tissue."

He closed the box with a heavy sigh and picked up the tissue and unravelled it. A diamond engagement ring tumbling into the palm of his hand. The stone itself was large and sparkled brilliantly. And he was struck by the brief thought that it was far better then anything he could ever give her. And that thought was severely disheartening.

"That was my ring from Zack," she explained. "He brought it over last night. I guess he thought I was going to take him back. I had pawned it before I left for New York City and I guess he managed to go and get it back. I know for a fact it's worth quite a bit of money."

"And you're willing to give this up?"

"It means nothing to me, Donnie. It did at one time. But now? I want him out of my life. And that includes anything he's ever given me."

Flack just nodded and wrapped the ring back up before grabbing her purse and returning it and the earrings to the bag before zipping it up. "I've got about eight grand in a savings account," he told her.

"I can't take money from you or let you give Terrence Davis money for something that really has nothing to do with you."

"I love you, Samantha. So this has everything to do with me."

"Can't we just talk to him first, Donnie?" she practically pleaded. "Maybe he really is on the up and up about not wanting anything. Maybe he will just do this as a favour. I mean, that is possible, right? That he doesn't want anything in return?"

"It's possible," he said. "But not probable."

"But we won't know that until we talk to him," Sam said. "Let's talk to him first, okay? Then we'll worry about whatever comes after that? Can we do that?"

He nodded.

"I just don't want to worry about that stuff right now," she sighed and went back to her breakfast.

He watched her as she sat there eating in silence, her golden eyes filled with worry.

And fear.

He prayed, harder then he'd ever prayed before, that they weren't walking into Terrence Davis' place with too much hope and too low, or low, of expectations for the hardened criminal.

And that they weren't walking straight into hell.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! The support of me and this story has been overwhelming! Please, please R and R folks! Means a lot!**

**Special thanks to:**

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	14. Have yourself a merry Flackie Christmas

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO OWN SAMANTHA ROSS, OR FLACK, WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL HER, AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK.**

**A/N: THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER AS REQUESTED BY MANY READERS AND THE MUSE. FOR THOSE WHO LIKE TO GET A VISUAL ON CHARACTERS, I BASED DON FLACK SR ON ACTOR GABRIEL BYRNE AND PATRICIA FLACK ON SELA WARD.**

* * *

**HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY FLACKIE CHRISTMAS**

"Call on your angels  
Come down to the city  
Crowd around the big tree  
All you strangers who know me  
Bring your compassion  
Your understanding  
Lord how we need it  
On this New York City Christmas  
Yeah I'm sending you a Merry New York Christmas  
And a prayer for peace on earth  
Within our time  
Oh, the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah  
And we understand them  
Now more than ever  
So call on your angels  
Your beaten and broken  
It's time that we mend them  
So they don't fade with the season  
Let our mercy be the gifts we lay  
From Brooklyn to Broadway  
And celebrate each and every day  
This New York City Christmas."  
-A New York Christmas, Matchbox 20

* * *

Samantha glanced up from her sitting position on the laminate floor as her husband, clearly agitated, stomped into the living room. Surrounded by duffel bags holding changes of clothes and pyjamas and personal items for the entire family and boots and extra hats and mitts for the twins, she was supervising her daughters as they sat in front of her, arguing over who was going to manage to get their little black patent leather shoes on first. The twins hated to be assisted with anything. Even though they were only five, they had their parents' senses of determination and tenacity. And their mother's fierce desire for independence.

Assisting the twins meant sitting there and watching patiently as they struggled with buckles or laces and sometimes witnessing their frustration when they put shoes on the wrong feet. The hardest part was struggling to keep yourself from jumping in and doing the task for them. For now they were getting on quite well. Dressed up for Christmas at their grandparents in their matching black velvet crushed pants and their cream coloured chenille sweaters that shimmered in the light from the mother of pearl beads spread through out. While Kellan sported the pig tails and Hello Kitty baubles that her father had so lovingly and patiently done for her, Kallison wore her black hair loose and flowing save for thick strands on either side of her face that were brought back to the back of her head and secured with a sparkling red and green barrette in the shape of a candy cane.

In reality the damn thing was as tacky as hell. But Kallison had insisted, on a trip into the Dollar Store with her grandmother last week, that she just had to have it. Both girls were enamoured of the store near grandma and grandpa's house. No overnight or weekend visit was complete without a trip there and ten dollars a piece -supplied by grandpa- spent on whatever their little hearts desired. Flack was mortified whenever he was with the girls and they insisted on going in the place. But it only took a couple of minutes of whining and begging to get him to relent.

Sam had balked at the idea of putting the barrette in her daughter's tresses for Christmas dinner. It was cheap plastic and held even cheaper stones, although Kallison insisted they were real jewels. But set against that silky black hair, that one dollar piece of crap sparkled majestically and looked stunningly beautiful.

"Where's Melanie?" Sam asked.

"Sulking out on the front porch," Flack replied, slipping his work issued cell phone out of the holder attached to the waist of his pants and flipping it open.

Although he was scheduled to be off for three days and was not technically on call, the chief of detectives had asked all her employees to leave their cells on in case of a dire emergency. Save for a terrorist attack or an alien invasion, Flack had no immediate plans of answering the damn thing when, and if, it rang during his holidays.

"You can't just leave her out there," Sam told him. "Standing on our front porch in the dead of winter."

"She won't be out there long. I'm calling her a cab. Then I'm going to go out there when it gets here, physically shove her in and then toss the driver twenty bucks and ship her off to my folks."

"We're going to the same place, Donnie," she said.

"I know. And we're going to the same place separately."

"It's only a twenty minute drive," Sam pointed out.

"Which with Mel, will seem like a twenty year one. You know what she's like, Sammie. Especially when she's using."

"Using what daddy?" Kallison asked, her brow furrowed in concentration as she attempted to do up the buckle on her shoe.

"Nothing, pumpkin eater. Don't worry about it. You need some help?"

"I can do it," his daughter informed him adamantly.

"You don't know for a fact that she's on anything," Sam said to her husband, as she did the buckles up on Kellan's shoes.

"Sam…come on. Did you get a good look at her? She looks like a crack whore."

"What does that mean, daddy?" Kellan asked, turning curious blue eyes up at him.

"Donald!" Sam scolded him and grabbed a hold of Kallison's jacket and swatted him in the legs with it.

"It means that she's the type of person I don't want around you and your sister," Flack told his daughter.

"Like a bad person?" Kallison asked, plopping her feet in her mother's lap for assistance.

"A very bad person," Flack replied.

"Don, don't tell them things like that," Sam huffed. "You're going to scare them. And it's Christmas. And Melanie is your sister regardless of all her issues and how messed up she is. Show that you're the bigger person and extend the proverbial olive branch for one day. I don't want to be going to your parents and her getting on your back about being such a jerk. No one needs to hear that during the holidays and you know she'll cause problems whether it's Christmas or not."

"Considering the mess she made of your brother I would have thought she'd be the last person you'd want around."

Sam sighed heavily. Holding her hand up to him after finishing the twins' shoes. "That was eight years ago, Donnie."

"And it's been about that long since the two of you said a word to each other. Are you telling me that you're going to play nice with her just because it's Christmas?" he asked, taking a hold of her hand and helping her to her feet. "After what she did to Adam?"

"It was a long time ago. Adam got over it. He's married with two beautiful children. He's not dwelling over your sister and that's the way it should be."

"Maybe I don't find it that easy to forgive her for messing him around like that and killing his baby."

"Someone killed a baby?!" Kellan gasped, and burst into tears at the mere thought.

Flack bent down and effortlessly scooped his daughter's tiny body up into his arms. Kissing the side of her head and stroking her back in an attempt to console her as she curled her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.

Sam glared at her husband. "I never said that I forgave her. I'll never forgive her. I'm just saying that it's Christmas and there's suppose to be peace on earth and goodwill towards men and all that other crap. So be the bigger person babe and suck it up and go out there and bring her in."

"Samantha, I don't want her around my kids."

"Our kids, Don. Our kids. And what is she going to do to them with us right there? It's not like we're leaving them alone with her."

Flack sighed heavily and shook his head.

"It's better then letting her freeze to death in front of our front door," Sam reasoned. "Just let her in and we'll give her a ride there and hope to God she behaves herself all day."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Your dad will whip her into shape. Seriously though, Donnie. What are we going to do? Leave her there and slip out the back? Hide out in here all day?"

"Don't make me regret this, Samantha," Flack warned, carrying his now whimpering five year old on his hip as he headed from the living room. "You make me regret this and…"

"And what?" she laughed. "Are you going to beat me up? Put me over your knee and spank me?"

"You'd like that too much," he called back from the front foyer.

Sam smirked.

"You like to be spanked, mommy?" Kallison looked horrified at the idea. "Spanking hurts! Why do you like it?"

"How about you pretend your daddy never, ever said that," Sam responded.

"But he did say it mommy," Kallison argued.

"I know. But how about we pretend he didn't. Okay? Because daddy says silly things and you shouldn't listen to him when he says silly things like that."

"Daddy says we always have to listen to him," the five year old said.

"Well not this time, okay? He's just goofing around. He didn't really mean it."

"But he sounded like he did."

"Well he didn't. Now do you have everything you want to take to grandma and grandpa's?" she asked, anxious to steer her daughter off of the present conversation. "You've got your blankie and your toothbrush and whatever toys you want to take?"

"I think I forgot my toothbrush," Kallison said and jumped to her feet and raced through the living room and up the stairs. The soles of her shoes thundering on the hardwood floors.

* * *

Sam sighed and glanced around the living room at the duffel bags and green garbage bags holding Christmas presents. Listening as her husband and his sister argued in the foyer about his apparent lack of manners. And how Melanie, in that annoying, whiny voice, got onto her older brother about his picture perfect life. His nice house in a decent neighbourhood and his fancy car and his pretty wife and their two perfect, sugar and spice little girls. About how he was probably warm and snug in said house with said wife and said kids while she was in a ratty, crap hole of an apartment with barely any heat and no food to eat.

Sam wanted nothing more than to go out into that foyer and smack the living shit out of the bitch. The woman who'd once declared a life of ever ending love and celibacy with Adam, only to nearly destroy him in the end of their disastrous relationship. They'd only spent eight months together, but Melanie had gotten pregnant near the end of their 'thing'. Having her brother dating that nasty tramp was horrific enough for Sam. But when that skank had announced she was pregnant -thank God a baby was the only thing he'd gotten from her and he hadn't come out of the disastrous relationship with some sort of God awful STD- the shit had hit the proverbial fan. Melanie announced right away she was having an abortion. No ifs, ands of buts. No matter how hard or much Adam begged and pleaded. No matter if Samantha and Flack, only living together at the time, had tried to convince her to have the baby and give it up to its father. They would help Adam, to the best of their abilities, to raise the child.

She'd have nothing to do with them, Adam or the baby and went ahead and booked the appointment for the abortion. Her brother, by tracing her cell phone calls and eventually breaking into her apartment, had managed to find out the date, time and location and be waiting on the clinic's door step when she arrived. A passionate argument had ensued between them, and Flack was sure he had gotten through to her. He'd managed to talk her out of the abortion and had brought her home to his and Sam's place.

Both of them had promised to see her through every step of the pregnancy and then assist, in whatever way possible, helping her and Adam care for their child. Melanie had no desire to be with Adam and had told him so. Breaking his heart in the process. He had been wildly and crazily in love with her and had been convinced he was the person who could tame her and make her happy. Melanie had used him. Out of Adam she'd gotten a place to stay and someone to foot her bills. Sam had held her breath and bit her tongue and stayed out of her brother's business. But she'd wanted to kill the woman for fucking with her Peanut.

They'd gotten Melanie a top notch OB -thanks to a referral from Hawkes- and made sure she was taking pre-natal vitamins and folic acid. They bought her maternity books and paid most of her expenses out of pocket.

Until three days shy of her fourth month, Adam had called his sister in a state while Sam was at work and told her that Melanie had showed up at his place telling him that she had taken care of the problem. There was no baby.

And that she wanted the money from him to cover the cost of the abortion.

Melanie Flack had been an unwelcome fixture ever since. Flack had kicked her out of his apartment and essentially out of his life. He saw her once or twice a year for the last eight years and that was fine with him. He called her to tell her he was engaged and then three months later when he returned from Turks and Caicos a married man. When the twins had been born prematurely and Sam had been so sick and needed the hysterectomy, he'd let his parents pass the move along. Melanie had never so much as offered up a congratulations or sent cards and never came to see her nieces or her ill sister in law in the hospital. The girls were a year old and having their very first part at grandma and grandpa's house when their Aunt Mel finally saw them. After that, she made occasional stops at the house but never made an effort to get close to the twins.

And that was just fine with Sam and Flack. And Kellan and Kallison didn't seem to give two shits either. They had their mommy and their daddy and their grandparents. Both in New York City and in Arizona. They had more aunts and uncles then they could count on the fingers on both their hands. Not having Melanie in their lives wasn't robbing them of anything. If anything it was sparing them of lifetime of disappointment.

Thank God Christmas only comes once a year, Sam thought with a sigh. Because I only need to be civil to that bitch for about eight hours.

Anything more would be simply unbearable.

* * *

"Hi, Kallison," Melanie gushed in an over friendly, aggravating voice as she ran a hand over her niece's hair. "Don't you just look so pretty today!"

"I'm not Kallison!" the little girl cried. "I'm Kellan!"

"Well excuse me," Melanie snorted. "Hasn't your dad taught you it's not nice to talk back to people?"

"I'm not talking back," Kellan informed her in an equally snotty voice. "I am telling you the way it is."

"Hey," Flack gave his daughter a warning look. "Don't be smart with your mouth, okay? Why don't you go and see if mommy needs some help getting things packed up for spending the night at grandma and grandpa's. Go and see that all of Wiener's toys and his treats are in a bag. Okay?"

Kellan nodded as her dad set her down on the floor. "Can I bring two toys to grandma and gwampa's house, daddy?"

"What did mommy say?" he asked, smoothing down the back of his daughter's sweater and brushing lint off of her pants.

"She said just one 'cause there's already lots of other toys there to play with and what Santa might have left for us there."

"Santa doesn't leave spoiled brats presents," Melanie informed her niece.

Kellan's eyes narrowed. "I am not a spoiled brat," she huffed. "I was a good girl all year. Daddy said so."

"I find that hard to believe considering who your mother is," Melanie grumbled. "The queen bitch of spoiled brats."

"Mommy's not a bitch!" Kellan screamed. "You are!"

"Kellan…" Flack laid his hands lightly on her tiny shoulders and steered her in the direction of the living room. "You go and see if mommy needs any help, okay? I'm going to have a nice chat with Auntie Mel."

"Make her say sorry, daddy!" the five year old demanded, hands on her hips, lips pursed.

"Kellan…" he said calmly. "Please go and find mommy."

"But that's mean, daddy! What Auntie Mel said! And you said that when we say mean things we have to say sorry for hurting the person's feelings! You said that daddy! Don't you 'member?"

"I do remember and it was a mean thing to say, but your Auntie Mel is less mature then you are so it's better to not expect an apology from her. So go and find your mommy and we'll get going soon. Alright?"

"Fine…" Kellan huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she prepared to stomp out of the foyer.

"Okay, okay," Melanie relented. "I apologize, sweet pea. I'm sorry."

Kellan's blue eyes sparkled with hope. "You do?"

"Sure I do. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that your mother is such a spoiled, rotten little bitch."

Kellan stared at her aunt for several seconds before bursting into tears and storming off into the living room. Flack was torn between going after her to comfort her, and throttling his sister. The answer on what to do first was made clear when he heard his wife asking their daughter what was wrong and then Kellan explaining, between gasps and sobs, what had happened. Judging by the soothing, soft tone in Sam's voice afterwards and Kellan's whimpering, his wife had obviously taken the five year old into her arms for comfort.

He turned furious blue eyes on the woman standing a mere foot away.

"You really need to get that kid some help, Donnie," Melanie told him. "Like up here…" she pointed to her head. "'Cause she's got something wrong with her being that sensitive. Guess she gets being loco from her mother, too."

Flack reached out and laid a hand on his sister's shoulder and pinned her forcefully to the front door. "Listen to me you strung out, nasty, mangy little bitch," he began in a low, threatening tone. "I only offered you a ride to mom and dad's because my wife asked me to be the bigger person in all of this. Because it's Christmas. But what I really want to do is toss your ass out on the street where you belong. With all your slutty friends and your pimp and your dealer and whoever else is in your little entourage. I could give a shit less whether you end up dead in a gutter or sleeping somewhere in a cardboard box. Don't fuck with me, Melanie."

"Oh aren't you just husband and father of the year," she sneered. "Going all defensive and protective of the love of your life and your two perfect little angels."

"Melanie, I am warning you. Keep your mouth off of my wife and my girls. You say one more word about them and I will bury you. Understand me?"

"Whatever happened between blood being thicker than water, huh?" tears welled in Melanie's eyes. "Ever since you met that fucking…"

"Don't say it," Flack warned. "Don't even think it."

"Ever since you met her it's been about her! Always about her! Your whole life suddenly revolved around her! You forgot all about your family! She turned you against me, Donnie! You let her come between us! Why does everything always have to be about her?!"

"Because she's my wife, Melanie!" Flack bellowed. "She's the love of my life! My everything! She was always there for me, having my back, through all the dumb things I did or said. She always put up with my shit and took me back every time we hit a shitty spot. She married me and puts up with me day in and day out no matter what crap I dump on her. She gave me my daughters! Those girls and their mother are my world. Plain and simple. What part of that don't you understand?"

"I was your family long before they!…" Melanie gestured wildly towards the living room. "…came along!"

"You're my sister, Mel. That's it. And you and I stopped being close a long time ago when you decided to become the person that you are! You think I'd just stand by and think it's okay seeing you destroy yourself? Booze and drugs and taking money for sex? You actually think I'd let you toss my name around each time you were brought in on something? Use me as your get out of jail free card?"

"Well excuse me if I was never perfect like you. The prodigal son. Daddy's pride and joy."

Flack snorted. "I don't know what planet you're living on, Mel, but things between dad and I have never been perfect. He was a bastard to all of us growing up, but I seemed to get the beats and the name calling more than Chris did. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him, remember? He shit on me every chance he got. Remember what he said to me when I graduated from the academy? I never got a congratulations, son. I got a don't make me and the family look bad, Don. I was blown up in a building and nearly died and he never stepped foot in my hospital room for five months! So don't stand here and give me this shit that I'm his prodigal son. You were his baby! His pride and joy! He picked on us boys and left you alone and spoiled you rotten. He would have hung the moon for you! And how did you repay him? You became a drunk, a druggie and a goddamn prostitute. Boy, I am sure daddy is just so proud of you."

With that he turned on his heel and headed for the living room.

Melanie stared at her brother's broad shoulders and strong back as he departed. "You just think you're so fucking perfect, Donnie!" she cried. "You and your house and your pretty wife and your beautiful kids! You and your picture perfect, Norman Rockwell life!"

He stopped in his tracks. His body tensing up before sighing heavily and turning back to his sister. Pity and loathing in his eyes. "You know nothing about me, or my family, Melanie," he said. "You never took the time to get to know my wife or my kids. The only time you ever wanted anything to do with Samantha was when we were just dating and you thought you could hit her up for cash to support your habit. Give her some sob story about needing to pay your rent or some other crap. Toss in how mean and unfair I was to you so she'd feel sorry for you and help you out. Once she realized you were just using her and taking her for granted, she cut you loose. But only after I told her to stay the hell away from you because you'd drag her down. And I couldn't let that happen to her."

"And who is she?" Melanie snorted, wiping at her tears. "Miss fucking perfect? The Queen of the Universe? She's never done anything wrong or made a bad choice or screwed up?"

"You know what, Mel? Sam's made a lot of bad mistakes and terrible choices and had some pretty monumental fuck ups in her time. But she's paid for all of them. She's my wife. And if you can't keep your mouth off of her, then you need to get the hell out of my house. And NEVER come back. Understand me?"

"You think you're so great, Donnie? That you can talk down to me? Well guess what? I know things about you, too."

"Give it up, Melanie. You can insult me all you want. I know all the screw ups I've had. And they're all a long time ago."

"If Dad's disappointed in anyone it's you," she continued, sniffling noisily, vehemence in her voice. "Do you have any idea how much you broke his heart that you couldn't even give him a grandson? That his first born couldn't even have a boy to carry on the family name?"

Flack couldn't help but laugh. "Carry on the family name? What is this? The eighteen hundreds? Give me a goddamn break. He loves his granddaughters, Melanie. Loves them to death. They're the apples of his eye. He's just proud he was given too healthy, happy and incredibly beautiful and smart grand kids. Doesn't matter to him, and it didn't matter five years ago, if they're boys or girls. He just loves them."

"And how come you got that, Donnie?" she whined. "How come you got the perfect little family and the…"

"We are not perfect, Mel!" he snapped. "And it insults me that you keep saying that! We are far from perfect! We have our issues and our struggles and you know what? Right now, despite how nice this place looks and the fact we've got food on the table every night and nice clothes to wear and all that other shit? Right now things actually suck pretty bad. Do you know how sick Sam is?"

Melanie shook her head. "No one tells me anything," she complained.

"And you know why no one tells you? Because deep down we all know you don't give a shit. Just like you didn't care when the twins came early and Sam was going through some pretty heavy shit. You were too busy worrying about your next fix to give a crap about anyone else. So excuse me if a, I find you completely full of shit, and b, I find you the most pathetic person I've ever laid eyes on. And if you can't talk better about my wife and my kids, then you take your ass on out that door and…"

"Donnie?" Sam's voice, soft and tentative, broke into his tirade. Her hand settled lightly on the small of his back. A small sign of both support, and and attempt to calm him down. "I just need to get the girls' coats. And mine. We're going to start taking stuff aside and I'll buckle them in and…"

"I'll take the stuff out to the car," he told her and moved towards the closet. "You put those little boot things over their shoes already?"

She nodded. Avoiding her sister in law's furious gaze as she watched her husband toss open the hall closet and yank the girls' snowsuits, Sam's jacket and his own from their hangers.

"I'll get them bundled up and they can play outside while I load stuff in," Flack said.

"Don, I can…"

"It's okay, babe," he assured her, giving her a gentle smile and pecking her cheek lightly before handing her her soft pink wool pea coat and black and pink stripped chenille scarf. The matching gloves stuffed in the pockets. "I need to get some air. Cool down. We'll be leaving in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay," she said meekly and accepted a small kiss on the lips before he headed into the living room to tend to the twins. She sighed heavily and turned to the teary eyed and flushed face woman standing before her.

"What?" Melanie asked snottily. "Problem?"

Sam gave an overly polite smile. "Merry Christmas, Melanie."

Her sister in law snorted.

"You know, you don't have to make the holidays miserable for everyone," Sam said, shrugging into her coat. "I've got two little girls that love Christmas and are just happy that they're getting to spend three days with their daddy. Don't ruin it for them, okay?"

"You think I give a shit about you or them? While you're living here with food on your table and you're nice and warm and comfortable, I'm stuck in my crappy dungeon of a place eating from a soup kitchen."

"You're not the only one having hard times, Mel. A lot of people are in that boat. The only difference between you and some of them is that you had a choice to make something better of yourself. Your mom and dad offered to help you out. They told you that you could stay with them and get yourself cleaned up, get you back into school so you could further your education and get a better job. So you could get off the welfare and not have to wait tables or sling drinks."

"Well maybe I like being in the customer service industry," she huffed.

"So that's what they're calling selling yourself on the street these days?" Sam asked. "Classy."

Melanie glared at the petite brunette. "You have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"I know enough. I know that you had all these chances to do something with yourself. Your brother, my husband, offered to get you into rehab. He even offered to pay for your treatment! He said if you got clean he'd help you get a decent place to live and start a new life for yourself."

"Oh he's such a fucking martyr," Melanie snorted.

"He's your brother," Sam said. "And he loves you and wants to help you."

"He loves me!" Melanie laughed. "Only people he loves are you and those brats of his."

Sam sighed heavily and shook his head. "Sticks and stones, Mel. You know, one day, when you really need someone, Donnie's not going to be around. He's not going to be so willing to help and you're not going to have anyone. Is that what you really want? To alienate everyone?"

"You just think my brother is so fucking great. That there's nothing he can't do. That he's perfect in every way."

"Oh give this perfect stuff a rest, Mel. I know your brother isn't perfect. And he's never going to be. But you know what? I'm not perfect either and we accept that of each other. We love each other. And that love is what gets us through everything. Through all the bullshit and all the heartache. And if you'd clean yourself up, maybe you'd find someone yourself."

Melanie laughed. "Someone like who? Your brother? Give me a break. A dork like that? He's lucky I even gave him the time of day. I tell you, I must have been seriously drunk and stoned to ever even let him within five feet of me and…"

Sam silenced her with a hard, loud slap across the face. "Don't you ever, EVER talk about my brother like that again. My brother is an amazing, wonderful guy with two beautiful kids and a lovely wife. And if you ever utter a bad word about him again, I won't think twice about handing you your ass? Understand me?"

"You fucking bitch!" Melanie hissed at her, a hand over her wounded cheek. "You're a freak just like he is. How in the hell does my brother even put up with you? You and all your crazy bullshit? The depression and this make believe illness you've got everyone feeling sorry for."

"First off, Mel.." Sam advanced on her. "Your brother and I have been through hell and back and he's always supported me through all the rough times. And second, it's not a make believe illness. And I am telling you right now, if I wasn't in as much pain as I am right now, I would beat your ass and toss you out the front door! So shut your trap and show some respect while you're in my house. I'm not scared of you or your pathetic friends."

"You should be!" Melanie shouted after her sister in law as she turned and headed into the living room.

"We'll be waiting outside when you decide to grow up!" Sam called back.

Tears of rage and hurt spilled down Melanie Flack's face as she stood alone in the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest.

The truth was, as much as she hated her sister in law for taking her brother away from her, she was also jealous. Jealous of the obvious love and respect and affection that existed between her brother and his wife. It was in the way their eyes sparkled when they looked at each other. In the small touches and the gentle smiles.

She wanted someone to love her like that. To take her away from her pitiful existence. She had had that once. In Adam. She had had that love and lost it. She had treated him horribly and regretted it each and every day.

On top of that, she loved him. She admitted it to no one but herself. She loved him then and she loved him now.

And would never, ever get over him.

* * *

The small three bedroom grey brick home in Flushing, Queens was decorated festively for the holidays. Multicolored mini lights framed each window and were wrapped around the trunk of the large oak tree in the center of the front yard. More lights were nestled into the bushes along the driveway and a wreath, handmade by Patricia Flack years ago and boasted a massive blue ribbon with gold piping along the edges and spray pointed gold pine cones sat proudly on the front door. A massive air filled snow globe with Santa Claus and his reindeer sat anchored next to the old tree. The snow globe had been a treat from Don Flack Sr to his precious granddaughters a week ago. When they'd gone along with him to a trip to Home Depot and had fallen in love with the snow globe the moment their little eyes caught site of it. And, like most dotting grandfathers, he'd been unable to say no.

Those girls, just as their father had said less than a half an hour before, were his pride and joy. They were beautiful and innocent and precocious. Two little balls of energy that kept him on his toes and nearly brought tears to his eyes every time they tossed their arms around his neck and kissed his cheek and said, "I love you, gwampa." Kellan and Kallison were his babies. He carried pictures of them in his wallet. Several, in fact. Two were of the girls just hours old in the hospital. He also had one of them at their first birthdays with chocolate cake in their hair and smashed in their faces and one for each year of pre-school. And the most recent, the ones he showed off and looked at the most, of them in their school uniforms. He was the quintessential proud grandfather. There was nothing he wouldn't do for those girls. Or their mother for that matter. He adored his daughter in law. She'd taken his son and turned him into a man. Into a father and a husband. And the transformation from boy to man was startling.

Flack Sr was making up for all of his past mistakes. Or at least trying to. He'd been a bastard to his son from the moment that kid was born. He treated him like a second class citizen when he should have been taking an active role in his upbringing. He looked down at him whenever his first born tried his damndest to make him proud. Even more appalling, was the physical abuse he'd rained down on his two boys. The by-product of a stressful job and a battle with the bottle, he'd laid beatings on those boys so fierce it was a surprise they could walk or even function properly for days after. He'd never been able to swallow his pride long enough to ever apologize. He'd washed his hands of Chris. He was a disgrace and not welcome in the home. But his oldest boy deserved a hell of a lot better than the old man he'd be given.

His son was a good man. Strong and dependable. Loyal and trustworthy. A loving husband and fantastic father. Traits he'd certainly never picked up from the male role model in his life. He was making a hell of a name for himself in the department too. Sr's heart swelled with pride when he thought about the collars and high profile busts his son had under his belt. When he thought about how fast his boy had climbed the ladder and continued to do so. He'd never come right out and tell his son he was proud of him. That wasn't Sr's style. But unknown to anyone, he kept a journal with every date and massive bust his son had wracked up to date. And clippings from the paper from the high profile cases he'd successfully solved.

One day, maybe as he was leaving the world, he'd take his son's hand or hug him and kiss him and tell him he'd done good. That he'd made him proud.

But until then, those words would remain tucked away in his heart and mind.

"Donald…" Patricia said from behind him as she entered the living room, wearing a simple black pencil skirt and thick black leggings and a crisp white blouse.

Her shoulder length dark hair framed her still youthful face and her brown eyes sparkled gloriously. She carried a platter of Christmas cookies and various other sweets -all homemade- that she placed on the card table her husband had set up earlier. She'd insisted on using the damn thing, and covering it with an elaborate gold and red and silver table cloth she'd spent a fortune on.

"What, dear?" he asked with a sigh, as he stood at the front window, looking out at the snow covered street.

"Your babies will be here soon," she assured him. "No sense staring out like that. A watched pot never boils, you know."

"Did you phone them?" he asked, hands shoved in his pockets as he turned away from the window. "See what's taking them so long?"

"I just spoke to your son less than ten minutes ago," she replied, smoothing her skirt down.

"And…"

"And they were on their way. Donnie said they got a little held up at home."

"Girls giving them a hard time?"

"Girl," Patricia corrected. "Your daughter."

Flack Sr frowned. "What the hell is she doing with them?"

"She showed up on their doorstep apparently and wanted a ride here."

"Well she's not welcome here," he declared. "You tell her that? I thought you told her that when you talked to her last week."

"I did," Patricia said, walking over the Christmas tree in the far corner of the room.

A seven foot Douglas Fir that her husband had spent a ridiculous amount of money on. All because it was the one that their granddaughters had declared perfect when they took them tree shopping a week ago. The girls had stayed the weekend and had had a great time decorating the tree with grandma and grandpa. They'd made stringed popcorn and construction paper garland to go along with the multitude of ornaments they'd crafted through the last two years with brightly painted popsicle sticks and glitter covered macaroni.

The bottom was covered in a red velvet tree skirt embellished with patterns of candy canes and snow men. Although the skirt was nearly invisible underneath the unbelievable mound of waiting to be opened presents. On top of two of the larger presents were stockings. One Strawberry Shortcake with the name Kellan written across the top in pink sparkles, and the other Cinderella with the name Kallison across the top in blue glitter. Both stuffed to the gills.

And there was no forgetting a third stocking. A simple red and green stocking bursting with doggie treats.

"Well apparently your daughter is hard of understanding," Flack Sr grumbled. "I don't like her kind around my girls."

Patricia smiled. "Your girls? They're your son's girls, my love."

"You know what I mean. They're my grand babies and the thought of Melanie being around them…"

"Donnie and Samantha are very watchful of Kallison and Kellan. You know that. If they felt Melanie was a threat to them, they wouldn't allow her anywhere near them."

"She shouldn't be around them twins," Sr huffed. "She didn't give a shit about them or their mother when they were in the hospital. Only reason she comes around is to hit Donnie up for money. Money he needs to take care of them girls and their mother."

"Your son is doing a fine job providing for his family, Donald. And remember what I told you. No asking about the adoption agencies. They were turned down again and it's hit them hard this time."

"I don't get that shit at all," he sighed. "They're good people. They work hard. Take care of their kids and love them. What the hell is wrong with these agency people? They don't think our boy and his girl can take care of a baby? They took care of twin babies just fine."

"It has nothing to do with how well they take care of the children they have now," Patricia told him. "But everything to do with Samantha's illness. They're worried she wouldn't be able to take care of a baby properly with her condition. You know there's days she can barely get out of bed. And Donnie's had to either rely on us or take time off and take care of them girls himself."

"Nothing I wouldn't do for those girls or my daughter in law," her husband informed her. "The girl is sick. Don't go talking bad about her."

Patricia held her hands up in self defence. "I was merely saying…"

"Well don't say it," he said gruffly. "What about that little floozy you know from the church?"

"She is not a floozie," his wife informed him. "She's a young girl that got herself into a bad situation."

"She's sixteen and pregnant. Makes her a floozy in my book. Who she belong to again?"

"She's Jim and Judy Wilkes' granddaughter."

Flack Sr snorted. "Well if she inherited her brains from her grandfather I can see why she's in the predicament she's in. Guy was useless under my watch out of the three-five. She given up the kid or what?"

"She wants to find a family herself apparently."

"Well tell her we got the perfect family and hand over our son's number. Donnie and Samantha would kill to have another baby. Tell the little floozy to make arrangements to meet them. They're great parents."

"I have given Jim their number," Patricia assured him. "There's only so much I can do, honey. And please, don't mention it, or the agencies to your son and his wife."

"Why would I do that? I'm not an idiot. I'm not in the profession of hurting their feelings, Pat."

She smiled at her husband as she sidled up next to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. "You are such a grumpy old fart," she declared.

"And you're a naggy old witch," he told her. Grinning - a mirror image of the grin his oldest son possessed- he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And I love you more today then yesterday but less then tomorrow."

"You are a sappy, grumpy old fart," Patricia laughed. "And I love you, too."

He kissed his wife gently. A hand on the side of her delicate face. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he said, pecking her forehead.

"Merry Christmas my love," she said. "And many, many more."

He wrapped his arm around his wife's slender waist and held her tight to his side, eyes closed as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

They stood there for several minutes, enjoying the peacefulness of their home.

The sound of tires crunching on the snow in front of the house broke the moment and their eyes flickered open and looked out the window. Spying the familiar black Mitsubishi Outlander parked in front of their home. Their son behind the wheel killing the engine.

"I think I should go out there and give them a hand," Flack Sr said, kissing his wife a final time before breaking away from him.

"You just want to be the first grandparent those girls see," Patricia laughed, watching her oldest boy out the window. How he went around to the front passenger door and opened it and offered his wife his hand and helped her out. Then went to the back door and popped it open and began unbuckling the twins from their car seats.

"I would never allow them to play favourites," Flack Sr said from the front door, as he stepped out into the cold in just a pair of running shoes and his black dress pants and a white sweatshirt with the words Grandpa's Angels written on the front in red and yellow and green letters. The girls' names and hand prints on the back in blue. Patricia had got on him about wearing it for Christmas dinner. But he insisted he was wearing his favourite sweater for his two favourite girls.

A broad smile crossed Patricia's face as she witnessed through the window, the two loves of her husband's life come into his view. His entire face lighting up.

"GWAMPA!!!" Kellan cried ecstatically when her father put her down in the snow and she saw the familiar face coming down the front steps.

"GWAMPA!" Kallison echoed as she was set free as well.

"Come here, you two!" Sr exclaimed, kneeling down in the snow with his arms outstretched and his heart nearly bursting with love.

Tears welled in his wife's eyes as she she watched from inside the house. The way those two beautiful little girls tossed themselves at their grandfather and squealed happily as he embraced them both and stood up. Showering them with kisses and affection.

It had taken a lifetime, but Donald Flack Sr had become a new man.

And she'd be forever grateful to the two little girls responsible for changing him.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! Makes my day!**

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	15. Decisions and best of intentions

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK. AND WIENER THE WIENER DOG.**

**A/N: THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Decisions and best of intentions**

"Maybe I didn't love you quite as good as I should have,  
Maybe I didn't hold you quite as often as I could have,  
Little things I should have said and done, I just never took the time.  
You were always on my mind, You were always on my mind.  
Maybe I didn't hold you all those lonely, lonely times,  
And I guess I never told you, I'm so happy that you're mine,  
If I made you feel second best, I'm sorry, I was blind.  
You were always on my mind,  
You were always on my mind,  
Tell me, tell me that your sweet love hasn't died,  
Give me, give me one more chance to keep you satisfied,  
If I made you feel second best, I'm sorry, I was blind.  
You were always on my mind, You were always on my mind."  
-Always on my Mind, Elvis Presley (or Willie Nelson or many other artists)

* * *

"Merry Christmas, gwampa," Kellan gushed, as she wrapped an arm around her grandfather's neck and nuzzled her tiny nose against his clean shaven cheek.

"Me, too gwampa!" Kallison exclaimed, curling an arm around him as well and kissing him noisily on the lips.

"Merry Christmas, my angels," he returned, pressing his lips to each of their cherubic faces. His heart filled with so much pure, unabashed pride and love for the two little girls clasped tightly in his embrace.

Although he was a grandfather four times over to the three boys and a girl that his youngest son Chris had managed to bring into the world with his wife -those kids were the only damn things that boy did right his whole entire life- Flack Sr's heart and soul belonged to Kellan and Kallison. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, or their mother, who had taken his son and transformed him into the man that his father and mother always knew he had the promise to be. At the end of the day, it didn't matter how many collars Don Flack Jr had under his belt or how quick he climbed the NYPD ladder.

What really mattered was the kind of person he was behind the scenes. How he treated his wife and his kids. How he lived his life. And within the last eight years, there'd been a change in Donald and Patricia Flack's oldest son. He'd matured and slipped easily and almost effortlessly into a life as a husband and a father. He adored his young family and would walk through the fires of hell for them. His love and his respect for his wife was written all over his face. It was in the way he smiled at her or touched the small of her back or kissed her cheek softly. The way that his eyes lit up when she simply stepped in the room. The way the pride was evident in his voice whenever he spoke of her.

And it was something that went both ways. Samantha had just as easily fallen in love with their boy as she had captured his heart. Her feelings and emotions laid bare for all to see. Written all over her face and evident in her eyes every time she looked at him. In the way she watched him intently whenever he spoke and the way she touched him in small, gentle ways. The way her eyes sparkled with love and adoration when he teased her good naturedly. The respect and pride that shone so strong and bright when she spoke of his achievements both on the job and in his personal life.

They loved each other. A love born out of a friendship many years before. That friendship had flourished for a year before becoming something so powerful and all consuming. Something neither of them had ever experienced nor regretted. It had made their bond stronger and tighter. It made them better lovers and better spouses and ultimately, better parents to their children. They had grown together for the past eight years and continued to grow and learn together each and every day.

Sure, there were tough times. Too many to mention, in fact. But in the end they'd come out of it slightly emotionally scarred and wounded, but better for it. Through difficult, trying times they'd learned to never take each other for granted. That things could be ripped away in a heartbeat. That things were here today and gone tomorrow and there were no second chances. No way of taking things back after they'd been said and the person was no longer around to apologize to. They'd almost lost each other. A wife had almost been a widow. And that experience had rocked them both and opened their eyes to how precious their lives together were.

And how precious, and near miraculous, the lives they had created together were.

Two beautiful little girls clinging to their grandfather's neck and fighting for his attention as they excitedly told him about all of the things that Santa Claus had brought them.

"Well Santa came to grandma and grandpa's last night, too," Flack Sr told them. "Grandma and I woke up this morning and there were so many presents under the tree we couldn't even get into the living room! It's a sea of gifts in there! And do you know who most of them belong to? Whose names I found on almost all the tags?"

The little girls shook their heads.

"Do either of you know a Kallison or a Kellan Flack?" he asked curiously. "I've never heard those two names before. I wonder who those two are. Have you ever heard of them?"

"Gwampa!" Kallison exclaimed. "Don't be silly!"

"So you do know them?"

"It's us gwampa!" Kellan cried with a musical giggle. "We're Kellan and Kallison Flack. You know dat!"

"You're right!" he said with a dramatic gasp. "Your grandpa must be getting old. He's forgetting a lot of things lately."

"That's because grandpa's nearly as old as Santa," Flack said from the back of the SUV as he gathered the garbage bag of presents and the duffel bags.

"So says the thirty-eight year old with more grey hair then me," his father snorted. "So what do you think girls? You want to go inside and see grandma and check out what Santa left here for you two?"

The both nodded.

"Grandma will make you two some hot chocolate with whipped cream," he promised, sitting them both down on the snow.

"With cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles?" Kallison asked hopefully, blue eyes twinkling.

"I think grandma bought extra cinnamon and sprinkles just for the two of you," he replied. "Now go on," he said, laying a hand on their heads and gently pushing them in the direction of the house. "Go in and see grandma while I help out your mom and dad. Okay?"

"Come on Kellan!" Kallison cried, grabbing her sister by the hand and yanking her towards the house.

"No opening anything until we are all there!" Sam called to them, reaching into the back seat of the SUV to open up the small pet crate Wiener had been carted over in.

Taking the small animal, clad in a pair of red boots and a white and red knit sweater, out of his container, she set him down gently in the snow. The white powder gave way underneath him and he sank nearly up to his knees, but that didn't stop him from barrelling towards the twins.

Hand in hand, the giggling, chattering girls hurried through the snow and up the front steps. Stomping their boots off on the porch before being ushered into the house by their waiting grandmother. Wiener scampering close behind.

"Damn mutt dresses better then most humans," Flack Sr declared.

"Costs more then most humans too," his son said with a sigh.

"But he doesn't mouth off or leave socks and underwear lying all over the place or forget to put the toilet seat down," Sam spoke up. "So in essence, he's invaluable."

"Be nice to me," Flack said to her, before kissing her softly.

"Never," she giggled and touched his face gently.

"See you're still keeping him on his toes," Senior commented, kissing both her cheeks before drawing his petite daughter in law into his arms.

"I try my best," she said, returning the embrace. "How are you, dad? Merry Christmas.""

"And to you. And I'm much better now that my three favourite girls are here safe and sound," he declared. He held her out at arms length. "You?" he asked. "You're doing okay?"

She nodded and smiled. "Good days and bad days," she replied. "Thankfully there's been a lot of good ones lately."

"Always nice to hear. You know how Pat and I worry about you all the time."

"How about extending some of that concern this way and helping me out," Flack suggested, his hands loaded down with bags.

"You're half my age," his father reminded him.

"Nice try, dad. You're not even sixty yet."

"I feel eighty most days," Senior complained.

"Join the goddamn club and quit your bitching," Flack said. "How has mom put up with you for so long?"

"I ask the same thing about your beautiful young wife every day," the older man responded. "I guess the ladies have a soft spot for guys with the last name Flack."

"It's the blue eyes," Sam declared, and picked up the girls' small Dora the Explorer wheelie suitcases they'd been given for Christmas. "I'm going to go in and get myself some of that hot chocolate, too."

"You do that, doll face," her father in law said. "I even went to Target yesterday and got you an extra special treat."

"You went to Target on Christmas Eve just for me?" she laughed, walking backwards towards the house. "It must be love."

"True love," he chuckled. "Anything for you and you know that. I braved the cold and snow and the sheer insanity to pick up some of them fudge dipped, mint Oreo cookies you're always going on about."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, dad?" she asked. "You know, if I wasn't already married to one Flack…"

"We can always say to hell with Junior and blow this pop stand," her father in law teased, winking at her playfully.

Samantha laughed. "Don't tempt me," she said, and turned towards the house and headed up the stairs. Greeted by a warm hug from her mother in law before she even managed to get in the door.

"Quit flirting with my wife and threatening to run away with her," Flack told his father. "One day she just might take you up on it. Trade the young in for the old."

"And the more experienced," Senior chided and stepped to the back of the SUV and reached up to slam the rear door closed.

His son rolled his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Donnie," his father said, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, dad."

"Your brother call you?"

"This morning. Long enough to wish us a Merry Christmas and that was it. You know we're not exactly on speaking terms after what he did to Sam."

"Drunken bastard," his father muttered. "Should have hung him up by his balls in the middle of Time Square. Where's your sister?" he asked. "Thought your mom said she was tagging along."

"She was. Until her and Sam got into an argument in the car and I dropped Melanie off at the gas station two blocks away. I just couldn't deal with her shit. She had the girls scared to death and in tears. I don't need that shit. Especially on Christmas day. Things are going okay with you?"

"Most days," he replied and held out a hand in an invitation to take some of the backs. "Doctor says that the arthritis is getting worse and my eyesight is going down the shitter. But other then that, the old guy is still kicking. Much to your mother's dismay."

"What about those tests you were going for a couple of days ago?" Flack asked, handing his father a couple of the lighter bags before using the remote locking mechanism on his key chain to secure the doors of the SUV.

"Didn't end up going," his dad replied, as they headed side by side up the neatly shovelled driveway.

"Why not?" Flack asked. Trying to keep the concern out his voice.

The last thing his dad wanted was people worrying about him. He shrugged off any and all suggestions or advice when it came to his rapidly failing health. The cancer in the prostate had been caught in time over three years ago. He'd needed minimal chemo and radiation and spent less then a month in the hospital. But since then, more and more little things had begun to afflict him. Dizzy spells, shortness of breath, poor eyesight and unexplained weight loss. His father had always been a big man. Tall and intimidating. Six foot two and carrying over two hundred pounds since he was nineteen years old. Now, at fifty-seven, he was deteriorating rapidly.

"Because I didn't feel like going," Senior replied. "Do I need any other reason then that?"

"Mom's worried about you dad," Flack said. "Don't you think you owe it to her to get yourself looked after?"

"Your mother has more important things to worry about then me," he responded.

"You're her husband. I think she feels you are the most important thing."

"Well she shouldn't," his father grumbled.

"Dad, I'm just saying that…"

"I know what you're saying and I'm saying that I didn't feel like going. Drop it, son."

Flack sighed heavily and relegated himself to the fact that nothing was ever simple with his father. The old man just could not accept that his wife and his kids were genuinely concerned about him. Flack wondered if maybe it was his father's way of paying penance for all the wrongs he'd committed against his wife and children in his younger years. If he felt he didn't deserve that kind of care and concern because of what a bastard he'd been to them all.

* * *

"How's things with you?" Senior asked, changing the subject. "Things are good?"

Flack shrugged. "Things are alright, I guess. I've got a monster case load and no end in sight. Faces coming and going on a regular basis it seems. You just got used to a bunch of guys and they're being shipped off to other precincts or even to other boroughs. And you're given this bullshit that they're just not homicide material."

"Bureaucratic bullshit is what that is," his father snorted. "All them cut backs going on around the department. Seems to rear it's damn ugly head every eight to ten years. No escaping it unfortunately. What's it mean for you?"

"Lots of overtime," his son sighed. "Double and triple. Which is just costing the department more money, but who am I? Can't tell the number crunchers how to run the place."

"Well as long as it doesn't hit home, it's all good."

"That's the problem, dad. It has hit home."

Senior paused at the bottom step. "What do you mean?"

"Sam's being let go from the crime lab. January thirty-first is her last day."

His father frowned. "How long have you know this for?"

"About a month now. We haven't told anyone. Not even our closest friends know. Mac Taylor hauled her into his office and told her that the department was cutting back and she was the first name that crossed his desk. Because of all the time she's missed being off sick."

"Girl can't help being ill. She didn't ask to get something like that. It just happened."

"He said that the department would rather be paying her for actually doing work and not being stuck at home in bed."

"Taylor actually said that?"

Flack nodded. "He's nothing if not blunt. She's going to take a pay out on her pension and a severance package, but she's only been with the NYPD nine years so it's not going to be some huge sum."

"She must be taking that pretty hard."

"She is. I think she's going to miss the people she works with more than the actual job. Those people are like members of our family. I keep telling her that it's not like she won't be close to them any more. We're still going to see Danny and Lindsay all the time. They live two blocks away and they're godparents to the girls. It's not like Sam's never going to see them again."

"Still a hell of a shock though to lose your job," Senior said.

"You can say that again. She's been on this emotional roller coaster ever since. Which only makes the fibromyalgia act up."

"So what she going to do? You two going to be okay with just your wages? You going to be okay taking care of a mortgage and other bills and those two girls on just what you make?"

"No," Flack said with a heavy sigh. "For a couple of weeks there we were contemplating putting the house up for sale and getting ourselves an apartment in lower Manhattan. A two bedroom. Just big enough for us and the girls. Get rid of one of the cars and rely more on the subway."

"The whole lot of you could always come here and live with your mother and I," his father suggested. "We have enough space if the girls share a room. You and Samantha would have the larger guest bedroom or I could think about hiring someone to add onto the house or making a small apartment in the basement."

"Thanks, dad. I appreciate you offering all of that. But…"

Senior frowned. "How is there a but? Better then ending up on the street with your family."

Flack chuckled. "We're far from in danger of living in a cardboard box, dad."

"Not enough room for them girls and all their stuff in an apartment," he huffed. "Those girls come with a lot of stuff. Not to mention they'd be uprooted from the school they're at and all their friends. You stay here, it's a bit of a drive but Kellan and Kallison could still go to the same school and keep all their little friends."

"Dad, it's going to be okay. Sam and I…"

"You don't want to screw them girls up so early in life, Donnie."

"I know that, dad. But things happen. Some times life leads you in an entirely different direction then what you had planned. That's just the way it goes. But we're not going to be out on the street. Sammie's already got a new job lined up."

"Where at? Within the department?"

Flack shook his head. "With the New Jersey Crime lab."

His father arched an eyebrow.

"Remember Stella Bonasera? Mac Taylor's right hand woman for years?"

"Tall girl, kinky hair and killer legs. Wore tops all the time that showed off her set. What about her?"

"Well she moved to Jersey to run their lab and when she got wind of Sam being let go, she called us up and offered Sam a job. As lead hand. Working just below Stella. More money, better hours, more responsibility."

"So my girl's heading to the Jersey PD?"

Flack nodded. "And I think I'm heading there too, dad."

Senior's eyes widened. "You given up the department? Walking away from the NYPD?"

"I'd still keep my same level of salary and my position," Flack told him. "I still qualify for any promotion that comes up. Nothing really changes. Just the city. It's easier for Sammie if we move to Jersey. I figure if we put the house on the market in the new year, we could look for a place in Jersey. Cost of living is cheaper there and we'd be able to get an even bigger, nicer place. Find a great neighbourhood with a good school for the girls to go to…"

"Why not just stay with the department and commute from Jersey?" his dad asked. "Why do you have to leave the department?"

"I don't have to," Flack replied. "I'm just thinking about the commute during bad weather or when I've worked a triple and I'm too damn tired to drive that far. Or if I need to get home for an emergency and I'm all the way here."

"You can stay here on those nights you're too tired to travel," Senior reasoned. "You could even stay here during the week and arrange with the Chief of Detectives to get weekends off so you can be home in Jersey with your family."

"Dad…"

"The girls could even stay here during the school year so they wouldn't have to be uprooted."

"Dad, I'm not taking Kellan and Kallison away from their mother. And I'm not spending all that time away from my family."

"So instead you're tossing away an amazing career with the NYPD?" Senior asked incredulously.

"I'm still going to climb the ladder in New Jersey, dad. I'm not tossing anything away. I'm thinking about my family. My wife and my daughters mean more to me then the department. And I know that probably doesn't sit well with you, but that's the way it is. I'm not like you, dad. I can't just shove my family on the backburner."

"You're New York born and raised," his father argued. "And you're going to leave the city?"

"Lots of people are born and raised here and life leads them somewhere else," Flack reasoned. "Things happen, dad. It's a decision I'm going to have to seriously consider. And I hope that I can get your support no matter what I choose to do."

Senior sighed heavily and shook his head. He contemplated his son's words for a moment before finally continuing up the stairs. "Better get inside," he said. "Your mother's going to kill me for hogging you for so long."

"Dad…" Flack sighed heavily from the bottom of the stairs. "Don't walk away from me, or this, like that."

Senior turned and looked down at his son. His blue eyes meeting their identical match. "Whatever you decide to do, Donnie, I will have your back a hundred percent," he said.

Flack gave a smile and watched as his father turned and disappeared into the house.

For a son that had gone so long living with disapproval, his dad's words meant the world to him. And were as good as any blessing.

* * *

The hours ticked by. The passing of time going unnoticed to those gathered in that modest home in Flushing, Queens. Laughter and memories of Christmases past were shared. Digital cameras and camcorders ran constantly as the twins excitedly immersed themselves in unpacking the goodies in their stockings and unwrapping the gifts from Santa. Filling the house with their shrieks of delight and their infectious giggles. Surrounded by mounds of wrapping paper and bows, they brought smiles to the faces of the adults in the room. There was nothing as magical as watching a child on Christmas day. So sweet and innocent. In love with life and everyone in it. Oblivious to the evils of the world.

The girls had assisted the adults with tearing open their presents before helping with the clean up and giving mommy and grandma a hand in the kitchen baking Pillsbury rolls and dumping cranberry sauce into grandma's pretty bowls as they called the etched crystal serving bowls that Patricia only brought out on special occasions. While the ladies had stayed inside and tended to meal preparations, the girls got bundled up in their snowsuits and boots and hats and mitts once again and went outside in the backyard with daddy Flack and grandpa Flack and Wiener and built snow forts and engaged in snowball fights. Patricia and Sam had watched from the kitchen window as the men in their lives did whatever was necessary to keep those twins entertained. Whether it be teaming up with each other and letting the girls defeat them in a snowball battle of Flack literally getting down on his back and making snow angels with them, there was no feat too big or too small.

The twins were flushed and content and still giggling when they stomped back into the house an hour later. Ecstatic that they'd been able to beat daddy and grandpa and even more ecstatic about helping mommy and grandma with the set up for dinner. Both girls loved to help out, and they were over the moon to be able to put out the scarlet red napkins that they so lovingly folded and lay out the silverware. But nothing brought more shrieks then when grandpa brought up the child sized wooden craft table and chairs from the basement and putting them alongside the dining room table so they could eat with the adults. He had even went as far as putting a Christmas themed table cloth over it and grabbed a poinsettia from the living room and used it as their centre piece.

Dinner had been excellent. A feast fit for kings prepared by the two women. Turkey and maple baked ham accompanied by sweet potatoes and carrots and and grandpa's famous stuffing and corn and pepper squash as requested by the girls. It was mommy's speciality and they loved it. Sam would take the squash and cut it in half and scoop up the seeds and fill the hole with margarine and brown sugar and a touch of syrup and back them in the oven. Pumpkin pie and caramel cheesecake for dessert.

Although grandpa had a special treat in store for himself and his angels. Which he was now digging out of the freezer as the twins anxiously waited at his feet for what he had in store.

"Well?" he asked, closing the freezer door and turning towards them with a tub of ice cream carton in his hand. "Do either of you recognize this?" he held the container out for them to see.

Their blue eyes widened and their faces lit up.

"CANDY CANE CRACKLE!" Kellan cried ecstatically.

"That's our favourite, gwampa!" Kallison exclaimed.

"Which is exactly why I bought it," he declared. "Go and sit down at the big table and I'll get the spoons and the chocolate sauce."

The girls nearly tripped over themselves racing across the kitchen. Hoisting their tiny bodies up onto two chairs and getting up on their knees, hands clasped in anticipation.

Flack Sr grabbed three spoons from the drain board and went to the pantry by the stove and opened up. Snagging a squeeze bottle of chocolate sauce before closing the pantry back up and crossing the kitchen and laying everything down on the table. He went back to the drain board, grabbed three plastic tumblers and a jug of chocolate milk from the fridge before joining his granddaughters.

He poured them all glasses of chocolate milk before sitting down in the chair between them and popping the lid off the ice cream.

Kellan and Kallison's eyes widened more then ever as they watched their grandfather open the chocolate sauce and then pour it directly into the container of ice cream.

"There!" he exclaimed, setting the chocolate sauce aside. "It's perfect! Dig in girls!"

They happily did so, joining their grandpa in a feast of chocolate and ice cream.

"Gwampa?" Kellan asked, licking her spoon. "Have you ever seen Annabelle's Wish?"

"What is it?" he inquired.

"It's a Christmas movie," Kallison answered around a mouthful of ice cream. "It's about this little boy named Billy that gets in a barn fire and he gets rescued but both his mommy and daddy die and he never talks again."

"He's mute," Kellan explained.

"And he lives on the farm with his grandpa," her sister added.

"And the mean Aunt wants to take him away," Kellan said. "She's really mean and really rich, too."

"And every Christmas Santa comes and sprinkles magic Santie dust on the animals so they can talk all Christmas day!" Kallison chirped. "The baby cow's name is Annabelle. And you know what her one wish is?"

"What's that?" Flack Sr asked.

"Annabelle wants to be a reindeer," replied Kellan. "This one time Billy and his bestest and only friend Emily tie antlers to Annabelle's head with a scarf and put a toboggan on her and they are going really fast down this hill and crash into a fence and get in big trouble!"

"And one day the mean auntie comes to take Billy away!" Kallison exclaimed, digging into the frozen treat.

"And what happens?" Flack Sr asked, sipping his chocolate milk.

"Annabelle asks Santa to give Billy her magic dust so Billy can talk and tell the mean aunt he wants to stay with his gwampa!" Kellan replied. "And guess what, gwampa?"

"What?" he asked.

"When Billy opened his presents, the dust sprinkled out on him and he could talk!" Kallison cried. "So he got to stay with his gwampa!"

"And then when he's older, him and Emily are married," Kellan said. "And Annabelle is really old and goes missing and he goes after her."

"And you know what happened next, gwampa?" inquired Kallison.

"What happened next?" he asked.

"Santa Claus found her and gave her her wish!" Kellan exclaimed. "She got to become a reindeer and she flew away with him forever!"

"It was really happy but sad too," Kallison said. "Me and Kellan cried."

"Lots," her sister added. "Mommy cried, too."

"What's mommy crying about now?" Flack asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as he came up the basement steps with two baby books and a photo album in his hands. The girls had asked if they could see the baby books that grandma had made for them when they were infants. And if they could see a picture of their daddy as a baby.

"Annabelle's Wish, daddy," Kellan answered, turning her chocolate covered face towards him.

"That was a pretty sad movie," he said. "What's all over your face, baby girl?"

"Chocolate sauce ," she giggled.

"And Candy Cane Crackle ice cream," Kallison added.

"Chocolate milk, too?" Flack asked. "Hope you plan on staying up all night with them when they're bouncing off the walls, dad."

"I will do what I have to do," Sr replied. "Mind your own."

"Don't call him dad, daddy," Kellan said. "It's gwampa."

"That's what I call him because grandpa is my dad."

"He is?" Kallison asked.

Flack nodded and sat the photo album and baby books down. He went to the fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of beer, snapping off the top before snagging a clean dish cloth from the drawer by the sink and wetting it with warm water. Carrying it, the beer and a tea towel to the table.

When the girls were satisfied with the amount of ice cream they'd consumed and polished off their chocolate milk, Flack washed their faces and their hands and dried them off before picking Kellan up from her chair. He sat down and settled his daughter in his lap. Grandpa did the same with Kallison.

"Which one is mine?" Kellan asked, as her dad reached for the baby books. Handing one to his father.

Flack sat the scrap book down in front of her. The front cover was bubblegum pink with white stripes and across it in black marker was written: KELLAN ELIZABETH DANIELLE FLACK. FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 11, 2011 3:13 PM. 4 POUNDS 3 OUNCES, 13 INCHES.

"That's my name!" Kellan giggled, letting out a small shriek of delight when her father flipped open the cover and a picture of herself as a newborn greeted her. Impossibly tiny in a white and yellow newborn onesie that seemed mammoth on her. A head full of thick, black hair. "That's me, daddy!"

"And that's me!" Kallison cried from her grandfather's lap, her own book open in front of her. The cover bearing KALLISON FAITH LINDSAY FLACK. FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 11, 2011, 3:11 PM. 5 POUNDS, ONE OUNCE. 15 INCHES. "I was so tiny!"

"Me too!" Kellan exclaimed. "And there's mommy and you, daddy! Holding me and Kallison! And there's Uncle Danny and Auntie Linds and Papa Mac and Auntie Kelli!"

"And Auntie Mari and Uncle Shelly!" Kallison cried as she flipped through the pages.

The girls spent nearly an hour going through their baby books. Giggling at pictures and pointing out familiar faces and asking numerous questions.

"What was daddy like as a baby, gwampa?" Kallison eventually asked, working on her second glass of chocolate milk as she leaned back against her grandfather's chest.

"Be nice, dad," Flack warned, sipping his beer.

"Your daddy was a very good baby," his father said. "He weighed nine pounds, thirteen ounces he was born and was over twenty-two inches long. A big baby considering how small your grandma is. And he had all of this black hair and these huge blue eyes and chubby, rosy cheeks. And he had huge feet!"

The girls giggled at that.

"Daddy has big feet even now!" Kellan exclaimed. "Mommy always complains they get in her way and she trips over them!"

"And he barely cried," their grandfather continued. "He was always very happy and giggled a lot. Just like the two of you. But you know what he did a lot of that drove me and your grandma nuts?"

The girls shook their heads.

"He threw up constantly," Flack Sr told them. "All the time. Everytime we fed him he was puking it right back up. All over the place."

"Daddy was a puker!" Kallison exclaimed and she and her sister burst into giggles.

"But, for the most part, he was a really, really, really good baby," he said. "Cute as a button, too. Want to see a picture?"

The girls nodded excitedly as their grandfather reached for the photo album and flipped it open. Pointing out an eight by ten coloured photograph of a newborn boy in a blue and white stripped sleeper. Tons of black hair on his tiny head. And massive blue eyes.

"You were so cute daddy!" Kellan cried. "You look just like me and Kallison!"

"Daddy is a cutie patutie," Kallison declared. "That's why mommy likes him so much."

"Mommy always says that she loves daddy 'cause of his eyes," her sister piped up. "Is that true, daddy?"

"That's why she says," Flack said. "But I like to think there's more to it than that."

"More to what?" Sam asked as she entered the kitchen.

"Why you fell in love with me," her husband replied. "Your daughters seem to think it had everything to do with my eyes."

"Well they helped," she told him, laying her hands on his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. "But there was a lot more to it."

"Like what, mommy?" Kellan asked curiously.

"Yeah?" Flack inquired. "Like what mommy?"

"Lots of stuff," Sam replied, running her fingers through his hair.

"Like…" Flack pressed.

"I don't know," his wife said and stepped to his side, slipped onto his free knee and curled an arm around his neck.

"Thanks, babe," he snorted and swigged beer. "You don't know what you love about me…nice…"

"It's not that," she frowned. "I just don't know what to say off the top of my head. Okay…well, I love the way your daddy looks at me like I'm in the only girl he's ever loved and the only one he's ever found pretty in his entire life. I like how he makes me laugh even when I'm having a really, really day. I love the way he smiles at me and pushes my hair behind my ears. I love the way he makes me feel all warm and tingly inside when he smiles at me or kisses my cheek. And I love the way he makes me feel safe and protected. Like nothing bad can ever happen to me."

Both the girls and grandpa smiled at that. Grandpa noticing the undying, unwavering love that passed between his son and his wife as they looked at each other and smiled.

"Was that so hard?" Flack asked his wife, kissing her shoulder softly before pecking her lips.

"It was less painful than I thought it would be," she teased.

He winked at her and sipped his beer.

"And mommy likes to be spanked too," Kallison said nonchalantly.

Flack nearly spit a mouthful of beer across the table.

"That's what you said, daddy," his daughter reminded him.

Flack Sr couldn't help but chuckle. Both at the casual tone of his granddaughter's voice, and at the embarrassment evident on both her parents faces.

"You weren't suppose to repeat that," Sam scolded her. "Especially in front of grandpa."

"It's okay," Flack Sr assured both Kallison and his daughter in law. "Grandma likes to be spanked, too."

Flack couldn't keep the beer in his mouth the second time around. "Dad!" he exclaimed, horrified at what he'd just heard. "Do you mind? I so did not need to hear that!"

"What you think us old folks never…"

"Dad!" his son coughed and sputtered. "Please…spare me, okay? Spare all of us. I'm going to have nightmares now."

"I am just saying that…"

"I know what you're saying! And I want to pretend you never said it! Christ, dad. Honestly."

"Just because there's snow on the roof doesn't mean…"

"Do you mind?" Flack asked. "Seriously. Do you mind?"

His father chuckled and shook his head and sipped chocolate milk. "You're a chip off the old block, Donnie. Don't you forget that."

Flack smiled. And as he sat there, surrounded by his wife and his daughters and the man who'd helped give him life, he realized that his last name wasn't such a curse after all. That being his old man's son wasn't the horrific thing he'd made it out to be all of his life.

And that he'd come out from underneath his father's shadow. In one piece.

* * *

Sam yawned noisily as she wandered into the largest of the spare room's of her in law's home. The bedroom her husband had shared many years before with his younger brother. The bunkbeds were long gone, as were the navy blue walls and stark white ceiling and the book shelves and posters of the Rangers and the Mets that had been plastered from floor to ceiling. Patricia had long ago converted the space into a comfy and cozy guest room. Dark grey carpeting with light grey walls and black wooden blinds on the windows. The furniture was black as well. An armoire and dresser and two night stands and a sleigh style queen sized bed with a grey, black and white patterned comforter set.

Her husband was sprawled out on the now rumbled bed, wearing a pair of dark blue jogging pants with NYPD written down the right leg in big white letters and a plain white t-shirt. Playing a Nintendo DS as he listened to CNN on the television across the room. Exhausted from being up so early with the girls and the excitement of Christmas Day. The evening culminating in supervising from the hall as his twins tooka bubble bath and spent nearly an hour creating shampoo sculptures in each other's hair and colouring on the walls with soap crayons.

He glanced up as his wife padded into the room and closed the door behind her. He found her astonishingly sexy with her hair up in a loose ponytail, tendrils tumbling alongside of her face. No makeup gracing her features. Wearing a pair of black satin lounging pants and one of his wife beaters. The simple glimpse of her bare, creamy skin sending a thrill through him. Even after eight years she got to him so easily and effortlessly.

"Girls okay?" he asked, as she slipped into bed alongside of him.

She yawned again and nodded. "They just wanted some drinks of water. They're out again."

"They're exhausted. All the excitement from the day."

"It was quite the day," Sam sighed, settling on her left side and cuddling in close, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his stomach. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"I did," he said. "Did you?"

She nodded. "Glad it's over though."

"Me, too," Flack said, switching off the DS and setting it on the nightstand. "All the planning and stress…"

"And the spending," Sam added.

"Yeah…that's the worst part. I am dreading getting those credit card bills. You watching this?" he nodded at the television.

She shook her head.

He grabbed the remote sitting next to him and switched the television off before tossing the remote beside the DS. He leaned over to switch off the beside lamp and then wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing his stomach softly.

"For what, babe?" he asked, his fingers stroking her shoulder gently.

"Just for being you," she replied. "For loving me like you do. For taking such good care of me and the girls."

"You and the girls are my everything," he told her. "You know that."

"You've stuck around through a lot, Donnie. Through all the bad times and my illness and…"

"And I'm going to keep sticking around," he told her. "I'm not going anywhere. Well, unless you want me to and you're hinting at something."

She shook her head. "I quite like having you around," she said. "I think I'll keep you."

"Yeah? I think I'll stick around then," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "And thank you."

"For?"

"For putting up with my shit for eight years. For loving me like you do. For keeping me grounded during those times I thought I'd lose my mind. And for giving me my daughters."

She smiled up at him. Her eyes sparkling in the moonlight that peeked through the blinds on the window next to the bed.

He kissed her softly. Tasting the mint of her toothpaste on her lips.

"I'm going to call Sinclair when I go back to work on the twenty-seventh," he told her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"You are?"

Flack nodded. "I've decided what I'm going to do. Now that you've made the decision to go and work for Stel."

"And what did you decide?" Sam asked. Almost fearfully.

"I've decided that it's time to move on," he replied. "That I need a change. That I'm going to ask him to hook me up with the Chief of Detectives over in New Jersey. And that if the PD down there will have me, that I'm going to move my family there and settle down."

"Are you sure, Donnie? I want you to be sure."

"I'm sure, babe. A hundred percent. It's something I need to do. For you and the girls. And for myself."

"I just want you to be sure," she said. "I don't want you deciding this just because I'm…"

"I'm deciding this because it's the best thing for my family," he told her. "Plain and simple."

She sat up and leaned into him. Pressing a soft, loving kiss to his lips. "I love you so much, baby," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Sammie. I'll always love you. You know that right?"

She nodded.

"It's going to be good for us. A new start. And we're going to be happy."

"We are happy, Donnie," she said. "Aren't you happy?"

"With you and the girls? Absolutely. But with the job and being in New York? I haven't been happy here in a long time. Ever since my brother…"

She silenced him with a kiss. Holding his chin in her hands. "Can you do me a favour?" she asked, her fingertips trailing softly over his face.

"Anything baby," he replied.

"Do you think you could show me just how much you love me and worship me?"

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her slender body and seized her lips in a passionate kiss. Tipping her onto her back and propping himself on one arm above her as he continued to kiss her, their tongues deep in each other's mouths, his free hand roaming her body.

"I think I'm up to that task," he said, as he broke away from her mouth and his lips found her neck.

She sighed and closed her eyes and relaxed under his skillful mouth and hands. His touch and his love the only constant thing in her life. Always managing to bring her to her knees even eight years later. His kisses and his love making familiar but never boring.

Their love would always remain the same.

Even when their lives were drastically changing.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please R and R folks! Thanks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz (I couldn't NOT include you!)**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**CavalierQueen**

**Shopaholic20**

**New-york-babeee**

**Daisy-Buchanan**

**Forest Angel**

**Wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**afrozenheart412**


	16. Sealing the deal

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF MY LOYAL READERS AND FRIENDS! AND ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Sealing the deal**

"The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight  
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time  
I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts  
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out  
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
With a broken heart that's still beating  
In the pain there is healing  
In your name I find meaning  
The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head  
I tried my best to be guarded,  
I'm an open book instead  
And I still see your reflection inside of my eyes  
That are looking for purpose, they're still looking for life  
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
With a broken heart that's still beating  
In the pain is the healing  
In your name I find meaning  
So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on  
I'm barely holdin' on to you."  
-Broken, Lifehouse

* * *

Terrence Davis lived on the upper east side of Manhattan. In a luxurious glass and steel high rise less than a decade old and home to some of the city's upper echelon. Criminal lawyers, heads of brokerage firms and advertising agencies. Specialists in various medical fields and the conductor of the New York Philharmonic. A wide range of upstanding, wealthy and law abiding professionals.

To Flack, it both made no sense, and made him sick to his stomach that someone like Davis, who seemed as if he'd been on the wrong side of the law since he'd arrived kicking and screaming in the world, could be living the high life. Fancy cars, beautiful women, money to burn. That someone like that, who got rich by screwing over other people and capitalizing in crime, could have so much while others who worked damn hard for a living and put blood, sweat and tears into their professions and struggled to hold their lives together had to live pay check to pay check and fight to make ends meet.

"This is just so wrong," Flack commented, as an elderly door man, in a burgundy uniform complete with a top coat with tails, gold piping on his lapels and down the sides of his pant legs and white gloves and a hat, gave them a slight bow as he held the door open wide.

"Why?" Sam asked, as they stepped into the lobby hand in hand. "It's just a doorman."

"I'm not talking about the doorman. Look at this place. Marble floors, brocade drapes. Antique furniture. Massive crystal chandelier. This is just not right at all."

"Think we should tip him?" Sam whispered.

"Who?"

"The doorman."

"What? No. Why? It's his job to open the door for people. It's what he gets paid to do."

"But it seems so unfair," she said. "I mean, he's standing out there in the freezing cold in just that uniform opening doors for people that don't appreciate it. He's going to catch pneumonia. He should have a coat on."

"Sam, we are not having this conversation."

"It's an observation. Maybe I should give him a few bucks so he knows there are some nice people out there."

"Babe, listen to me. It is his job to open the door. It's what he does. And he probably gets paid damn good to do it, too."

"Just wait here for a second," she said and dropped his hand.

"Samantha…where are you going?" Flack asked, watching as she scurried for the front doors while opening up her purse.

She didn't respond. But he stood there, a bemused smirk on his face, as she stepped out into the bitter cold and blowing snow and engaged in a lively, friendly conversation with the initially startled doorman. A smile quickly spread across the elderly man's face as he was easily charmed by her golden eyes and her musical giggling that could warm even the coldest of hearts. At first he adamantly refused the ten dollars that was being held out to him, but in the end, beauty prevailed over age and Sam folded the bill and tucked it into the breast pocket of his top coat before clasping both his hands and saying farewell.

"Feel better now?" Flack asked as she rejoined him, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "You did your good deed for the day?"

"His name's Alfred," she told her boyfriend, peeling off her winter hat and shaking out her hair. "He's been working here for five years. Before here, he was the doorman at the Hyatt for fifty five years. He lives in Jersey City with his wife, Betty. They've been married sixty years in September and have six kids, twelve grand kids and two great grand kids."

"And he told you all of this?"

Sam nodded. "Well I did ask some questions."

"Your Arizona is poking through, Sammie. Because no one from Brooklyn, let alone New York City would tip a doorman and have a personal conversation with him."

"Well just think of it this way," she said, as she unzipped her jacket. "You can brag to your friends that your little Brooklyn isn't such a raging bitch after all."

"I've never said or thought you were a raging bitch. It's just that…you being like this? This whole naïve, little girl thing you've got going on sometimes? I find it endearing and all that 'cause trust me, there's not a lot of people out there as compassionate as you are, but we're going into Terrence Davis' apartment and you're down here worrying about some doorman and his extended family."

"I just thought that…."

"This isn't time to be worrying about peoples' sob stories or playing shrink to them. You have any idea what is about to go down? The kind of person we're going to be dealing with?"

"I'm not stupid, Don. Stop talking to me and treating me like I'm an idiot."

"I'm not talking to you or treating you like an idiot. I'm just asking you to think about what we're walking into. To get your head on straight and your game face on. To be less like the Sammie outside of work and more like the smart, hard ass Sammie that you are at work most days."

"Fine," she said, giving a sigh and hiking her purse up onto her shoulder. "Sue me for being a human being once in a while."

"Sam, I'm not judging you or criticizing you."

"I know," she assured him, although the slight choke in her voice and the glistening of her eyes gave away the fact that he'd unintentionally wounded her.

And wounded her quite deep. It was a hazard of dating someone so damn sensitive when you yourself were abrasive and aggressive on your best day. It was hard to believe that someone like Samantha Ross, who could chase down perps and lead an intense interrogation and hold her own against murderers and child molesters and violent, persistent felons, actually was reduced to tears by Hallmark commercials and arguments over the simplest, most ridiculous things. She got her feelings hurt easily and despite the tough little Brooklyn girl persona she fought so hard to retain, didn't do a very good job of hiding her hurt from people.

"I just think it's good to go up there a little more hard core," he told her.

"I heard you the first time, Don. I get it. I'm sorry. Alright? I'm sorry that I'm not some mean bitch. I'll try harder to be the way you want me to be."

"I don't want you to be anyway, babe. I love you the way you are. Just at this moment I need you to be…I need you to be like you are at work. Like how you were when you went toe to toe with Davis at his club. That's what I need from you. Okay?"

She nodded. "I'll try harder," she said and turned and headed for the elevator.

He sighed heavily. Feeling like the biggest asshole on the face of the planet as he followed behind her. He found her hurt her feelings a lot. He didn't mean to and certainly didn't want to. It seemed to be a hazard every time he opened his mouth and hated seeing the look that came over her when he said something she took entirely the wrong way. He wasn't gentle enough with her. He knew that. Danny had already warned him that Samantha wasn't like the other women he'd been with. He couldn't walk all over her and expect her to take it. She fought back or simply shut down and avoided him for days.

Not healthy in the slightest. And something he was desperate to change.

He stepped beside her as she waited for the elevator. Laying a hand on the back of her neck, he leaned sideways and pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

"That's not at all hard core and bad ass," she informed him, brushing his hand off of her and taking two steps away from him.

"Don't be like that," he said, and reaching out, he tucked some hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, babe. I just don't want you going up there all emotional and stuff. I need you to be able to hold your own against this guy. I know you can. I've seen it with my own two eyes at work. I need you to be that way now, okay?"

She nodded.

"Come here," he said, and placing his hand on her shoulder, pulled her into his side. "I love you," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "You know I do. You know I don't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm sorry that I'm mean when you need more to be more gentle. I'm just not used to having to be that way."

"I think there's a few things we both need to work on," she said. "I don't think either of us know enough about each other yet."

"I thought we knew a lot about each other," he tried to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "I mean, we've known each other over a year now. We used to hang out with Danny and Linds all the time when were doing out just friends thing."

"But we don't know each other that well intimately," she argued. "And before you say it, I mean intimately outside of sex."

"So I guess we have to get to know each other that way then," he said. "Spend more time together alone instead of having Danny and Linds around us so much. You know, talk about stuff more. Like what makes us tick and feelings and…"

She grinned up at him. "You're going to talk about feelings?"

"Well…I can try talking about them," he said. "I'm just not very good at that kind of thing."

"Oh I don't know," she curled an arm around his waist. "You've been doing alright."

He smiled and rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're nervous aren't you," he commented, as he felt her shiver despite her heavy winter coat and the warm temperatures in the building.

She nodded. "I've never been in a situation like this."

"We can still back out. There's nothing set in stone here. You don't want to go through with it, we walk out of here."

Sam shook her head. "He needs to be taught a lesson."

"But is hiring Terrence Davis the way to teach him that lesson? Do you really think that it's the best idea, Sammie?"

"Donnie, if you're worried about losing your job, then don't come upstairs with me. I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. That way if I get busted, you can honestly say you had nothing to do with any of this."

"I'm not worried about losing my job. I'm worried about you getting mixed up with people like Terrence Davis. I'm not abandoning you in this, Sam. I told you that I had your back no matter what and I meant it. I just don't think you've thought this through. That you called Davis while you were in a state and now you're afraid to pull the plug on the thing."

She bit her lip and didn't respond. The chime for the elevators sounded and the doors to their left opened up. Passengers flowed out into the lobby and she waited for it to completely empty before stepping on.

Flack paused at the edge of the elevator. Giving her a chance to change her mind.

"He needs to be taught a lesson," she said. "And this is the only way to do it."

Flack just nodded slowly and stepped onto the elevator. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said, and reaching out, hit the button for the twenty-seventh floor.

* * *

An young African American guy the size of an NFL linebacker answered the insistent knock to the loft style apartment on the twenty-seventh floor. He was big and intimidating and looked strong enough to pull a Sherman Tank. As did his buddy that joined him shortly after, the two monstrous men escorting Sam and Flack through the spacious apartment and into the living room. Marble floors that matched those in the downstairs lobby and soaring cathedral ceilings, windows that stretched the entire length of the apartment and showed off quite the view of the upper East side. The loft was immaculately tidy and boasted simple, yet obviously expensive furniture. Black leather couches and chairs decorated with white and red throw cushions. White bear skin rugs lay underneath polished chrome and glass coffee and end tables. An enormous plasma television currently showcasing sports scores and highlights from the night before was mounted on one of the walls and surrounded by a state of the arm home theatre system and every video game console imaginable.

Terrence Davis, minus his normally present sunglasses, was clad in a pair of navy blue tear away Adidas pants and matching jacket over a white t-shirt as he sat on the couch, nursing a JD and Coke while keeping an eye on the television and talking on his cell phone.

Probably to one of his bitches, Flack surmised, by the suave, flirtatious way in which Davis chatted the caller up. Flack himself remained unimpressed. By both his surroundings and the two bodyguards hovering over him and Sam as if they were afraid the visitors were going to do something to their boss. He kept the cocky and confident smirk on his face the entire time, glaring at the other man to his right if the young man even so much as made a move to lay a hand on him.

"I'll have to catch up with you later, boo," Davis said into the phone while flashing Sam a wink. "I've got some very important people here to discuss some very important business. We'll hook up later on tonight. Bye."

Flipping the cell phone closed, Davis tossed it onto the glass coffee table with a clatter and stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head as he looked his guests up and down.

"My two favourite business partners," he said. "Sorry about that. One of my ladies calling me to offer up some late night company."

"I'm surprised you got enough money to live here, Terrence," Flack commented as he surveyed his surroundings. "Considering all the money you must be shelling out for that kind of company."

Davis smirked. "You know Flack. That's the thing I love the most about you. You're sense of humour and your outrageous imagination. Why don't you both take your coats off and sit down and relax. You're going to be staying a while. You want something to drink?"

"We're fine," Flack answered before Sam even had the chance to.

"I insist," Davis said.

"We don't want anything to drink," Flack told him.

"How about you, baby girl?" Davis asked, eyeing Sam from head to toe as she stripped off her window coat.

He was liking what he was seeing before him, even though she was clad in a simple pair of skinny legged jeans and a black turtleneck and pink Ugg boots. It was the way that those jeans hugged that ass and the curves that that top showed off that caught his eye. She was a alluring, sexy woman underneath that girl next door, bring home to momma vibe she gave off. The tongue ring along spoke a thousand words. He bet she was a wild thing when it mattered most.

"I'm fine," she replied, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of the other man's gaze. It was somewhat frightening being on his territory, under the watchful eye of his people. At the club she'd felt completely in control of the situation. Now, standing there in that fancy apartment, she felt like a lost little girl who'd gotten into something way over her head.

"Get them both some ice water," Davis ordered his one bodyguard. "I hate for my guests to feel unwelcome," he added, looking at Sam and Flack.

"And I hate for us to feel awkward by having your boys watching our every move, Terrence." Flack told him. "So either tell them to take a hike or we're not discussing anything with you."

"I'm in control here," Davis calmly informed the detective. "You asked for my help, remember?"

"I didn't ask for shit," Flack responded. "Samantha called you. I didn't know about it until afterwards. And I can easily call this whole thing off and take her on out of here quicker then we walked in. So you either tell your boys to take a walk or we'll take our business elsewhere."

"My boys are here for my protection," Davis said.

"What do you think we're going to do?" Flack laughed. "If I wanted to beat your ass or do anything to you, I would have done it along time ago. But I'm telling you right now, you wipe that smug look off your face and quit checking out my girl or any deal me and you had is gone. Kapish? Don't tempt me, Terrence. Knock this shit off or you'll be on the next bus to Sing-Sing."

Davis held his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right," he said. "Take it easy, Flack."

The bodyguard set the glasses of ice water down on the coffee table and Davis ordered both from the room. They balked at first, but after patting Flack down to make sure he wasn't armed and checking Sam's purse to make sure she carried no weapons, reluctantly obeyed their boss' orders.

"Have a seat, baby girl," Davis said to Sam, patting the cushion beside him.

She hesitated, then took a cautious step towards him.

Flack grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him and the love seat across from Davis. Not releasing his firm grip until she sat down.

"Don't be so damn protective," Davis told him. "I'm not going to bite. Not unless she likes that sort of thing. You like that sort of thing, baby girl?"

"Hey, Terrence," Flack said. "I'm the one that gets to call her pet names. Not you. So knock your shit off and let's get down to business. You agreed to meet with us so let's cut to the chase and talk about why we're here."

"Is that what the ex did to you?" Davis asked the petite brunette sitting across from him.

She nodded and laid a self-conscious hand over her bruised cheek and the small cut under her eye. She had wanted to hide it and the slight bruises on her jaw with makeup, but Flack had suggested that not covering them, using them as proof to what Zack had done, was the best thing to do when going to meet with Davis.

"Your face down there too?" he inquired, gesturing to his own jaw line.

She nodded again.

"You said last night that this guy is crazy. That during whatever went down between the two of you in Arizona he used to knock you around, call you names. All kind of brutal, sick shit."

"He was my fiance," Sam explained. "And he got off on beating me and disrespecting me and treating me like a piece of garbage. He had me so scared to leave. I didn't know what end was up anymore and he closed me off from all of my family and my friends. And finally I just had enough and I took off. Came to New York to be with my brother. Start a new life."

Davis nodded slowly. "And he came to your apartment last night to do what, exactly?"

"He said he was there to convince me to go back to him. That he wasn't there to hurt me and he wanted us to get back together. And then he kissed me and…."

Davis' eyes narrowed. "He do anything else to you?"

She shook her head. "I would have killed him and he knows it."

"So what makes you think this asshole is even in New York City still?" Davis asked. "That he just didn't get back on the first plane out here and book it. Knowing that someone would most likely come after his ass for what he did?"

"He came to see me yesterday afternoon. Offered up some threats. Talked some shit. I've got uniforms sitting on his doorstep," Flack replied. "He moved here two weeks ago. Got a change in profession working out of New York City."

"What's he do?" Davis asked.

"He was a state trooper," Sam said. "Now he's apparently working with the US Marshal Service. Chasing federal fugitives."

Davis gave a grin. "I've had a run in with those bastards more then once. So is this guy a bad ass or does he just pretend he is?"

"He's insane," Sam told him.

"What do you think of him, Flack? What impression did you get when you met this bastard? He nuts? Just talk a lot? Little bit of both?"

"Honestly?" Flack asked. "He's a fucking wackjob and I'm worried he's going to get a hold of her on the street when no one is around and that will be the last we ever hear from her or see of her again. "

"So he's capable of some sick, heavy duty shit," Davis stated.

Flack nodded.

The other man sipped his drink slowly, mulling over the information, and his options, in his head. "What is it exactly you want done to this guy? You want the shit kicked out of him? A straight up beating? Or do you want something worse then that?"

"I don't want him dead," Samantha said. "I just want someone to teach him a lesson. I want someone to lay a beating on him like he used to do to me. Someone to make him grovel and beg for mercy. I want him to know what it felt like when he used to…" emotion choked at her and she laid a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry…" she said. "I don't mean to get like this."

Flack sighed heavily and laid a hand on the small of her back and rubbed softly and comfortingly.

"It's okay," Davis assured her, in a gentle, soothing tone that took Flack by surprise. "It's a hell of a thing to live through. My mother…she was a battered spouse. Stayed with my father for years until she finally did the right thing and packed the kids up and left in the middle of the night while he was passed out on the couch. Still chokes her up to talk about what he put her through. So it's okay to be like this."

Flack ran his hand up to the back of her neck and squeezed lightly before running his hand over her hair and pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes and leaned into him, reaching for his other hand and holding it tightly on his thigh.

Davis cleared his throat noisily. Attempting to wash away the lump of emotion in his own throat.

"What can you do for us?" Flack asked.

"I got some boys that would be more than willing to take care of your problem," Davis replied. "Make it look like a mugging out on the street. Put the boots to him. Make him think they're going to do worse. Maybe hold a gun on him, make him piss his pants. Sound like something you both can live with?"

They nodded.

"What do you want for all of this, Davis?" Flack asked bluntly.

The other man shrugged. "What you got to offer me?"

"You don't expect me to sleep with you, do you?" Sam inquired, sounding horrified at the thought.

Davis gave a small chuckle. "No offence, baby girl. You're hot and all that. But you're just not my type."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" Flack asked, sounding defensive.

"Easy, Flack, easy. I just said she was hot. She's just not my kind of hot. She's got that whole wild child mixed with bring home to momma thing going on. She ain't no trifling ho. And that's more my speed. I don't need the girl you marry and have babies with if you know what I'm saying. And I'd never do that to you or expect that from you. Me and you are tight, dawg."

"As much as I appreciate the mutual respect, I'd rather you be telling me what you want from us," Flack said.

"Like I said. What do you have to offer me? I'll tell you if that's enough."

She pulled away from Flack and grabbed her purse from its resting place on the coffee table. Zipping it open, she reached in and pulled out the velvet box and wrinkled tissue she'd packed inside before she'd left her apartment. She held the tissue out to Davis. "This is my old engagement ring," she said. "It has to be worth at least ten grand."

He leaned forward and took the item from her. Unwrapping the Kleenex, he dumped the sparkling ring into the palm of his hand. Holding the band between his thumb and forefinger, he held the ring up to the light and nodded approvingly.

"What you got in that box there?" he asked.

She sighed and looked down at the item clutched tightly in her hand. It was breaking her heart to have to part with the earrings. Sarge had given them to her and had made her promise to wear them on her wedding day like his mother and grandmother had before her, and to pass them down to a daughter if she managed to have one. Or a future daughter in law if she had a son.

Flack saw the hesitation in her eyes. He knew it was killing her to part with those earrings. But it wasn't his place to step in and order her to keep them. Because if Davis backed out on his deal to take care of Zack because of their failure to meet his needs, Sam would never, ever forgive him. And as badly as he wanted to take control of the situation, to snatch those earrings from her hand and take over, he knew that it was best if he let her handle things on her own. She was a big girl who made grown up decisions. And she deserved to be treated as such.

She held the box out to Davis, then took it back before he had the chance to grab it.

"What do you have in the box?" he asked gently.

She swallowed noisily and reluctantly passed the earrings over. "They're antique," she explained, as he flipped the lid open to inspect the contents. "Originally from Tiffany's. They're worth a fortune and they've been passed down through my step-dad's family. He gave them to me a while ago. And I was keeping them for the future."

"So they obviously mean a lot," Davis stated.

She nodded.

He snapped the lid closed. Breaking her heart as he laid the box down alongside the ring. "I'll take care of that little problem," he said. Finality in his voice. "I'll call you when it's done and I'll send some proof that my boys handled the situation."

Flack simply nodded and stood up and motioned for Sam to do that same. "Wish I could say thanks for this, Terrence."

Davis waved it off. "This kind of thing always leaves a sour taste in my mouth too. But judging by what you told me and what your girl told me last night, this bastard deserves what's coming to him. He deserves more, but with respect to the lady I'll have my boys do exactly what she wants."

"Such a gentleman," Flack snorted, snagging Sam's coat from the back of the love seat and helping her into it.

"You mind if I have a talk with your man?" Davis asked the pretty brunette. "Me and him have some things to discuss."

"Anything you have to say you can say in front of her," Flack said, slipping into his own jacket.

"This is a boys only talk," Davis informed him. "I'll get one of my guys to walk her to your car and make sure she's safe until you get down there."

Flack sighed and looked down at Sam.

She gave a nod and a small, reassuring smile.

Davis waved to one of his body guards- the one who'd answered the door- as he lingered in the doorway. Out of earshot, but still close enough to lend a hand if his boss got in trouble.

"Make sure she gets to her car and stay with her until my friend gets there," Davis ordered the other man. "Don't wanna take no chances with her. Understand me?"

"No problem, boss," the bodyguard said and laid a hand on Sam's back and motioned for her to go ahead of him.

"I won't be long," Flack promised, kissing her softly before handing over the keys to his SUV.

"I'll be okay," she assured him, her hand lingering on his arm, her eyes locked with his for several seconds before she stepped away. Her hand drifting down his arm, her fingers brushing along his before they lost all physical contact.

He stood and watched her go. Accompanied by a man that towered over her by a good foot and half and outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. A man more than capable of taking care of her.

_And he better do just fucking that,_ he thought. _Because anything happens to her, he's a dead man._

* * *

"So?" Flack asked, as he took a seat across from Davis once more. "What do you want to talk about? I don't have any money Terrence, so either that stuff my girlfriend gave you is enough or you might as well forget about doing this thing."

"I don't want any of your money," Davis told him. "Do I look like I need your money, Flack? You work for the city. Trust me, you don't have a damn thing I could want. Your monthly take home is pocket change to me. I just wanted to have a word."

"About?"

"I've got some information for you."

"What kind of information?"

"There's some word out on the street. One of my reliable sources has been feeding me the goods."

"Wanna be a little more specific, Terrence?"

"One of New York's biggest names in drugs is about to make a huge haul," Davis spoke quietly. "He's a rival of mine and I'd like to see him go down for some past ills he's done towards me."

"What kind of drugs and how much are we talking about?" Flack asked.

"Coke and heroin. And from what I heard, we're looking at five hundred key's coming into the city within the next month."

"Where's it coming in from?" Flack asked.

"Coming in through the Port Authority. On a cargo ship from Detroit. Hauling steel. Or suppose to be anyway. This guy is tight with the owners of the ship. He's going to cut them in on the cash he gets from selling the stuff."

"What's the dealer's name?"

"Paulo DiFrancesco. Big name in the biz. Been moving the shit for years. Multimillionaire."

"I'm going to need details, Terrence. I'm going to need to know date and exact time this shipment is expected at. I'm going to need all of this on paper, from you. Whatever you can tell me. Big or small."

"I know how this works, Flack. We've done business before."

"I'm going to have to take this to DHS and DEA. I'm homicide."

"I know that. I'll get the information and you tell who you need to. A'ight?"

Flack nodded and stood up.

"I've got something else," Davis said, nodding at the love seat, indicating for Flack to sit down.

"You're a fountain of info today," the detective said, taking his seat once more.

"I got the name of that PI that's been following you and your girl," Davis told him. "And apparently, he's got some pretty heavy shit on you two."

"What kind of heavy shit?"

"Photographs. Of you and her in some very private situations."

Flack snorted and shook his head. "Motherfucker….who in the hell cares about our sex life?"

"Apparently this ex does. And from what I heard, these pics? X-rated website material."

"Did you see them?"

Davis shook his head. "Just heard about them."

"What's this prick's name so I can go and nail his ass to the wall?"

"Anthony Martino."

Flack gave a laugh. "You shitting me?"

"You know him?"

"I've got personal ties to him. I interrogated him when I caught him in a vic's apartment. Turns out he was gathering info on her because she was busy gathering info on people this guy worked for. Made a comment to one of my buddies that he was there looking for my buddy's sister. Guy's a real scumbag."

"You want me to, I can take care of him, too," Davis offered.

Flack waved it off and stood up. "I'll take care of him myself. Thanks for the info."

Davis nodded and stood up as well. "Glad I could be of service."

"None of this gets back to the NYPD, Terrence. Me and Sam were never here."

"My boys will make sure no ties can be made to either of you," he assured the detective,

Flack offered his hand.

Davis smiled and shook it. "And here," he turned and scooped the ring and the velvet box up off of the couch. "Take these. That ring there is worth at least fifteen g's and those earrings at least three times that. I could tell they mean a lot to her. Give them back to her. And if she doesn't want that ring, sell the thing and get something for it. Treat herself to something nice."

"Terrence, I don't have anything else to give you…."

Davis sighed exasperatedly and grabbed a hold of Flack's hand and turned it palm up. "Take 'em," he demanded, setting the items down in the other man's hand. "They're yours. I don't want anything. You saved my ass big time. Consider this a favour."

Flack nodded in appreciation and tucked the ring and earrings into his pocket.

"I'll hit you up when I get that info," Davis said, walking the taller, stronger man to the door. "Don't go too bad cop on that PI, okay? Know you probably want to."

"Talk soon, Terrence," Flack told his CI as Davis opened the door and Flack stepped out into the hall.

"Don't do anything stupid," Davis warned him.

Flack didn't respond. He simply turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.

Anthony Martino was a good as dead and both Don Flack and Terrence Davis knew it.

* * *

No words were spoken on the drive home. Eye contact had barely been made since the moment Flack had arrived at the SUV and dismissed the guard that stood outside of Sam's door as she sat in the passenger's seat with the engine running and the heat and stereo on. She knew that he was pissed the moment she'd caught a glimpse of him out of her window. The cold, blunt way in which he'd dismissed the man watching over her and the way he'd slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows as he slipped behind the wheel. There'd been a permanent scowl on his face as he clipped on his seat belt and tossed the SUV into drive and peeled out into traffic.

She had been terrified to speak. Afraid he'd bite her head off if she even dared to utter a peep. No doubt furious with her for her behaviour in front of Terrence Davis. For breaking down and making herself appear fragile and vulnerable. Weak. Don Flack Jr didn't do weak and he expected those around him to follow his example.

So she had decided it was in her best interest to remain silent.

Which was how they had spent the entire drive and the elevator ride up to her apartment. Where Flack let them in using the spare key that she had given him just days before. It had felt surreal at the time. The two of them exchanging keys to their respective places. Those simple pieces of metal had signified a huge leap in their relationship.

She hadn't trusted a man that completely in her entire life and allowing him access to her home, her safe haven, was in essence like given him access into her innermost feelings and thoughts. Flack had never, in any of his previous relationships, ever come close to giving a woman a key to his place. Or accepting one from them. That was a massive step that he'd never been ready for. Living together was a huge deal. Even if co-habituating at that point in time meant splitting time at their individual apartments. With Sam, the key exchange signified a future. One he was hell bent on holding onto.

"I'm going to to and take a shower," Sam said, after they'd toed off their boots and he'd hung up their jackets and they stood in her small foyer.

They were less than a foot apart, but to her it seemed thousands of miles. She did her best to hide the tears that threatened and the fact her heart felt as if it was about to shatter into a million pieces.

"Danny and Lindsay will be here in a couple of hours," she reminded him when he didn't respond.

"I've got some catch up to do on my homework," Flack said. "Those case files I brought over need some serious attention before the dragon lady gets on my ass."

"Okay…" she fidgeted nervously with the hem of her sweater as she paused in the doorway to the living room. "Ummm…you're going to be here when I get out of the shower, right?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, pulling off his baseball cap and hanging it on the knob of the front door. He ran a hand through his hair. "Unless you don't want me to be here. Danny and I were going to hang out while you and Monroe went shopping. And I thought we were going to try a few nights at your place and a few nights at mine…"

"We are," she responded. "I just…I guess I thought maybe you'd want to take off because you're so pissed off at me."

"What makes you think I'm pissed at you?" he asked, not looking at her as he pulled his cell phone from the holder and flipped it open.

For some reason, the indifference he was showing by checking for messages on his phone was the straw that broke the camel's back. Because that indifference, whether he meant it or not, seemed cold and mean. And undeserving.

"Maybe because you'd rather check your goddamn phone then have a conversation with me."

"I'm just checking some missed calls to make sure no one important was trying to get a hold of me," he reasoned.

Her heart literally crumbled. The tears she'd been fighting so valiantly now sprung to her eyes in full force.

"And here I was thinking I was that someone important," she said, and turned her back on him and left. She refused to give any man the satisfaction of knowing she was crying over them. No man deserved to know that they had that effect on you.

"Samantha, what is the big deal?!" he called after her.

"Please just leave me alone!" she responded. Her words shortly followed by the slamming of her bedroom door.

Fucking women, Flack thought and tossed his cell phone on the kitchen counter and went after her. The bedroom itself was empty. Her clothes and undergarments were thrown on top of the unmade bed. His eyes fell on the astonishingly sexy pink and white lace bra and g-string ensemble she'd purchased at Fredrick's of Hollywood, her favourite store in the world. The woman didn't own a normal pair of underwear. Underneath her often conservative attire, was some majorly hot barely there panties and bras. First time he'd ever seen her work clothes come off to reveal a crotchless pair of red lace undies, he'd nearly died and gone to heaven.

As much as he would have liked to have been the one to pull off those clothes and underwear on the bed, he had bigger fish to fry at the moment. The shower wasn't going in the ensuite bath, but the water in the sink was running.

And the door was locked.

"Babe," he said, jiggling the doorknob. "Open up."

"Please," she begged. "I need some time alone."

"And I need you to open the door and talk to me."

"Donnie, please. Just leave me alone."

He sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. "Sammie…I know I'm not the most sensitive guy in the world."

She snorted.

"And I know I do some dumb ass things. I shouldn't have been on the phone while you were trying to talk to me. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," she said. "Now can you please…."

"Leave you alone? If that's what you want."

"It is," she insisted.

"Okay. Fine. Do you actually want me to leave or just go in another room or what?"

No response. Silence was always a bad thing. It meant she was contemplating her options. And there shouldn't have been an option. It she really wanted him there, she would have said so.

"I'll call you later, okay?" he said through the door. "I'll give you some alone time and I'll call you this evening sometime."

Again no response.

"I'll call you," he told her and backed away from the bathroom and turned to head to the door. His hand barely coming in contact with the handle when he heard the soft click of the bathroom door opening behind him.

He turned and saw her standing in the doorway. Her hair flowing down her back, a stark contrast against the white bath towel wrapped around her slender body.

"I don't want you to go," she said, her voice quiet, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Please don't go."

"What's wrong, Sammie?" he asked, slowly walking towards her.

"I'm sorry," she said in response. "I'm sorry if I let you down."

"What? What do you mean by that? Why….?"

"I never should have cried in front of Terrence Davis. I know how I must have looked. Like some weak and pathetic little girl and…"

"It made you look human. Like a young woman who put up with too much bullshit in her life. You actually thought that I was pissed at you?"

She nodded. "I thought I'd disappointed you and that…"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her tears away. "I could never be disappointed in you. I thought you were amazing and that you were strong and that you handled the entire thing with dignity and self respect. I know it wasn't easy for you. Going there today. Making the decisions you did."

"I just don't want you to be mad at me," she said.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm not mad at you," he told her. "I can't believe you thought that."

"You came out of Terrence's apartment and you seemed so angry," she said. "I just thought that…."

"I was pissed because of some stuff he told me after you left. Work related stuff. Information he's getting for me. It had nothing to do with you or what's going on with Zack. It's job crap."

"Really?" she asked with a sniffle.

He nodded and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Really."

"I just thought that you were…."

He silenced her with a long, soft kiss. "You think too much," he informed her. "You know that, don't you?"

"One of my many faults," she said with a small smile.

"You need to stop being so hard on yourself."

"Another one of my many faults," she laughed. "Boy, I am one fucked up human being."

"You've just got issues, Sammie. Hell, we all do. Just…you need to stop trying to deal with them all on your own. I'm here. Right in front of you. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"Go and take your shower," he said, giving her a chaste kiss. "I'll just go and…."

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a searing, toe curling kiss.

"Are those case files really that important?" she asked.

"Well they need to get done," he replied, breathless from the kiss.

"You can always stay up late tonight to do them," she reasoned, pulling away from him and walking backwards towards the bathroom door.

"I could," he said. "But what if I get called in?" he asked.

"Don't answer the damn phone," she replied, stopping in the doorway to the bathroom.

"I could get in shit with the dragon lady for that."

"Oh well," she said with a sigh and dropped her towel.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Are you a sex maniac?" he asked.

She gave a devilish smile. "You're turning me into one," she replied and crooking her finger, motioned at him to come towards her.

"I'm one hell of a lucky guy," he declared, yanking of his shirt and hurying for the bathroom.

"Yes," she said, kicking the door closed behind him. "You are."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Please, please review folks! Makes my day!**

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	17. Girl talk boy talk

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF THIS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**THIS CHAPTER BEARS A STRONG T RATING.**

**SCREAMING MIMI'S IS AN ACTUAL COSTUME STORE IN NYC. I OBVIOUSLY DON'T OWN IT.**

**SO, 202 REVIEWS IN 16 CHAPTERS! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! THANKS FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT! PLEASE KEEP IT UP!**

**AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL OF MY READERS. MAY GOD BLESS AND KEEP YOU ALL AND FIND YOU ALL SAFE AND HAPPY! KEEP WARM, DRIVE SAFE AND HAVE FUN! I AM TOASTING YOU ALL WITH MY THIRD IRISH COFFEE AS I WRITE THIS!**

**CHEERS! BEG 75**

**P.S.: Please read the song. If that's not a song for our Sammie, from our Flackie, I don't know what is.**

* * *

**Girl talk/boy talk**

"She's sun and rain, she's fire and ice  
A little crazy but it's nice  
And when she gets mad, you best leave her alone  
'Cause she'll rage just like a river  
Then she'll beg you to forgive her  
She's every woman that I've ever known  
She's so New York and then LA  
And every town along the way  
She's every place that I've never been  
She's making love on rainy nights  
She's a stroll through Christmas lights  
And she's everything I want to do again  
It needs no explanation  
'Cause it all makes perfect sense  
For when it comes down to temptation  
She's on both sides of the fence  
She's anything but typical  
She's so unpredictable  
Oh but even at her worst it ain't that bad  
She's as real as real can be  
And she's every fantasy  
Lord she's every lover that I've ever had  
And she's every lover that I've never had."  
-She's Every Woman, Garth Brooks

* * *

"Slutty Tinkerbell!" Sam cried, as she stepped out of the dressing room at Screaming Mimi's on Lafayette Street.

Lindsay had googled New York City costume stores and Screaming Mimi's had been advertised as one of the best, if not the best, in the entire city. Carrying thousands upon thousands of costumes for all sizes and ages, male or female. The prices ranged from modest to extremely outrageous. As did the spectrum scale of what was appropriate to wear to an office sponsored charity event.

Sam had chosen two Tinkerbell outfits to try on. One was more childlike. A soft green tulle skirt that just skimmed the top of her knees and puffed out like a tutu. It was accompanied by a form fitting, cap sleeve white and mint green top, shimmering white tights, white ballet slippers, gossamer wings, a sparkling tiara and elaborate magic wand that actually sprinkled fairy dust if she waved it over someone's head or tapped them with it. It had been both hers and Lindsay's choice when the sales girl had brought both costumes over when Sam had announced her choice of Disney character for the ball. If she wore her hair up in a sweep like she had planned, and dusted her body with shimmering powder and put on some glittery makeup, she'd be the quintessential Tinks.

But Sam, often indulging in the wilder side of life, could not resist trying both costumes on.

The second outfit, which her best friend now sported, caused Lindsay Monroe's eyes to widen considerably and her jaw to drop to the floor. Samantha's willowy, sex goddess body on near full display in an emerald green sequined number that barely covered her ass and was cut dangerously low in the front and the back. The only modest part of the costume being the tank style sleeves.

"I look like Tinkerbell getting ready to turn tricks on Lexington," Sam giggled, admiring herself in the full length mirror on the front of her dressing room door. She turned this way and that, sucking her non existent stomach in as she checked out her front view, tucking in her J-Lo ass as she took a look at the back side of things.

"You look like you're going to a Halloween party at the Playboy Mansion," Lindsay commented with a laugh. "Reign your girls in there, Sammie."

"My girls are my best feature," she declared, bending over and fixing her undergarment, shaking her boobs into the cups of her bra. A move that only caused her set to become even more pronounced. Much to the delight of a group of young men -no older than freshmen at college- eyeing costumes on the other side of the store.

"You're hot!" one of them called over. Tall, extremely well built, café au lait skin, a brush cut and incredible green eyes both women could see from where they were.

"Why thanks, doll," Sam drawled in a faux southern accent. "And you're all hot and stuff yourself, but I'm old enough to be your mother."

"I'm twenty," he called back, as he and his friends chuckled. And flirted.

"And I'm thirty-four. And I started my period at ten, so it's possible I could have given birth to you."

"Maybe I like older women," he shrugged.

"And maybe I like men who are old enough to shave and know what they're doing when they go down under," Sam shot back. "Keep your eyes off the prize, a'ight?"

Lindsay laughed, shaking her head. "Every time I go out with you somewhere, Sammie, it's always a whole new adventure."

"I keep your life exciting and interesting, bumpkin," Sam declared. "God.." she complained, sucking her stomach in. "I like it but it shows off my rolls."

Lindsay let out a bark of laughter. "What rolls? Seriously. You're kidding right? You don't have any rolls. Give me a break."

"There's a bit right here," Sam said, pinching her sides. "It's Don's favourite spot to snack on."

"Sammie, it's probably one of his favs. Something tells me that further down and to the front is his all time favourite."

Sam gave a dramatic gasp and covered her ears. "My virgin ears!"

"Please! Nothing has been virgin about you for a while. And after what you told me about last night while we were on the subway? Well let's say Donald Flack Jr has finally gone where only one other man has gone before. Now we don't have to put up with bitchy, sexually frustrated Flack anymore. Now he's just going to have a permanent, goofy grin on his face."

"Oh he's more than satisfied," Sam declared. "Or at least I hope he is."

"You actually doubt it?" Lindsay asked. "How could you doubt it? I mean, did he not tell you he enjoyed it?"

"Lots of times. During and after. Especially when I nearly left him comatose this afternoon when I…"

"How's it going ladies?" the sales clerk, clad in an Elvira costume completely with black leather stiletto boots and pale white skin and shocking black hair, asked cheerfully as she approached.

Lindsay reached down between her feet and picked up the plastic bag bearing Screaming Mimi's logo. She held it up with a smile. More than satisfied with her purchase of a Cinderella costume complete with 'glass' slippers and a tiara. She had planned on sticking to Sam's Peter Pan theme and going as Wendy, but the Cinderella get up had been too hard to resist.

"Well check you out," the sales girl turned to Sam and eyed the petite brunette from head to toe, an approving smile on her lips. "Fits you like a second skin. I thought you'd decided to go with the more respectful Tinkerbell as you called it."

"I did," Sam said. "I just…" she checked herself out in the mirror once again. "I'm worried this makes me look like a heffer."

Lindsay laughed. "Give it up, Sammie. What the hell are you looking at to think you look fat?"

Sam sighed and smoothed her hands down her sides and turned left, then right. Then right around. "I'll take it," she announced.

"You can't wear that to an NYPD ball!" her best friend cried. "Are you insane? Can you imagine Sinclair's face?"

"His wife will thank me when he goes home with a raging hard on," Sam said. "And this isn't for the ball. This is just for me. And some very, very lucky man waiting at home. Think Don will like it? Think a dirty Tinkerbell will do something to him if I leave the leggings and panties off?"

"Sam!" Lindsay gasped, slapping a hand to her forehead in exasperation.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Just asking…"

"I don't see how any man couldn't get turned on by that little number," the sales girl commented. Then gave Sam another long once over. "And some women for that matter."

Lindsay blushed furiously.

Sam took it all in stride. It wasn't the first time she'd been hit on by a woman, and it wouldn't be the last. She simply gave one of her dazzling smiles. A mixture of friendliness and flirtation before slipping back into the change room.

Lindsay briefly closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Excuse me?" the sales girl asked quietly, as she crouched down at Lindsay's feet.

Lindsay opened her eyes.

"Your friend there," the other woman spoke quietly. Secretly. "She has a boyfriend?"

Lindsay nodded.

"Is it a serious thing or…"

"It's a serious thing."

"Hmmm…well, do you know if she has a thing for women, too?"

Lindsay blinked. "Ummm…I don't think so…but you never know. I mean, she's never mentioned it to me if she does."

"Well if you ever get on to the topic, here…" reaching into the neckline of her costume, the young woman pulled a business card out from her bra. "…give this to her, would you?"

"I don't think…"

"Excuse me, miss?" a customer called from the front of the store.

"Tell her she won't regret it," the sales girl said and tucked the card into Lindsay's hand before standing up and hurrying off.

The door to the change room clicked open and Sam emerged, shaking out her hair and carrying a costume over each arm.

"You've got a new member to the Sammie Ross fan club," Lindsay informed her, standing up and holding out the card. "Sales girl wants you to give her a tumble."

"Really?" Sam gave a small giggle and took the business card. "That's flattering."

"Are you serious?"

She nodded and slipped the numbers into one of her jean pockets. "Don will love it. He's always going on about me and another woman. As long as he gets to watch or join in."

"Way too much information!" Lindsay cried, following her best friend to the cash register. "So would you ever do it?" she asked curiously.

"A threesome? With Don and someone else?"

Lindsay nodded.

"Who knows. Maybe. But it would have to be another guy."

"Like someone you know?"

Sam shrugged and laid the costumes down on the counter. "There's a couple of guys."

Lindsay's eyes widened. "Do we work with them?"

"Just with one. And no, before you ask, it's not Danny."

"Hawkes?" Lindsay asked curiously.

Sam shook her head.

"Well that really only leaves one person. Unless its one of them young and cute lab techs."

"No. You're thinking of the right person. Older man, very mature. Very handsome."

"Mac!" Lindsay cried. "You actually think that way about Mac?"

"Shhh…" Sam placed a finger over her lips. "Our little secret."

"For a near virgin, you're a dirty little girl, Samantha Ross," her best friend declared.

The brunette gave a sly smile. "I'm getting there. You up for some excitement of the sexy kind?"

Lindsay frowned. "Depends on what kind of sexy."

"Me, you, and a very good friend of mine named Fredrick," Sam replied. "Trust me, Danny will thank me for taking you there."

Lindsay took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "School me, Sam Ross. School me."

Sam grinned. "I most certainly will," she promised.

* * *

"So," Danny leaned forward and snagged a slice of pepperoni pizza from one of the two boxes that sat propped open on Samantha's coffee table. "What do you think the two lovely ladies in our lives are up to right now?"

"Spending money they don't actually have," Flack replied, propping his feet on the edge of the coffee table and he leaned against the back of the couch. An open bottle of beer between his legs, a plate full of food in his hands.

They'd ordered two large pizzas from Ray's. One just plain cheese and the other with cheese and pepperoni and two large orders of barbecue wings. A two-four of Bud that Danny had purchased on the way over, sat on the floor next to the sofa.

"You say no way in hell to the costume ball thing, too?" Danny asked, biting into his slice.

"Do I really look like the kind of guy that's going to dress up as a Disney character, Messer? I paid for her ticket and gave her the fifty bucks it would have cost me to go. Told her to spend it on alcohol and the silent auction. Consider that my donation to the charity."

"You're being generous with your money there, Flack," Danny teased. "Handing her your wallet at the bar, buying her that ring for Christmas, shelling out the green for whatever her little heart desires."

"And you don't do that for, Monroe?" the detective asked, sipping his beer. "You're as whipped as they come."

"Hey! I am not whipped. I am simply a man in love."

Flack snorted.

"Okay…so I'm whipped. But there's a huge difference between what I do for Montana and the things you do for Brooklyn."

"What's the difference? We're both insanely in love with who we're with and we're both wrapped around their baby fingers."

"But Montana is my fiancee," Danny argued. "We're getting married soon. And you and Sam are…well, what are you and Sam?"

"Boyfriend and girlfriend."

"I know that. But I mean how serious is it?"

Flack shrugged.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Danny asked. "Either it's serious, or it's not. Plain and simple. Not that you two have finally sealed the deal, you must get some sort of inkling where this is all going with you two."

"I've got a couple of things I'm considering," his best friend responded.

"Like…"

"What does it matter to you? Why is mine and Sam's relationship so important to you?"

"Maybe because I'm your best friend and I worry about you. I want you to be happy. And she's a great girl and I know you love her and she loves you. And I also know I'm going to beat your ass royally if you fuck things up with her. So quit dodging my questions. How serious is serious? Like asking her to marry you serious?"

"What?" Flack gave a laugh. "I don't think so. We're not even close to that."

"You don't ever think of forever with her? About having kids with her and making her into a wife? Stuff like that?"

"Sure. I think it about it a lot."

"So what's the deal? Say the word and we'll take a jaunt to Tiffany's and wipe that savings account of yours clean."

"The deal is that Sam isn't anywhere ready to marry me," Flack told the other man. "Alright? She's a long way off from a move like that. She's not ready to be someone's wife. And I respect that and I'm not going to go out and buy her a ring and ask her to marry me when she's only going to say no."

"But you want to ask her," Danny stated. "Or you wouldn't be talking like that."

"It's not the case of whether I want to ask her or not."

"Do you want to or don't you want to?"

"I want to, alright!" Flack yelled. "Christ, Messer. You're so annoying. Get off of my ass already! I want to ask her but I'm not going to. Fuck! Lay off about it already!"

"You don't know she's going to say no. She might surprise you and say yes."

Flack shook his head. "Give it a rest, okay? I'm not asking her. That's just the way it is. She's not ready for that. I think I know her better then you do. So just stop."

"Alright, alright…" Danny held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just saying that you never know…"

"I know! Okay? I know! I know she'd turn me down and I don't want to go through that shit. Now would you just shut your trap about it."

"Easy, Flack, easy," Danny patted his best friend's shoulder. "I didn't know talking about this was such a soft spot for you."

"Well it is. So stop talking about it."

"Fine," Danny said and sat back against the couch, munching his pizza while watching the early edition of Sports Center on ESPN. "So what are you guys going to do for Valentine's Day? You got plans for the girl or what?"

"What are you and Monroe going to do?" Flack inquired in response, biting into his own slice.

"I'm going to have some flowers sent to her office. Give her some expensive chocolate. I bought her a pair of diamond stud earrings that cost me a mint and I'm taking her out to dinner at Tavern on the Green. Followed by a quiet, candle and sex filled night at home."

"Impressive," Flack said, slowly nodding his head.

"What you got going down for Brooklyn?"

"I'm doing the flowers thing, too. That was one of the things she specifically told Monroe she wanted. Along with dinner at The Russian Tea Room."

"Fancy…" Danny said with an approving nod.

"Got her this diamond and pink sapphire Hello Kitty necklace I saw online," Flack added. "It's an outline of Hello Kitty's head. It's diamonds and the bow is the pink sapphires."

"She's going to shit herself when she sees that," Danny declared. "You'll be getting lucky for sure with that present."

"And we're spending the night at the St. Regis," the detective said. "Booked us a king deluxe suite. Complete with a complimentary wet bar and a Jacuzzi tub. And round the clock concierge and room service. Sam doesn't know about it. It's a surprise. I'm going to pack her a bag and surprise her after dinner by taking her over to the hotel."

Danny stared long and hard at his friend.

"What?" his best friend asked around a mouthful of pizza.

"Fuck you. Flack," Danny grumbled. "You just gotta go and out do me. Walk away with the prize for boyfriend of the year."

"I'm only doing it because I want to," he defended himself. "Because she deserves to be spoiled and because I like to buy her nice things."

"Bullshit. You're doing it to ensure that you get laid."

Flack grinned. "Well that too. But I would have been getting laid whether I shelled out tons of money on her or not. She can't resist me. I've created a total nympho. And I get to teach her everything. Zack didn't do shit for her. Me? To her I look like the damn sex Czar or something. I can shape her and mould her into exactly what I need. Not to mention the things I can do to her."

"Lucky bastard," Danny huffed and sipped his beer.

"You know that she doesn't own a single pair of cotton underwear? Like no bikinis, no French cut, no briefs. Nothing. The girl owns nothing but stuff from Victoria Secret and Fredrick's of Hollywood. Lace, satin. Thongs, g-strings, crazy little things with bows that tie on her hips and other ones that zip up or lace up in the back. Cute little ruffled things that look like skirts. And Danny…get this. Crotchless ones."

"Get outta here? She wears stuff like that? I thought only strippers wore stuff like that."

"I don't even think strippers wear this stuff. It's unreal. I have never, ever dated a woman that wears underwear like that. Sure the basic thong and shit. But not this stuff, Mess. This is some seriously kinky shit."

"Are you complaining? Tell me you're complaining so I can kick your ass."

"Definitely not a complaint. But it's kinda hard to be running late for work and trying to get ready in the same room as her and watching her put those things on. 'Cause she puts them on in front or me and I am done."

"How'd you have so much self control?" Danny asked. "How'd you not throw her down and do your thing a long time ago?"

Flack sighed and shook his head, bottle of beer poised near his lips. "I have no fucking clue to be honest. It was a struggle. Patience and respect for her I guess."

"You got the damn patience of a saint then," Danny declared. "'Cause I never would have lasted that long. I would have seen her in that first pair of undies and jumped her. Honest to God."

"Monroe doesn't wear sexy stuff for you?" Flack asked. "Come on. She must."

"The occasional thong and bikinis. Nothing fancy. Couple teddies here and there. But not stuff that your girl apparently parades around in."

"You gotta get her to Fredrick's or Victoria's Secret," Flack said.

"Actually," Danny said and leaned forward and snagged his cell phone from where it said on the coffee table.

"Who you calling?" Flack asked curiously.

"Giving your girlfriend a ring," Danny replied, hitting three on speed dial and waiting for Sam to answer. "If she can score me some of them underwear, I will promise her my first born."

"I don't think they sell your size in crotchless underwear, Mess. And honestly, the visual of you in them, makes me sick to my stomach."

"Smart ass," Danny muttered. "Yeah…Brooklyn? It's Messer. I got a favour to ask…" he chuckled. "Sounds good to me but I don't think we should be talking dirty to each other with Flack in the room. Let me retreat somewhere more private and we can chat all we want."

"In your wildest and wettest," Flack snorted.

"I need a favour," Danny said into the phone. "Flack's been telling me some interesting things about you…well, that too. But this was about things you wear. Most specifically your underwear. And the place you buy them. Do you think maybe you could…" a broad smile crossed his face. "You're a Godsend. Alright. Ciao, Bella."

"So?" Flack asked, as Danny hung up and tossed his phone on the coffee table.

"Looks like you and Brooklyn just inherited the first kid Montana and I pop out," his best friend replied.

* * *

"I can't believe you actually wear things like this," Lindsay whispered, as she stood watching Samantha Ross flip through a display of barely there underwear at the Fredrick's of Hollywood store in downtown Brooklyn.

"What's wrong with them?" Sam asked, holding up a pair of scarlet red satin thongs with a keyhole shape in front and back. "I think they're totally hot."

"There's nothing wrong with them," her best friend said. "It's just that they're…I don't know…they're just a little over the top."

"I figure I'd make a statement through my underwear," Sam told her. "I may not be the most sexually experienced woman in the world, but I can still feel like a sex kitten. And I let my undergarments do the job. I own just about everything in the Naughty Knickers collection."

"The what?" Lindsay asked with a giggle.

"Naughy Knickers," Sam gestured to the surrounding displays. "Those black lace g-string over there? With the rhinestone straps? That's Don's personal favourite. I have one in each colour. But these ones?" she held up the keyhole panties. "These are new to the collection. I'm going to buy one in each colour."

"You're insane," Lindsay declared, as the other woman snagged several pairs of the same style of underwear and tossed them into the basket dangling on her right arm. "He's going to pass out when he sees you in those."

"I plan on giving him a fashion show later tonight. But passing out is not the reaction I am hoping for."

"I've been best friends with you for more than a year," Lindsay said, as Sam moved to the next display. "And I never would have imagined that you'd be the type to wear stuff like this."

"It's always the ones you least expect, Bumpkin," Sam reminded her. She bit her lip in concentration as she contemplated her choice between three items. Before deciding on a black pair of satin g-strings with tulle ruffles along the hips and a tiny bow at the front, and rhinestone embellishment at the back. Then helping herself to the other colours as well.

"You and your retail therapy," Lindsay said. "I think I'll just leave you here to buy your stripper undies and I'll stick with the basic thongs and bikinis. The tame stuff."

"I think not," Sam declared, grabbing a hold of her best friend's hand and yanking her back before she could escape. "I am on a mission here."

"What kind of mission?"

"Small, right?" Sam asked, moving to a display of racy lace undies with no crotch and satin bows above the ass.

"Small what?" Lindsay inquired innocently.

Sam rolled her eyes and snagged three pairs of underwear. One in black, the other in red and the final pair on hot pink, and tossed them into Lindsay's basket. "I will start you off nice and slow considering you're a Fredrick's virgin."

"I can't wear those!" Lindsay cried. "Are you nuts!"

"You can wear those and you will!" Sam ordered. "In fact, when you get home tonight, you are going to go into the bathroom and put one one and surprise Danny with it. We'll even find you some matching bras."

"Danny won't even recognize me!" Lindsay declared as she followed her friend as Sam marched through the store. "He's used to a more simple, understated me."

"And now he's going to LOVE the sexy, racy you," Sam said, leading the way to the bra section. "He will love that you are spicing things up a little. Now you pick the matching bras while I go and look at the lingerie. I need a little special something for Valentine's Day."

"What kind of special something?" Lindsay asked.

"I will know it when I see it!" Sam called as she headed for the front of the store.

Lindsay sighed and shook her head and turned to the wide variety of bras. Samantha Ross was insane. Truly and surely insane. But she was fun loving and happy go lucky.

And one hell of a best friend.

Fifteen minutes had passed before Lindsay, satisfied with her picks, journeyed to the lingerie section, where the petite brunette was holding up a daring, see through red baby doll with elaborate embroidery on the cups and a skinny ribbon that tied into a bow just below the breasts and was accompanied by matching panties.

"What do you think?" Sam asked, holding it up to her body. "Does it suit me? I was thinking of getting some red stilettos and a garter to go with it. Wear my hair down."

"What reaction are you going for?" Lindsay asked. "You want an immediate raging hard on, fuck me senseless reaction or a let's have a couple of hours of foreplay followed by slow and sensuous love making?"

"Hmm…" Sam considered it. "I'm looking for a baby, I need you here and now. Climb aboard and have fun."

"That's definitely the one then," Lindsay laughed. "And what is this?" she asked, as she bent down and scooped up a navy blue, spandex and nylon outfit. An extremely short skirt designed to barely cover the ass, a fitted shirt cut way above the navel with a plunging neck line and fishnet garter stockings with a small silver handcuffs at the top of them. "Are you kidding me?" she laughed, holding it up.

"Isn't it deliciously naughty?" Sam giggled. "A sexy cop. That will be the first outfit I bring out on Valentines Day. I figured I can use real handcuffs. To hell with fake ones. Think Don will like it?"

"Like it? He'll go nuts. Does he really like seeing you in stuff like this, Sam? Like what does he act like when you come out wearing underwear like that and outfits like this?"

"He goes insane," Sam responded, dropping her lingerie into her basket before scooping it up.

"Like how insane?" Lindsay asked, as they headed for the cash register.

"Insane as in he's swallowed a whole bottle of Viagra insane."

Lindsay laughed and shook her head.

"I am so not kidding," Sam told her. "He so as much gets a peek of the undies and he's done. I use them as my secret weapon. I tell him he gets to see the whole thing if he does what I say."

"Does it work? Does he do what you say?"

"How do you think I got the light bulb in my bathroom changed after three months? Or how I got my bedroom painted? Naughty Knickers are my second best weapon in my aresenal."

"What's the first?"

Sam stuck her tongue out, the piercing on full display.

"You are something else, Samantha Ross," Lindsay declared.

"I am sugar and spice and everything nice," her best friend said. "With a little bit of kink tossed in for good measure. Face it, Bumpkin. You wouldn't want me any other way."

Lindsay Monroe simply nodded. The truth was, as odd and eccentric as Sam could be, Lindsay didn't know how the hell she'd ever survived so long without the little Brooklyn girl in her life.

* * *

Danny yawned noisily and stretched out on his couch. It was shortly before eleven at night and he'd been home for a little under an hour. Despite quite the buzz he'd developed from the dozen beers he'd consumed at Flack's, he'd managed to walk a straight line and get himself into the apartment, a steaming shower and a pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt. Now he relaxed with a steaming cup of coffee and Sports Center.

"Aren't you coming to bed, Danny?" Lindsay asked, as she leaned against the wall in the entrance way of the living room, clad in her thick terry cloth bathrobe.

"In a while," he replied. "I just wanna catch the last of the scores."

"Didn't you and Flack watch the Ranger game?" she inquired, moving slowly into the room.

"We did. But ten other teams were playing tonight and I wanna keep up on the stats. That hockey pool at the lab is getting intense and I'm near the top. I wanna stay there so I need to keep an eye on my guys. In case I gotta make trades and what not."

"Boys and their sports," she sighed and stood in front of the television, facing her fiance.

"There's big money riding on that hockey pool," Danny informed her. "It's not something to be taken lightly. Now do me a favour, and step away from the tv."

"No," she said.

"What? Come on. Don't be difficult. I'll pay attention to you when Sports Center is over."

"Now," she demanded. "Pay attention to me now."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Don't be like this, Montana. This is serious stuff here."

"And so is this and so am I," she informed him.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Lindsay Monroe…step away from the television."

She shook her head adamantly, her hands resting on the belt of her robe. Before undoing it slowly.

"What in the hell could be so important that you need me to pay attention to you right this second?" he asked. "All I'm asking for is ten minutes here. Ten minutes and I'm all yours and then…"

His words were cut off and the breath hitched in his lungs as she quickly and unabashedly dropped her robe, allowing it to puddle at her ankles. The sight that greeted him taking him by surprise. His eyes widening at the sexiness and sheer beauty of her. Her creamy skin on full display in an electric blue satin push up bra and a matching pair of panties with sparkling sequins on the whisper thing straps that sat on her hips.

"Jesus Christ…" he breathed.

"Do you like it?" she asked nervously, fighting the urge to bring her arms across her chest to cover herself up.

"Like it? Hell no. I love it. Turn around for me, baby."

She blushed slightly at the intense way he was studying her, and the desire in his voice. She turned slowly, presenting him with her back.

"Shit, Lindsay…" he gulped noisily at the sight of her firm, beautiful ass. As bare as the day she was born. The sight of her like that turning him on more then he could ever possibly tell her.

"Danny?" she asked uncertainly.

"You're gorgeous, baby," he told her. "Turn around and get over here."

She did as she was instructed and walked slowly towards him.

He laid his hands on her slender hips ad leaned forward to press kisses along her smooth, flat stomach. Then turned her once again. Holding her firmly in place by her hips, he used the tip of his tongue to trail along the edge of her sexy panties.

Lindsay whimpered and shivered at the sensation. Her hands resting on top of his, their fingers entwining tightly.

"That feel good?" he asked, his mouth lingering on the small of her back. "You like that?"

"That feels real good," she replied in a near whisper, her chin dropping down to her chest, her eyes closed.

"But do you like it?" he inquired. "I asked you if you liked it."

She nodded. "I love it," she told him.

"I know what else you'll love," he said, removing his fingers from hers and sliding his hands around to her ass, caressing and fondling the smooth cheeks before moving his hands back to her hips and hooking his fingers in the straps of her panties. "Do me a favour?" he asked.

"Anything," she replied.

"You take these off," he demanded gently, removing his fingers. "Then do exactly what I saw afterwards, okay?"

She nodded and pushed the panties down quickly and stepped out of them. Vaguely aware of the movement behind her as Danny stood up long enough to rid himself of his sweats before sitting down once again.

"You ready for me, Lindsay?" he asked. "Are you ready for what I have in store for you?"

"Danny…what…"

"I want you to stay just the way you are with your back facing me," he instructed. "But I want you to stand between my legs and lower yourself slowly…okay?"

"Okay," she said, and moved backwards until she was standing between his legs.

"Slowly, Lindsay…" he whispered, kissing her back. "Slowly…"

She did as she was told. Feeling the way in which he guided her with one hand on her hip. The shuddering at the sensation of being penetrated by his thick, hard cock. "Danny…" she moaned, as his one hand slipped up the front of her to pinch at her nipples.

"I've got you, baby," he promised, taking control of the thrusts, one hand moving her hips in time with his while the other played with her breasts.

"Forever?" she asked breathlessly.

"And ever," he vowed.

She smiled softly. Hearing the honesty and love in his voice.

Hearing forever.

* * *

Flack glanced over at the clock radio sitting on the nightstand next to him. The illuminated red numbers read 11:47. He sighed heavily, yawned noisily and rubbed at the back of his neck. Almost midnight and he still had at least two hours of work ahead of him. If not more.

He sat on his side of the queen size bed, back against the brass headboard, his legs stretched out and his notebook propped open on his lap. Case files spread out next to him. There was no way in hell he was going to get all that work done. More specifically, there was no way in hell he was going to get all that work done while sitting up in bed when Sam needed to get some rest. He was more than capable of functioning on little to no sleep. Sam on the other hand….

The bedroom door swung open and he looked over, smiling at his girlfriend as she stepped into the room, wearing a pair of Winnie the Pooh track pants and one of his t-shirts as she carried a plate of cold pizza and a neon green plastic tumbler filled with milk.

"Having fun yet?" she asked, holding her drink out to him, an invitation to hold it for her.

"Loads," he replied, taking the milk and sipping it as she climbed onto the bed. "Did you not eat while you were out?" he asked, as she settled down beside him, her legs crossed Indian style.

"I had a huge steak, loaded baked potato and a side salad," she informed him. "Why?"

"Pizza at midnight?" he asked.

She stole a glance at the clock. "It's ten to, actually."

Flack rolled his eyes.

She laughed and set her plate down in front of her and took the milk from him, placing the cup between her legs. "I needed a snack," she said, picking up a slice and biting into it.

"Where do you put it all?" he asked. "You're like a size two."

"I wish! I'm a size eight and you know that. Sometimes I even hover around a ten. Face it, your girfriend is a porker."

"That's okay," Flack told her. "I don't mind being called a chubby chaser."

"Excuse me?! Are you saying I'm fat?"

"I am saying no such thing."

"You just said you don't mind being called a chubby chaser. So you're insinuating that I'm chubby."

"No. I was insinuating that if you did gain weight, say climb into the mid or high teens in sizes, it wouldn't bother me."

"So you've dated bigger girls?"

He shrugged. "A few times," he admitted.

"Hmmm…"

"What's that suppose to mean?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm just surprised that's all. I didn't take you for the type to date someone like that."

"Who'd you take me to date?"

"Women like Devon and Angell," she said. "Who are skinny enough to hula hoop with a Cheerio. But I guess being a chubby chaser explains why you moved on to me."

"First off, you're not chubby. Not even close. Second, I moved on to you as you so elegantly put it, because I was falling in love with you. So knock this crap off where you put yourself down all the time. You're beautiful. From head to toe, inside and out. Never doubt that. And to be honest, your looks weren't the first thing that attracted me to you."

"Please do not give me some lame ass shit that it was my personality."

"It's not lame," Flack argued. "It's the truth. It was your personality. 'Cause you laughed easily and when you laughed your nose crinkled and your eyes sparkled. 'Cause you've never treated a guy with a lowly grade twelve like shit despite your education. And because you've got all that sensitivity and compassion. And I've never known anyone like that."

She smiled and kissed his cheek, followed by the corner of his lips. "I love you, baby," she said, nuzzling his ear.

"I love you, too," he told her and turned his face towards her, kissing her long and soft. "And I have a confession to make," he admitted, turning back to his work.

She arched an eyebrow and chewed on a bite of pizza.

"Your personality may not have been the first thing that turned me on."

"Don't you dare go corny on me, Donnie. Don't say it was my eyes."

"Well those are good, too. But I was thinking more about…" he looked sideways and down at her chest.

"You perv!" she cried and slapped his shoulder.

He laughed. "Sorry. But they are kinda hard to miss, babe. And your ass. That's a nice ass."

"Quit while your ahead," she said. "You're lucky you're so hot, you know that? And that I have a cop fetish."

"I just thank my lucky stars every day that you gave me the time of day," he sighed.

She smirked. "You're a sarcastic bastard," she declared.

He grinned.

They settled into a comfortable silence. She continued to eat her snack while he tapped away at the lap top's keys.

"Did you hear anything from Terrence?" she asked several minutes later.

"He left me a message on my personal cell," Flack replied. "It's going to take a couple of days to assemble the boys."

Sam nodded in understanding and sipped her milk.

"I did get a really interesting email though."

"From?" she asked.

"Chief Sinclair. Apparently Angell flew the coup to another department. Told him she wasn't comfortable working with me anymore because of our history so she asked for a transfer. She's going to be working major crime out of the one two-two in Staten Island."

"That's too bad," Sam sighed. "I was hoping she'd come around and we'd all be friends again. Or at least be able to co-exist peacefully."

"Angell wasn't happy in homicide," Flack said. "She's better off in another department."

"So you'll be down a detective for a bit? Which means more overtime on top of the triple OT you've been pulling?"

"Actually, I've got two new detectives starting next week."

"Two?"

Flack nodded. "A Detective Michael Bernstein from Miami PD. Guess he's originally from here and wanted out of the sunshine state. And the second is Kaile Maka. Remember me telling you about her? Well she's back from a long sabbatical spent taking care of an ill relative. I think you'll like working with her."

"I hope so," Sam said. "I wonder if this Bernstein is hot."

Flack arched his eyebrows and stared at her.

"Kidding, honey. Kidding. How much more work do you have to do?"

"A lot," he sighed.

"That's too bad," she said, finishing her milk and pizza and setting her dishes on the nightstand. "I have something to show you."

"What is it?"

She didn't respond. Climbing out of bed, she crossed the room and disappeared into the closet. Emerging a couple of minutes later with a Fredrick's of Hollywood bag.

"I am liking this already," he said with a dimpled grin.

Opening the bag, she rummaged through it before pulling out the black pair of the keyhole panties and walking back to the bed.

"You like these?" she asked, tossing them on top of his lap top.

Flack stopped typing and picked the undies up. His grin becoming even bigger as he looked closely at the garment. "Can you put these on?" he asked. "Give me a fashion show?"

"I bought one in each colour," she told him. "And one in each colour of these," she dropped another pair in his lap.

"Now these I really like," he declared, checking out the black g-string with the tulle ruffles and the rhinestone embellishment at the back. "Come on, babe. Put this one on for me. I wanna see you in these."

"I have something better for you," she told him, taking the panties back.

"Better then crotchless underwear?"

She nodded and headed for the bathroom. Closing the door behind her. She came back out several minutes later, with her hair loose and flowing and wearing the slutty Tinkerbell outfit. "See?" she asked.

"What's that?" he inquired, his eyes on his computer screen.

"You actually have to look at me, Donnie," she sighed.

He glanced over. His eyes widening immediately. "Holy shit…" he breathed. "Babe, that's fucking hot. That's what you're wearing to the ball?"

"No. I bought a family friendly costume for that. This one is just for you. You like it?"

"You have to ask me something like that? You're amazing. You look awesome."

She smiled victoriously and approached the bed. "Too bad you're so busy," she said, leaning over him to kiss him lightly.

"I'm not busy. I can do this some other time."

"I thought you said you needed to get it done tonight."

"What's another day?" he asked, hurriedly saving his work and snapping the lap top closed. "I can catch up tomorrow. See?" he gathered up his case files, showing pieces of paper into random folders. "I'm putting it away. I'll do it at work. No need to do it now."

"But you said…"

"I don't care what I said," he told her, tossing the folders on the floor before setting the lap top on top of them and reaching for her. "Come here and play dirty little Tinkerbell with me. Where's your magic wand? We can do some crazy shit with that."

"I'd really hate for you to get into trouble," she said, teasingly backing away from him.

"I won't get in trouble. Gotta have a life, right? Specifically a sex life. Not even the dragon lady can deny me that."

"I don't know…" she sighed. "You have so much to do. I think I'll leave you to it and I'll go and put some clothes on and go and watch tv or something."

"Get the fuck back here," he ordered, snatching her by the wrist and yanking her towards him. "Don't play games with me."

"I'm not…"

"You are," he argued, and grabbing a hold of her, scooped her up effortlessly and tossed her down onto her back. "You are teasing me," he said, leaning over her and pinning her wrists above her head.

"I thought you liked to be teased," she said, feeling the evidence of how much he did like her outfit poking into her.

"Not that kind of teasing," he told her and kissed her until she was breathless. With one hand holding both of her wrists to the mattress, he skimmed over her breast and along her side with the other as he bent his head to trail his tongue along the edge of the costume's neckline. "You are so fucking hot," he told her, his moist, warm mouth moving along her collarbone as his hand pushed up the bottom of the cotume's skirt, his fingertips grazing her thigh.

"I knew you'd approve," she said, sighing as his fingers caressed the inside of her thigh and his lips feasted on the side of her neck.

He kissed his way along her jaw line and over her chin and up to her lips. Seizing her mouth in a passionate, intense kiss. His hand released her wrists and softly stroked her hair, pushing it away from her face as he broke the kiss and lifted his head to look into her golden eyes. The love and respect and adoration that shone for him in her eyes mirroring the feelings he had for her that were so clearly displayed in his own baby blues. His fingers gently caressed her cheek. His heart close to bursting with the love he felt for her.

"Donnie…" she whispered, feeling slightly uneasy under the intensity of his stare. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her, kissing her tenderly before drawing back to look at her once again.

"Then what…"

"Marry me," he said.

* * *

**A nice evil Christmas cliffie for y'all!!!**

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! Makes my day! And consider it your Christmas gift to me. LOL.**

**Special thanks to:**

**muchmadness**

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**Afrozenheart412**

**Forest Angel**

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**Bluehaven4220**

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**wolfeylady**

**shopaholic20**


	18. Two simple words, a world of hurt

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANAKKAH, SEASONS GREETINGS…WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE, MAY YOU HAVE A JOYOUS HOLIDAY AND MAY IT FIND YOU SAFE AND WARM! GOD BLESS ALL OF YOU!**

**YOU GUYS REALLY DIDN'T THINK I'D LEAVE YOU HANGING DID YOU? ;)**

* * *

**Two simple words, a world of hurt**

"I'm not a perfect person  
There's many things I wish I didn't do  
But I continue learning  
I never meant to do those things to you  
And so I have to say before I go  
That I just want you to know  
I've found a reason for me  
To change who I used to be  
A reason to start over new and the reason is you  
I'm sorry that I hurt you  
It's something I must live with everyday  
And all the pain I put you through  
I wish that I could take it all away  
And be the one who catches all your tears  
That's why I need you to hear  
I've found a reason for me  
To change who I used to be  
A reason to start over new  
and the reason is you."  
-The Reason, Hoobastank

* * *

Time seemed to stand still.

Those two simple words seemed to hang in the air. Blue eyes remained locked on golden ones. Their hearts thundered in their chests simultaneously. His hand alternated between smoothing her hair away from her forehead and gently caressing her cheek. His lips hovered over hers as her mouth, and her brain, struggled to find a suitable answer to his question.

Had it even been a question? It had sounded more like a statement. A random thought. As if his lips had jumped ahead of his head and broke an unspoken rule between them. One that stated that any talk about marriage and the past and present and future was strictly off limits. She had thought that after their talk on the subway, after sharing her thoughts about what she would like their wedding to be like and how many children she'd like and how she was considering him as her future husband and father of her babies, that he'd pushed all thoughts of such things to the back of his mind. That he'd been happy with her responses and accepted them.

Apparently that wasn't the case. Marriage was obviously on his mind and whether he'd just meant to think what he'd said or if he'd actually meant to let those words slip from his lips, there was no taking them back. And judging by the intensity in his eyes and the way in which he seemed to be staring into her very soul, he had meant exactly what he had said.

Don Flack was a good man with a huge heart. Under that gruff exterior and aside from the sarcastic, dry wit that he possessed, he was loving and tender when he chose to be. And he deserved a lot better then not getting an answer. He deserved someone that could give him what he wanted. And at that point in time, that someone wasn't her.

She reached up and took his face in both of her hands and kissed him softly. "I'm sorry, Donnie," she whispered, looking deep into his eyes. "I love you. You know I do. I've never loved anyone the way that I love you."

"But…" he said, his body tensing above her, hurt already evident in his eyes.

"Don't hate me," she pleaded. "Please don't be angry."

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes briefly.

"I just…" she felt tears prick her eyes. She wondered whose heart she was actually breaking. His or her own. "I just can't…I'm sorry but I just can't marry you."

He nodded and dropped his head to press a kiss to her forehead. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and smiled gently at her. "I know," he said.

A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

"It's okay, baby," he assured her, and brushed the tears away with the pad of her thumb and pressed soft kisses to each eye. "I know that, too."

She sniffled noisily and reached up to comb her fingers lovingly through his hair before he captured her lips in a sensual kiss before moving away from her, flopping onto his back and draping a forearm over his eyes.

Flack felt her hair brush against his arm as she moved beside him. He heard the rustle of the bed sheets and the slight swaying of the mattress and the creak of the springs underneath them. There were so many things that he wanted to say to her. So many thoughts and emotions swirling through him. But at that point in time, all words had seemed to escape him. Because while he'd expected her answer to be a negative one, hearing her reject him had still broken his heart. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, after seeing her through the incident with Zack and supporting her through the deal with Terrence Davis, that she had seen that he was in the relationship for the long haul. That she had realized she could trust him wholly and completely.

Obviously that wasn't the case. And that was what hurt most of all. Not the actual turn down, but what that turn down had meant about the state of her feelings for him.

"Donnie…" her voice was quiet as she laid a hand on his chest. "Please say something."

He shook his head and heard her sigh. Lifting his arm slightly, he glanced over and saw she was lying on her stomach, her cheek resting on the bed as she had her head turned away from him, her hand remaining on his chest. He replaced his left arm with his right, covering his eyes once again and placed his free hand over his. Entwining his fingers with hers tightly. Neither spoke for several minutes. They just lay in the middle of their bed, holding hands. It had, the moment he'd spent the first night there, ceased being just her bed. It was something that they shared. That they slept in and had intimate moments in. And now made love in. It was theirs and memories had been made in that bad. And hopefully, there were many more to come.

"Samantha?" Flack finally spoke, breaking the silence.

She lifted her head and turned to look at him.

"Do you mean ever?" he asked without uncovering his eyes. "When you say you can't, do you mean you can't ever?"

"You know that that's not what I mean," she replied. "We've already talked about this, Donnie. That night on the subway. We talked about marriage and kids and you said right to my face that the questions you were asking me were for future reference. That it may happen months down the road or even a year. That was a week ago almost and I thought you understood that I didn't…"

"I need you to be honest with me," he said, removing his arm from his face and looking at her. "I need you to look me in the eye and tell me what you meant when you said you can't. Did you mean you can't right now? Or did you mean you can't ever?

She shifted her position on the bed. Moving closer to him and resting her chin on his chest. "I meant that I love you more than life itself but I can't marry you right now. It's too soon. For either of us. We haven't been together that long and…"

"We've known each other for more than a year," he reminded her. "You know more about me than my own family does."

"Knowing each other as friends and knowing each other as lovers is two entirely different things," she told him. "We need to learn about each other inside and out, Donnie. And there's a lot of personal stuff that we still don't know about each other."

"So why can't we get married and learn about them?" he asked.

"Because if we start out a marriage like that, we might learn things about each other that will wreck whatever we had quicker then it began," she replied. "And I don't want that. I don't want to go into a marriage and something come up that shocks either of us and destroys what we have."

"What could there possibly be in either of our lives that would destroy us?" Flack asked.

"I just think it's better to learn things about each other when there's still a way of getting out if that's what we want."

"I don't want to get out," he told her angrily. "Don't you see that? I don't want to get out of this. This is what I want with my life, babe. I want you as my wife and the mother of my children. I want us to be together. Firmly and legally together."

"You can't honestly tell me that you think we've been together long enough to get married."

"My grandparents on my mom's side knew each other for three weeks before they got married," he informed her.

"And your parents dated from the time they were in grade eight until they got married fresh out of high school. So there's two totally different ends of the scale in your family alone."

"One is not better than the other," he argued.

"I know that. I am just saying that I don't want us rushing into something when we have our whole lives ahead of us to learn about each other."

"I am not spending my whole life waiting for you to make up your goddamn mind," he snapped, rolling away from her and moving across the bed until he swung his legs over the side and sat up. He ran his hands over his weary face and over his head before settling them at the back of his neck.

"You said that you'd be patient with me," she gently reminded him.

"I know," he said and sighed heavily. "I know. And you also told me that you weren't going to wait a year for me to ask you to marry me and now you're telling me that we have our whole lives ahead of us? What the hell, Samantha?"

"I don't mean that you're going to wait that long for an answer," she told him, sitting up in the middle of the bed.

"Well what the hell do you mean?" Flack asked. "It either is or it isn't, you know?"

"I mean that I think it's too soon for us to be getting married. And I think deep down you know it's too early, too."

He scratched at the back of his head and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I just want to share my life with you," he said. "That's all I want."

"And we can share our lives together, Donnie," she said, reaching out to rub his back softly. "We don't need to rush into a marriage in order to share our lives together. I thought that you were okay with the way things are between us."

"Well I'm not, okay?" he snapped. "I'm not okay with it. I only acted like I was to make you happy."

"Do you love me, Don?" she asked.

"What?" he shot her a foul look over his shoulder. "You actually have to ask me that?"

"Outside of sex," she responded.

"Wait a minute, Sam. This has nothing to do with sex. You and I? We are not based on sex. I waited three months! Three months! Until you felt comfortable enough to let me make love to you! Do you think that that was easy for me? Do you think that every day I didn't wish you'd just get over your paranoia's and discomforts and just let me love you already? This isn't about sex. Far from it. Sex is just something that comes with us. Something that we enjoy and makes us feel good. That we're fucking amazing at. But it's not everything! I've never gotten this close to a woman. Emotionally. I have laid my heart and my soul bear to you! And you have the nerve to sit there and ask me if I love you outside of your body and what you can do with it?"

"I'm sorry," she said, moving closer to him and laying both of her hands on his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "I never meant you to take it that way."

"You ask me if I love you? I love you more and more every day. More today then yesterday but less then tomorrow."

She smiled against his back. "Where did you get that?"

"My dad writes it in every card he gives my mother. From the time I was a baby. And she saved every one of them cards. Keeps them in a memory box. I used to laugh about it. About how goddamn sappy my old man was for someone that beat on us and treated us like he did. I didn't understand how he could say he loved her when he acted that way. Or how anyone could love someone that much."

"And now?" she asked.

"And now I can honestly say I know how he feels. Because you are my everything. My heart and my soul. The reason I get up in the morning and do this godforsaken fucking job in this godforsaken fucking city. You're my world. I would lay down and die for you, Samantha. Gladly. So don't ever, ever again question if I love you or not."

"I'm sorry," she said, for a lack of anything better, and curled her arm around his waist. "Tell me what you want, Donnie? Aside from marriage. Tell me what you want. Out of us."

"I want us to live together," he blurted out. "I want us to find a place big enough for the two of us to live comfortably in and that we're happy in and we can afford with the money we make. Here in Manhattan, Queens, Staten Island, Bronx, Brooklyn, I don't give a shit. As long as we're together."

"If that's what you want," she said, kneeling behind him and kissing the back of his head as she wrapped her arm around his neck.

"I want us to both want it," he told her. "This isn't just about me. This is about us. And there's a you in us and I want you to want it, too."

"I'm going to have to think about it," she said.

He snorted and shook his head and untangled himself from the arm around his waist and the one around his neck.

"Don, in all fairness, you can't just drop this on me and expect an answer right away," she said gently.

"And in all fairness it shouldn't be that hard of a decision for you to make," he retorted, wheeling around to look at her.

"I don't know what you want from me," she sighed, and laid down on the bed, on her side, facing away from him.

"I want you to tell me you want the same things from us that I do!" he bellowed. Exasperated with her.

"What more do you want me to say!" she yelled in response, turning to face him. "Do you want me to tell you I want you to be my husband? That I want to be the mother of your children? That I want to grow old and grey alongside of you and die warm and peaceful and secure in your arms? Is that what you want from me, Don?!"

"That's a goddamn start!"

"Well I do! Okay? I want all of that. I want all of you. I want your good days and your really shitty fucking days. I want to love you for the rest of my life and for you to love me for the rest of your life. I want us to have kids and grand kids and great grand kids! I want us to be driving each other fucking crazy for the next sixty plus years! I want to still be holding your hand walking down the street and making love with you decades from now! I want all of that!"

He blinked. Taken back by her passionate, sincere words.

"I want all of that and more!" she cried. "But neither of us are ready to get married and have children! Why can't we just enjoy each other and love each other while we still have one another all to ourselves!"

"Because we don't know how long forever is going to be, Sam! We don't know how much time we have together! Anything could happen! Especially in our line of work. And I'm worried that something is going to happen and none of that is ever going to happen!"

"And you call me the fatalistic one," she said with a dry laugh.

"I'm being completely honest. A lot of good cops die on the street and leave people behind. And I don't want that happening to me."

"And I do? You think I don't worry about you every time you walk out that door? You don't think that when you get a late night call out that I don't lie awake all night waiting for that phone to ring or for someone to show up at the door with bad news? I think about it all the time. But I don't allow thoughts like that to run my life! And a lot of good people die and leave behind people that loved them. Not just cops."

"I know that. But you know the statistics involved with our job and…"

"And I also know there's a greater chance of walking out the front door and getting hit by a car while crossing the street!" she argued. "Don't use the job as an excuse to jump into a marriage."

"It's not an excuse! I want to marry you because I love you and I want a family with you!"

"And you will have that! Just not right now!" she yelled. "What is so hard to understand about this?!"

"What is so hard to admit you're too goddamn scared to marry me! That you're too goddamn scared I'm going to turn out like Zack!"

She stared at him. "I am not scared of that," she said. "You are far from being like Zack."

"Then what the hell is the problem?!"

"The problem is that I'm not ready to marry you!" she responded. "I am not ready for that!"

"Then we'll move in together until you are ready," he decided.

"I told you I needed some time to think about that," Sam said. "You can't make that decision for both of us."

"And how long am I suppose to wait, Samantha? A couple of days? A week? A month? A few months?"

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she admitted.

"You don't know?" he asked. Chuckling, he shook his head and turned away from her. "That isn't good enough," he said.

"Well for now it's going to have to be," she told him.

He threw his hands up in the air in surrender. "Fine," he huffed. "Fine. If you need some time that's fine."

"I just need to think about it and…" she paused mid sentence as she watched him stalk around the bed and gather his laptop and case files up. Setting the items on the edge of the bed before grabbing the clothes he'd worn that day from the chair in the far corner. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"What does it look like?" he inquired, quickly shedding his sweats and t-shirt and climbing into his jeans.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going home," he said, zipping and buttoning his pants. "You need time to think and I need some time away from you before you drive me mental. So I am taking off and going home."

"But this is your home," she argued.

"No, Sam. It's not," he told her, buckling his belt before yanking his Henley shirt over his head.

"Don't be like this," she pleaded, walking across the mattress on her knees, until she reached the foot of the rumbled bed. "Please don't be like this."

"You said you wanted time to think," he reminded her.

"I didn't mean you had to leave me for me to do it!" she cried. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because we need to spend some time apart," he told her. "We need some time away from each other. And maybe that will make us both realize what we really want out of this."

"How much time?" she asked, sounding and looking terrified.

"I don't know," he replied, throwing her words back in her face.

"Don't do this to me," she begged, tears spilling down her cheeks, her hands reaching out to grasp the front of his shirt. "Please…don't do this to me."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. "I'm not going forever, Samantha."

"That doesn't matter!" she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "Don't go! Please don't go!"

"I'm sorry," he told her and running his hands over her hair, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But I have to. For both of us."

She shook her head vigorously.

"I love you," he said, lips buried in her hair. "So much. But this is the best for both of us."

"Please…" she sobbed, turning her tortured face up to him. "I'm sorry. We'll move in together. We'll get married. Whatever you want. Whatever will make you stay."

"That's the problem, Samantha," he said, as he pulled away from her and pried her hands off of his shirt. "It shouldn't be because you're afraid of being alone. It should be because it's what you want."

"It is what I want!" she cried as he backed away from her. "It is!"

He bit his lip and shook his head and gathered his things up. "I'll call you when I get in so you know I'm okay."

"Don't do this," she said with a sniffle.

"I'll call you," he repeated, then headed for the door.

"I love you," she called after him. "No matter what you think."

"I don't doubt that you do," he told her, and stepping out into the hallway, closed the bedroom door softly behind him. He stood in front of that closed door, his forehead resting against the wood and his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. His heart breaking at the sound of her soft crying.

Taking a deep breath, Flack forced himself to step away from the door. He headed through the dark apartment and went to the front door. Shoving his feet into his hiking boots that rested on the plastic mat by the door before walking the two feet to the hall closet and tossing it open. He ripped his coat from the hanger and yanked it on. Unlocking the deadbolt, he opened the apartment door and slipped out into the quiet hallway.

He pulled the spare key from the pocket of his jacket and shoved it in the lock. Pausing before locking the door.

Go with your heart, the voice inside of him ordered. Go with what your heart is telling you. It won't let you down.

Sighing heavily, he pulled the key from the lock and dropped it into his pocket before letting himself back into the apartment. He secured the dead bolt once again and toed off his shoes and sat the lap top and the case folders on the kitchen counter before tossing the key on the microwave and shedding his coat and hanging it back up in the closet.

He went into the living room. The moonlight cascading through the windows and sending shards of light dancing on the floors and the furniture. He arranged the throw cushions at one end of the couch before removing his Henley and slipped out of his pants before lying down on the sofa and grabbing the blanket on the back of it and covering himself to his chin. There was no way in hell he was leaving her alone. She needed him.

And he needed her.

It was going to be a hell of a long night.

* * *

Bright sunshine streamed through the living room windows, disrupting Flack from a fitful sleep. He had spent more than half the night tossing and turning. A million and one thoughts stampeding through his mind as his girlfriend, the love of his life, spent the night alone less than twenty feet away in the bedroom. So close yet so far. There were so many things that he wanted to say to her. He had gone into the bedroom twice to check on her through the night. The first time, she hadn't heard him push the door open as she lay with her back towards him, buried under the covers and crying quietly. He stood in the doorway, desperate to just go to her and take her in his arms and kiss all her tears away and apologize for the way he had handled things. For not giving her the space that she had told him at he beginning of their relationship that she needed. She had been more then honest about needing time to make decisions regarding their future. That she wasn't in a place to consider marriage and kids. And he had told her that he accepted that. That she could take as long as she needed to be ready for that kind of commitment.

At the time, he'd been convinced that he was able to wait for her to come around. That he could patiently sit back until she was able to tell him what she wanted out of their relationship. Only as the days ticked by and he saw Danny and Lindsay together, engaged and disgustingly happy and planning their forever, Flack realized that he couldn't wait an eternity for his forever to begin. And as hard as he had tried not to pressure her into a making any kind of decision, he had in turn achieved one thing. Pushing her away completely.

The second time he'd gone in to see if she was okay, she'd been fast asleep. Exhausted and emotionally spent. And he'd crept to the side of the bed and knelt on the floor and smoothed her hair away from her face and pressed feathery kisses to her forehead and face.

He was convinced that he had screwed things up. Big time. Terrified to hear her telling him to take a permanent hike the next day, he had set the alarm clock on his cell phone and planned to be out of that apartment before she woke up.

But things didn't always go according to plan.

Because while that warm sunlight streamed into the living room, bathing him in warmth, he became aware of the tiny body pressed up against his. Of her hair tickling his bare skin, her breath soft against his neck and one of her arms tossed over his side. His eyes flickered open and he looked down. Sometime during the wee morning hours, after he managed to slip off to sleep, Sam had come out into the living room and found him there and managed to squeeze herself beside him on the couch. His back was pressed up against the back of the sofa as they lay chest to chest. There was no room for error and she was dangerously close to toppling over the edge of the couch.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, readjusted the blanket and gathered her into his arms. Holding her securely and protectively. And lovingly.

She sighed heavily and mumbled incoherently in her sleep. Nuzzling his neck with her nose.

He cast a glance at the clock on the DVD player across the room. A few minutes shy of nine. He had set the alarm on his phone for nine exactly. Giving him enough time to get the hell out of there and home to finish off some of his paperwork before going in for the afternoon shift. He had been determined to himself the heart ache of being dumped on his ass. Only now it looked as if he wasn't going anywhere with that warm and welcoming body damn near cemented to his.

And truth was, he didn't want to go anywhere. Ever.

He closed his eyes and settled comfortably in her embrace. Relaxed by the scent of her hair and the feel of her skin. In the soft breath that tickled his neck and the way her eyelashes fluttered against his skin. He had just managed to doze off, feeling secure in himself and in her, when the alarm on his phone sounded. A dreadful, annoying and insisted beeping noise that filled the entire apartment.

He attempted to reach over her and grab the phone. But that attempt prove futile. The only thing that would result in that was either her, or the both of them, ending them up on the floor.

Sam's eyes snapped open as the beeping continued and without a word, rolled over onto her opposite side, snagged the phone and turned the alarm off. Then simply rolled back over and cuddled against him once again.

"You awake?" he asked after several minutes.

She nodded.

"There's still some time before you have to get up for work," he told her. "Why don't you go back to bed where it's more comfortable."

She shook her head. "I'm fine here."

"This couch isn't made me for one person to sleep on let alone two," he said.

"I am perfectly fine here," she insisted. "I don't want to go anywhere. Do you?"

"I don't ever want to go anywhere," Flack told her. "This is perfect the way it is. Just me and you."

She smiled against his neck. "I'm sorry, Donnie," she said. "I never meant to…"

"I don't want to talk about it," he responded. "There's nothing more to talk about. I was wrong for going off on you like I did. I never should have freaked on you like that. It's just sometimes I don't know if you're on the same page as I am when it comes to this relationship."

"We are on the same page," she assured him. "I do want to get married and I do want to have children. And I want to do all of that with you. I just can't do it right now."

He sighed heavily and stroked her hair. "I can live with that," he said. "I just don't want to have to live with that for too long."

"A few months," she pleaded. "Several at the most. Come back and ask me again in the fall and you'll get an entirely different answer, I promise you."

He nodded. Relegating himself to the fact that her decision was permanent. She wasn't going to be changing her mind any time soon. "I'm going to take you up on that you know," he told her "I'm going to come back and ask you exactly a year to the day that I showed up at your place that night. When you chased me down in the rain. I am going to specifically wait for that day and come back and ask you to marry me again."

"And I will say yes," she promised. "I just can't say yes right now."

"That's fine," he said, and kissed the top of her head.

"I never wanted us to fight," she whispered.

"Neither did I. Just it hurt to hear the things you were saying. And when I get hurt I get defensive. And when I get defensive I say things to hurt the other person. And unfortunately that other person was you."

She drew back to look up at him. "I'm glad you didn't leave," she said.

"I couldn't leave. I tried. I was out in the hallway with the key in the door and I couldn't bring myself to walk away from you. Because walking away from you hurts more then anything else ever possibly could. And I couldn't leave you while you were so upset. In case you needed me."

"I did need you," she told him.

He kissed her softly. "I checked on you a couple times. To make sure you were okay. I didn't think you'd want me in there with you."

"Don't ever think that," she said and tucked her head under his chin. "I'll always want you in our bed with me."

He smiled. "I like hearing you say that. Our bed."

"It's what it is. It has been since that first night you stayed over. And now that we've made love, it's even more so our bed."

"I never realized you were such a sappy little thing, Ross," he said with a chuckle.

"Well what can I say? You and Danny are rubbing off on me. And Danny is the king of sap."

Flack nodded in agreement. "And about that moving in thing…"

"I was thinking that I could grab a Times on my break and look for places that would be good for us," she said, cutting him off. "With enough space for the two of us. And all my crap."

"I don't want you to feel that…"

"I don't feel anything. I just know that I don't want to be without you and that living together is a step I am more than willing to make."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Let's try and find something in lower Manhattan, okay? 'Cause the thought of commuting from another borough…"

"Sucks," she finished for him and giggled. "I will pick some places out and we can go and look at them first chance we get. Sound good?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a plan," he said.

She yawned noisily and ran her hand up his side and back down again before sliding it around his back, "It's nice and warm in here," she said.

"Under this blanket it is. The rest of this place is like a goddamn ice box. You need to get the hell out of here. Into something with better heating."

"Oh I don't know," she said, her lips on the hallow of his throat, her foot sliding slowly up his leg. "The heat seems perfectly fine to me at the moment."

"You know what I meant," he told her, shivering as her fingertips trailed up his spine.

"Mm-hm," she said, her lips gently suckling on his neck. "But if you ask me, body heat is the best heat of them all."

"Well I'm not going to argue about that," he said, his hand trailing up her silky thigh that was draped over his leg and disappearing underneath the skirt of the Tinkerbell costume that she had fallen asleep in. "You're still wearing that thing?" he asked, his fingertips grazing over her soft skin.

She nodded and drew back to look at him.

He kissed her. Long and deep. "Maybe we should get that off of you," he suggested.

She bit her lip and nodded again and shifted her position in order to wriggle out of the skimpy costume.

He covered her mouth in an intense kiss as he moved his weight over top of her. Propping himself on one arm, their lips still joined as his hand explored her supple body. Feeling the goosebumps that pricked up on her pale skin as his fingers trailed over her flat stomach and up to the valley between her breasts. His forehead against hers, hearing the hitch in her breath as his palm softly grazed over her already erect nipple before taking it between his fingers and pinching lightly.

She shifted slightly underneath him. Her legs opening, her hands pushing down his boxer shorts.

"Sammie…we gotta stop for a second…" he whispered, shuddering as her hand closed around his aching cock

"Why?" she asked. "Don't you want to?"

"Of course I want to. Doesn't it feel like I want to?"

She nodded, her eyes locked on his as the tip of her thumb brushed against the tip of his erection. Smiling victoriously at the moan she illicited from him.

"It's just…we don't…I don't…have a condom out here…"

"You don't need one," she assured him.

"I haven't gotten my bloodwork done yet and I…"

She raised her head and kissed him to silence him. "I trust you," she said.

"I mean, I know I'm clean. I know I don't have anything. But I thought that maybe having a paper that said that would make you feel better and you'd…"

She kissed him again. "I. Trust. You," she repeated, stressing each word.

He smiled and captured her lips in a sultry kiss. Easing into her warm, moist body. Feeling and hearing her moan against his lips. Aware of her nails digging into the flesh of his hips. He groaned at the sensation of being inside of her and at the slight pain she was inflicting on him as the nails of one hand dragged across the small of his back while the nails of the other trailed down his arm. Travelling to his wrist. He caught her hand in his and entwined their fingers together tightly, holding her hand above her head as he moved in and out of her slowly and lovingly.

Relishing the feel of her legs circling around his waist and the sound of his name on her lips.

She was his heart and his soul. His love.

His precious eternity.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!!! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please leave a review under my tree folks!**

**Special thanks to the 'elves' from last chapter:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Laplandgurl**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Wolfeylady**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**Samantha778**

**MonzaBird**


	19. Flacks and Messers Part One

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK.**

**HOPE YOU ALL HAD A WONDERFUL HOLIDAY! THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER. HOPE YOU DON'T MIND THAT IT'S AFTER BOXING DAY BUT THIS IS A MULTI-PARTER!**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Flacks and Messers: Part One**

"Sometimes I'm clueless and I'm clumsy  
But I've got friends that love me  
And they know just where I stand  
It's all a part of me  
And that's who I am  
So when I make a big mistake  
And when I fall flat on my face  
I know I'll be alright  
Should my tender heart be broken  
I will cry those teardrops knowing  
I will be just fine  
'Cause nothing changes who I am."  
-Who I Am, Jessica Andrews

* * *

"Daddeee," Kellan sobbed, shaking her father's arm vigorously as he lay, dead to the world, on his stomach with one arm and one leg poking out of the heavy comforter and dangling over the edge of the mattress.

The bedroom in her grandparent's house was bathed in moonlight and inches of snow were gathered on the window ledge as icicles hung from the overhead awning. The moon's rays caught the ice and snow, causing them to sparkle brilliantly. Outside the wind howled and snow fell steadily, as the five year old, in a pair of flannel Hello Kitty jammies, her black hair flowing down her back, clutching Holly Hobbie under one tiny arm, stood at the side of the bed with tears pouring down her pale cheeks.

"Daddeeee!" she shook his arm even harder, terrified and anxious and desperate to wake her father up. "Daddeee! Wake up!"

Flack mumbled incoherently under the pillow covering his head.

"Pwease daddy," Kellan begged. "Pwease wake up!"

"Go back to bed, Kellan," he ordered.

"Wake up, daddy!" she cried. "I'm scared! Pwease wake up!"

He sighed and reached up to pull the pillow off of his head. Tossing it to the side, he propped himself on his elbows and looked at his tiny daughter standing next to him. There was enough light coming through the window that he was able to see the tears cascading down her face and the way her entire body trembled. Alarmed, he rolled over onto his back and sat up, settling the comforter on his lap in order to hide his nakedness. Thanking God neither he or Sam had managed to kick the covers off in the middle of the night, and cursing the fact that the door didn't have a lock on it.

"What's wrong, Kellan?" he asked, his voice groggy.

"I had a bad dweem," she replied. "A really, really, really bad dweem."

"What was it about?" Flack inquired, wishing she'd turn her back for at least ten seconds so he could yank his sweats, lying in a crumpled heap under the comforter, back on.

"It was about you," she sobbed. "A bad dweem about you!"

He rubbed at his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "What was the dream about?" he asked.

"That a bad guy got you!" she cried. "That a bad guy killed you dead!"

"Kellan, it was just dream. Alright? I'm here and I'm okay. Now you go back to the room and lie down with Kallison and Wiener and go back to sleep."

"I can't!" she exclaimed. "I'm too scared! Can I sleep with you and mommy?"

Flack sighed and cast a glance at his wife's sleeping form. Normally, he would have allowed Kellan, in the state she was in, to climb in between him and Sam. Who was currently curled up contently and peacefully on her side, her back facing him, her ass pressed against his leg. As naked as the day she was born. They'd been so exhausted from waking up so early with the girls that morning, that the minute the sex had been over, it had taken all the strength he'd had to roll off of her and affix the blankets around them.

"That's not a good idea, baby sweets," he told his daughter.

Her eyes filled with even more tears and her lower lip wobbled. "But daddy," she protested. "I'm scared!"

"Kellan, it was just a dream and…"

"Is it true that you almost died, daddy?" she blurted out.

Flack blinked. "What?"

"I heard you and grandpa! Grandpa said that he was sad when you almost died! Is it true you almost died, daddy?"

"Is that why you had the bad dream?" he asked gently. "Because of what you heard?"

She nodded.

"Tell you what. We're going to go and get a drink of water and I'll tuck you back in bed and tell you a story, okay?"

"Can I have a drink of milk?" she asked hopefully. "Warm milk? It would make my tummy feel better."

"Your tummy hurts, too?"

Kellan nodded.

"You didn't pee the bed or anything, did you?"

She shook her head.

"Okay. We will go downstairs and get a glass of warm milk and…"

"A cookie, too?" she asked, pouting and batting her impossibly long eyelashes at him.

He couldn't help but grin. Nothing like being played by a five year old, he thought. "A glass of warm milk and a cookie," he promised.

She held up two fingers.

"Just one," he said. "You eat more than one and you're getting an even worse tummy ache. Now let's play a game, okay?"

"Okay…"

"Give daddy Holly for a second…"

Her eyes went wide in horror at the suggestion, her face blanching.

"Just a little game of Hide and Seek," Flack told her.

"Holly loves Hide and Seek," Kellan declared, smiling despite the tears trickling down her face.

"Well give daddy Holly…" he said, reaching out to clear his daughter's tears away with gentle fingertips. "..and let him hide her and you find her, okay?"

Kellan nodded and passed her beloved dolly over to her father.

"Now I want you to turn around and close your eyes and count to ten," he instructed.

She hesitated.

"It's alright," Flack assured her. "Daddy and Holly are right here, baby sweets."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and turned her back to him.

"Are your eyes closed?" he asked.

She nodded vigorously. "Can I count now?" she asked.

"Yep. Start right now…"

The second she spoke the first word, Flack was tucking Holly Hobby behind his pillow and diving under the comforter in search of his sweatpants. Yanking them on and tightening and tying the draw string and resurfacing before his daughter even hit the number eight.

"Ten!" she cried and wheeled around.

"Gotta find her now," he told the five year old. "Come up here on the bed and try and find her. Watch your mommy though. She's tired and her ouchies are bugging her again."

"Okay…" Kellan said, and with great effort, climbed onto the bed. Searching around her father's body for several seconds before finally peering under the pillow and scooping her prized possession out. "I found her!" she whispered, careful not to wake her mother up.

"Then let's go and get some warm milk and a cookie," Flack told her, slipping out of bed and stretching out his arm's towards her.

Kellan scrambled across the bed and stood up carefully and jumped into her father's embrace. Curling an arm around his leg and wrapping her legs around his torso as he carried her effortlessly from the room. While both twins were tiny things like their mother, Kellan had been, and still was, the smallest of the girls. She'd been a sickly baby. She had dropped weight drastically while in the NICU and had fought valiantly to put it back on. She'd been constantly plagued by respiratory infections and gastrointestinal issues. Even during the first two years of life they were forever running her back and forth from the ER at Women's and Children's Hospital.

And even though she was a healthy weight and height, she was still considered below average and most likely always would be. Her immune system was stronger now, but she was still the one you had to worry about picking up every cold and virus and infection that went around school. It was one of the reasons that people tended to baby her and pay more attention to her then her sister. Kallison was strong -both physically and emotional. Kellan was fragile in every which was possible.

* * *

He carried her from the bedroom and down the darkened hallway before slowly and carefully making his way down the creaky stairs. One arm around his daughter tightly, his hand on the banister for support. Feeling for the edge of each step with the heel of his foot before stepping down onto it.

Once safely down, he headed through the living room and down another darkened hallway and into the kitchen. Reaching out, he flicked on the lights via the switch near the entrance and then carried his daughter to the table and settled her into one of the chairs.

"What kind of cookie?" he asked, as he went to the fridge and opened up, taking out the milk container. "You want an oatmeal one? Shortbread? A couple animal crackers?"

"Chocolate dipped mint Oreos," Kellan replied.

"Those are mommy's cookies. Think she'll get upset if we have a couple?"

His daughter shook her head energetically.

"I don't know, baby sweets," Flack said with a chuckle as he poured two glasses of milk and stuck one in the microwave for twenty seconds. "Mommy probably counts the things and will be upset when she realizes some are missing."

"Uh-uh.." Kellan said, climbing up onto her knees and laying her doll on the table. "Mommy won't mind. She loves us."

"True enough," her father agreed, taking the milk from the microwave and sipping it to check the temperature before transferring the liquid into a child friendly plastic cup. He grabbed a box of special edition fudge dipped mint oreos off of the counter where his wife had left them, and carried them and their cups to the table. "Take that for daddy," he said, nodding down at the plastic tumbler.

Kellan reached out and took it from him. "Thank you, daddy," she gushed, sipping the milk.

Flack sat his own drink and the box of cookies on the table and pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. Opening the box of oreos, he took four out. And placed two in front of his daughter.

Her blues eyes sparkled and her entire face lit up as she smiled.

"Our little secret," Flack told her and winked.

"You are the best daddy ever," she declared and picked up one of the cookies and dipped it into her milk.

Despite the fact that she looked exactly like him, Flack couldn't help but think that he was watching a mini Sam in action. The dunking of the cookies, the wrinkling of that freckle splattered nose, the furrowing of the brow and the biting of the bottom lip as Kellan worked hard to pry the Oreo apart to get to the icing in the middle. She was her mother. No doubt about it. From the mannerisms and pet peeves to the melodic giggle and thousand watt smile.

"So do you want to talk about your dream, Kellan?" he asked, biting into one of his cookies.

She nodded.

"You had a dream that a bad guy did something to me?"

Another nod. "He killed you dead," she said simply.

"How?"

"He had a gun," she told him. "And you were chasing him and he shot you with the gun and you died. And mommy cried really, really, really bad."

"Were you sad?" Flack asked.

"I was really, really, really sad," she replied in a near whisper. "I would miss you, daddy. If some bad guy killed you dead. I'd miss you a lot."

"And you know it was just a dream, right? That it isn't going to happen the next time daddy goes to work, right?"

"But what if it does!" Kellan cried. "Policemen get hurt by bad guys!"

"But more policemen hurt bad guys," Flack told her. "So I don't want you worrying about me, okay?"

"It's hard not to worry about you, daddy," she said. "Your daddy. If you were killed dead who would take me to McDonald's for Chicken Nuggets on Sundays? And who would take me to Mother Goose at the library? And who would do my pigtails for me?"

"If something happened to me, mommy would do those things," he assured her.

"But I don't want mommy to do them," Kellan argued. "I want you to do them."

"And I am going to keep doing them," he promised. "And you need to stop worrying about stuff like that. You're five years old, baby sweets. You don't need to think of stuff like that."

"Mommy cries a lot," his daughter told him.

"When? When she's not feeling well?"

Kellan shook her head. "When you go to work at night time. She thinks that Kallison and I are sleeping but we hear her. We just stay in bed and pretend we don't."

"Why is mommy crying?"

"I think she's worried about you, too," the little girl said.

"Well I'll talk to mommy tomorrow and get her to stop worrying so much," Flack promised. "Is there something else you wanted to talk about?"

Kellan nodded and sipped her milk. "Is it true you almost died, daddy?"

He sighed. He was afraid of giving away too much information and frightening her, and not giving her enough and have her learn later in life that he had down played the bombing in order to protect her.

"A long time ago, way before you and Kallison were ever thought of, I got hurt at work," he began, choosing his words, and his tone, carefully. "And I was really sick and needed an operation to fix some things and I stayed in the hospital for a really long time. But I got a lot of rest and I got a lot of exercise and a lot of doctors and nurses helped me get better and I went back to work."

"Is that where you got your ouchies?" she asked.

She'd been calling the larger scar across the left side of his lower stomach, and the smaller ones the marred his chest his ouchies from the very first day she'd noticed them a year or so okay. Back then she'd accepted his explanation that he'd gotten hurt. Now, as she was getting older, he wasn't the least bit surprised that she needed, wanted and deserved more information.

Flack nodded and sipped his drink.

"Did it hurt a lot?" she inquired.

"It did. But it doesn't hurt now."

"Did the bad guy hurt you get in trouble?"

"He went to jail where he belongs. You don't have to worry about him."

"Was mommy sad? When you got hurt and you were in the hospital?"

"Mommy and I weren't together yet," he explained. "Mommy was still living in Arizona with nanny and papa."

"Did mommy get hurt at work too?"

Flack frowned. "No…why?"

"'Cause mommy has a big ouchie across her tummy."

"That's from the operation she had to get you and Kallison out of there," he told his daughter. "We were worried something bad was going to happen to you girls so the doctors had to get the two of you out that way."

"Poor mommy!" Kellan exclaimed. "That must have hurt!"

"She was okay after a while though. Is there anything else you want to ask me?"

Kellan nodded. "Is mommy going to die?" she asked.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because mommy is sick all the time. Does that mean she's going to die?"

"No. It means that mommy has an illness that makes her have pain constantly. And when she doesn't take her medication or sleep on that heating pad that daddy bough for her, then she doesn't feel very well and has to take a few days to get back on her feet. What mommy has isn't fatal, okay? She's not going to die from it."

"Promise?" Kellan asked.

"I promise."

"Pinkie promise?" she inquired, holding her right pinkie out towards her father.

"Pinkie promise," he replied, hooking his right baby finger with hers. ""You don't have to worry about stuff like that. Okay? That kind of stuff is not for five year olds to worry about. All you need to worry about is that daddy will do everything he can to protect you and your sister and your mom from.."

"And Wiener," his daughter tossed out.

"And Wiener," he added. "From all the bad guys and the bad stuff that goes on in the world. Alright? Daddy won't let anything happen to any of you."

"'Cause daddy can do anything," Kellan declared and polished off her milk in one large gulp. Giggling and blushing as she let out a tiny burp.

"You know what daddy is really good at it?" Flack asked, picking up his own milk and downing it.

Kellan shook her head.

He let out a huge, rib shaking belch that caused his daughter to erupt into a fit of laughter. "I'm better at burping contests then you are," he said.

"That's because you're a boy, daddy!" she howled with laughter. "Boys are good burpers!"

"I don't know about that. Mommy's a girl and she can burp really, really loud. You done?"

Kellan nodded.

Flack pushed his chair away from table and stood up. Gathering the empty cups and the box of cookies, he carried both over to the sink. The cups he rinsed before setting them in the sink and the Oreos he placed in the exact same spot on the counter as where he had found them.

"Come on," he said to his daughter as he returned to the table and scooped her out of her chair and up into his arms. Snagging Holly, he handed the doll to her. "Back to bed for you two. We have a busy day ahead of us at Uncle Danny's."

"Do I have to brush my teeth again?" Kellan asked with disdain. "Mommy says if we eat chocolate we have to brush our teeth right away."

"Well you know what? Mommy doesn't know we had cookies. And I'm not going to tell her. So I say we live dangerously and not brush our teeth. Okay?" he reached out to flick off the light.

"Okay, daddy," she said with a giggle and curled her arm around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder as he carried her from the room. "Daddy?" she asked, as they headed through the living room.

"What baby sweets?"

"I love you and I think you're the bestest policeman ever."

He grinned and kissed her temple. "I love you too, Kellan."

* * *

She was fast asleep by the time his feet hit the top landing of the stairs and Flack carefully laid her and Holly down in the bed alongside of Kallison and a snoring Wiener. Covering his two girls up and tucking them in tightly, he stood, at the side of the bed and stared down at his twin daughters, in awe at how beautiful and innocent and peaceful they were.

He prayed to God that he was able to keep his promises to them. That he'd be able to protect them and their mother, at all costs.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads before leaving them to their deep, warm slumber and returning to the room he was sharing with his wife.

Sam stirred as he slipped back into bed beside her. "Everything okay?" she asked. "I thought I heard you talking to Kellan earlier."

"I was," Flack told her, fixing the blankets around them. "She had a bad dream."

"What about?"

He shrugged. "Just typical five year old nightmare stuff. Aliens and three headed monsters. Stuff like that. She's fast asleep again. No worries."

"Okay," Sam said and yawned noisily.

He wrapped his arm around her slender body and pulled her tight against him and kissed her softly.

"Mmmm…" she said. "You taste like chocolate. And mint."

He smiled sheepishly.

"You've been into my cookies!" she scolded him, then giggled as he rolled over onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

"I have," he admitted, and kissed her deeply and ran his hand underneath the bottom of her pyjama top. His fingertips grazing along the small of her back. "But there's another cookie I wouldn't mind getting a hold of."

She laughed. "You are such a perv!"

"Consider it a Boxing Day present."

"It doesn't have to be a holiday for me to give you that kind of present," she assured him.

"No?"

She shook her head and placed a knee on either side of him and sat up. She peeled off her pyjama top. The moonlight danced off of her curves and made her pale, smooth skin shimmer.

"I am a very lucky man," Flack declared, running his hands over her thighs and up her sides and around the to front of her to gently cup her breasts.

"The luckiest in the whole wide world," she said and leaned over to kiss him.

"I love you so much, baby," he whispered against her lips after the kiss ended. "Forever and ever."

"I love you, too," she said with a smile.

"Forever and ever?"

"Don't push it," she teased, her eyes sparkling as she bent over him, her hair tumbling over his skin, as she licked and suckled at his neck.

"And you know that I'd never leave you and the girls unless I had to, right?" he asked, his hands running back down her sides and resting on her hips.

She drew back to look at him, a frown on her face. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"It means exactly what I said. You know that I'd never leave you and the girls unless I had to, right? And I'm talking permanently, not on this planet anymore."

"Why do you have to ruin a perfectly good smutty moment by talking about something like that?" she huffed and made to climb off of him.

His hands tightened on her hips, anchoring her in place. "I need you to look at me and tell me that you know that there's nothing, or no one on this earth, that will take me away from my family. That the only one I'm ever leaving you guys is by death. And even then, I'm putting up a hell of a fight. I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you know this."

"Donnie, why in the hell are you…"

"Do you know this? It's not a difficult question, babe."

She sighed and nodded sullenly. Her eyes never leaving his. "I know this," she said in a quiet voice.

"I need you to stop worrying about me so much. And don't tell me you don't because a very reliable source told me that you've been crying a lot when I go off to work. Especially if I get a middle of the night call out. I've been a cop a long time, Sammie. And I've come through some heavy duty shit. So why are you just getting like this now?"

"I'm not just getting like anything," she argued. "I've always worried about you. Just lately, with how sick I've been and how hard things have been for us, I've been worrying extra. I worry about what would happen to the girls if something happened to you and I got too sick to care for them properly and…"

Frowning, he tipped her over onto her back and covered her petite body with his much larger, stronger one, propping himself on one arm as he held her delicate face in his free hand. "I don't ever want you to be thinking about stuff like that. Alright? There's no reason for you to be thinking, or talking like that."

"You know what the neurologist said, Donnie. About finding that spot on the last MRI I went for."

"I know what he said. And what he said was that it showed a freckle, Sam. A freckle. A minuscule spot on the brain stem. And he also said that he'd check it out every three months and that none of your problems were associated with whatever the hell it is he saw. Because he doesn't even know what it is or if there's something even there or if it was a fuck up on the test's part. So why in the hell are you.."

"And if it wasn't?" she asked. "If it wasn't a screw up on the machine and the spot is bigger next time and…"

"I'm not fucking listening to this, Sam," he snapped, moving off of her and flopping onto his back. "Why do you have to do this? Why do you have to bring shit like this up? Especially at Christmas? Does it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside to think of morbid shit? At a time when we're suppose to be happiest?"

"It's something legitimate to be concerned about it," she reasoned, sitting up in bed.

"No, it's not. Until we go for that second MRI in another month and they tell us that the goddamn thing got bigger and we have something to worried about, then and only then will I be freaked out. Right now, I just want to make my Christmas holidays with my girls as memorable and special as I possibly can. And you talking about shit like that.."

"I know it bothers you to think about stuff like this, Donnie."

"You know what? It does. It does bother me. Thinking about there being something fatally wrong with you scares the shit out of me. Thinking about spending my life without you and raising our children on my own fucking terrifies me. I didn't sign up for that when I married you! It was for better or worse, to death to us part. And as far as I'm concerned, the latter isn't going to happen for a hell of a long time. We're a team, Samantha. It's me and you. No individuals. And I don't want to think about being a single father and facing the rest of me life without you. So do me a favour and…"

She leaned over and silenced him with a long kiss.

He relaxed under the touch of her moist, warm, skillful lips. Laying a hand on the small of her back, he ran his fingertips along her smooth skin until the reached the back of her neck and he was burying his fingers in her thick, dark hair.

"Let's not talk anymore," she suggested, pressing kisses along his cheek and his jaw and making her way to the side of his neck.

"You're the one that…"

She laid her hand over his mouth and smiled devilishly at him as she trailed the tip of her tongue along his collar bone and down onto his chest. Licking and nibbling her way down to his navel.

"Are we through talking?" she asked, her fingers pausing on the waist band of his sweats.

He nodded vigorously. "Other things I'd rather you be doing with your mouth then talking right about now," he said.

She grinned. "It's been a very Merry Christmas for you."

"It has," he agreed. His eyes closing and his hands gripping the sheets below him as he handed himself over to her completely. Losing both himself, and his mind, to the love of his life.

* * *

"DADDY!" Five year old Daniel Messer Jr -DJ as his Uncle Donnie had been calling him from the day he was born- bellowed as he stood at the back door of his family's four bedroom, two and a half storey in Ridgewood, Queens.

Moving to Queens had been an easy decision for the Messer family. Despite Danny's grumblings, he had been the one who'd brought the idea up to his wife after Flack and Sam had announced that they'd bought at house in the borough Flack had grown up in. Up until then, the Messers and the Flack's had been living only three floors from each other in the same lower Manhattan apartment building. They had liked residing in such a close proximity of each other. It had meant the their respective kids would be able to carry on with the tight knit friendships that their parents shared. That there was someone close by in case of an emergency or a last minute baby sitter was needed. Holidays and birthdays were spent together.

So when Sam and Flack decided it was time for them to move on to something bigger -something that they could actually afford, at that- Ridgewood had been an easy choice for them. The houses were well kept, the neighbours were friendly and there were nice parks and decent schools for the kids. Despite his loyal ties to Staten Island and the friendly ribbing that had always gone on between him and Flack regarding their places of birth, Danny had been easily sold on the idea of purchasing a house only two short blocks away. Truth be told, not only had he and Linds and their two small children run out of room in their apartment a long time ago, he hated the thought of being that far from his best friend and Sammie and the girls. The twins that Danny loved as if they were his own.

Of course Danny would never admit that it was his brotherly love for Don Flack Jr that had spurred his decision to move himself and his family to Queens.

"DADDEEEE!!!" DJ screamed once again.

Danny looked up from his current labour of love -the small backyard ice rink that he'd been slaving over since the temperatures became cold enough to maintain the ice - and glanced towards his son who, in just a pair of cargo pants and a button down white dress shirt, stood at the sliding glass door that led from the kitchen and out onto the snow covered deck.

"Go back inside, buddy!" Danny called. "You've got no coat and no shoes on and your glass are going to fog up!"

"Mommy says that Uncle Donnie and Auntie Sam are going to be here soon!! And Kellan and Kallison too!"

"Well you tell your mom that I'll be in in a few once I clear the snow off the ice, okay?"

"Okay!" DJ yelled. "Hey, mommy!" he screamed into the house. "Daddy says he'll be in in a few!"

Danny turned back to his shovelling. The idea of creating a backyard rink had hit him the moment he'd seen the size of their backyard. It was one of the more spacious ones in the neighbourhood. Enough room for a fairly decent sized swing set for the kids and gardens he and Lindsay toiled in during the spring and summer months. Neither of them were even aware they possessed green thumbs, but after a browse through the outdoor/garden section at Home Depot, they had decided to try their hand at growing fruits and vegetables and creating spectacular flower gardens that boasted ponds and tiny waterfalls.

The Messers took an extreme amount of pride in their home, in and out. And during the winter, Danny's first, and sometimes only, love was his ice rink.

Growing up, he and his brother Louie would always haul ass down to Battery Park as soon as the outdoor public rink opened up. They'd spent hours there playing pickup hockey with other kids their age and just goofing around. Dragging themselves into the house just in time for supper. Their arms feeling like dead weight from skating so much and their ears and their fingers half frozen from loosing their hats and their mitts sometime during the day. Their mom always had a fit over the amount of hats and gloves her boys lost in the course of their young lives. And always threatened to hide their skates if they didn't smarten up.

She never did of course. And he and Louie never tired of spending hours upon hours on the rink in Battery Park.

The backyard rink, started three years ago, was an homage of sorts to Louie. Unable to lace up the skates now thanks to permanent and severe brain damage left behind following the beating that Sonny Sassone had orchestrated on him. He'd been confined to his bed in a nursing home for nearly seventeen years now. Unable to speak more than a couple of words, unable to read or feed himself or even use the bathroom on his own. There were times, during his twice weekly visits - a practice Danny had kept up with since Louie, after nearly half a year in the hospital had been sent to the home- that Danny wondered if Louie even knew who his younger brother was. But Danny remained faithful to his older brother. Louie had saved him. Plain and simple. And there was no way Danny could ever repay him for that.

So instead, Danny talked proudly and lovingly about Lindsay and the kids and showed his older brother pictures of his sister in law and his nieces and nephew. And felt as guilt as all shit every time he left that he wasn't in the position to bring Louie home with him and either take care of him himself, or hire someone to do that.

Yeah…the rink was all for Louie. Danny always said it was for the kids. Amanda and DJ and the Flack twins for that mattered, loved spending time on it, their giggles drifting through the backyard and filling the cold winter days with warmth and happiness. But deep down, it was for Louie. And Danny himself. Because that backyard rink reminded Danny of the happier times he'd spent with his brother. He had a lot of fond memories of Louie.

And no one could ever take those away.

Danny cleared the last of the snow off the ice surface and stepped back to admire his handy work. The ice was firm and crystal clear. He'd created snow banks a foot higher running the entire length on each side of the rink. A little protection for the kids if they needed to crash into something. He'd put two benches on either side of the ice for sitting down and putting skates on. And he'd purchased some all weather outdoor speakers to play music -supplied inside the house- and white Christmas lights in the trees to add some ambiance for adult only time at night.

He was a proud man, Danny Messer. He'd done alright for himself and his family. A nice place to live, all the bills paid, food on the table. His wife had a loving, faithful husband and his children had two parents that adored them and would die in a heartbeat for them.

Life wasn't perfect, but some days, it seemed damn close to it.

"Hi, daddy!" DJ suddenly chirped from alongside of him. Clad in his winter coat and thick wool hat and mitts. And his damn glasses nearly fogged up completely.

"What are you doing out here, buddy?" Danny asked. "You're going to aggravate that ear infection of yours being out here in the cold."

"Mommy says it's okay," his son replied. "She put cotton balls in my ear. Is Kallison going to get here soon?"

"I thought you just said mommy said to tell me that Uncle Flack and Auntie B will be here any minute."

"Seems like forever ago!" DJ complained. "I want them to get here now! Especially Kallison."

"What's the deal with you and Kallie?" Danny inquired. "You're always talking about her. Don't see her enough at school or something?"

"She sits right next to me, you know. And she has her cubby two away from me."

"I know all of that. I've been to your classroom, remember? Not to mention you tell me like twice a day and have told me twice a day, since you started school in September."

"Kallison's cute," DJ said with a dreamy sigh.

"She is. But so is Kellan. They are identical."

"I know dat," his son said, kicking at a snow bank. "But Kallison is different. She's my girlfriend."

"She is, is she?" Danny asked with a grin. "Does she know that?"

DJ nodded. "It was her idea."

"It was her idea to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"

The little boy nodded again.

"In between her beating you up and making you cry?"

"She's really, really cute daddy," DJ gushed.

"I heard you the first time. Don't let your Uncle Donnie hear that. He's liable to have a stroke."

"She kissed me in the sandbox," DJ informed his father.

Danny arched an eyebrow. "She did?"

"Yep."

"When did this happen?" his father asked.

"Last week. And it was nice, too. I liked it."

Danny couldn't help but chuckle. "Strange thing about this, Daniel? I recall having a conversation very similar to this with your Uncle Donnie eight years ago. When Auntie B kissed him the first time, he was a goner, too. Didn't stand a chance."

"That's 'cause Auntie B is pretty like Kallison," DJ declared. "That's why Uncle Donnie let her kiss him."

Danny grinned and lay a hand on top of his son's head. "Pretty women have that effect on us guys. Same thing happened with me and your mommy. I was doomed from the start. The second she looked at me the first day we met, that was it. I was toast."

"Yeah…" DJ blushed slightly, his eyes on the ice. "Kallison kissed me and it was nice. Boom."

Danny laughed heartily. "Like father like son!" he declared. "You're learning well. How about you and I get out of this cold and go inside and have some hot chocolate and keep warm until your girlfriend gets here."

"Peppermint hot chocolate?" DJ asked as he and his father, hand in hand, headed off the rink and through the snow towards the stairs to the deck.

Danny sighed. "Okay…so maybe you got some of your mother in ya, too."

"He gets all the good stuff from me," Lindsay declared, as she stood in just inside the open sliding door.

"You wish, Montana," Danny said and bent down to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

"What was that for?" she asked.

Her husband shrugged. "Just because," he replied. "'Cause I wanna kiss my girl. Is that okay with you?"

She laid a hand on the back of DJ's head and gently pushed him into the house. Then grabbed her husband by the front of the front of his jacket and yanked him down into a long, intense, toe curling and snow melting kiss.

"Is that okay with you, Mister Messer?" she asked, licking her bottom lip when the kiss ended.

"How about we lock the kids in their rooms and I take you in the bedroom and show you how okay that was," he growled, attempting to pull her back into another kiss.

"How about you go bury yourself in the snow to cool yourself down," Lindsay said, laughing as he grabbed her ass roughly and yanked her towards him.

"How about you just…"

The doorbell sounded. The chime echoing through the house.

"Our guests are here," Lindsay told him, shoving him away and headed through the kitchen.

"Tell Flack he's got shit timing!" Danny called after her. "And they're not guests, babe! They're family! You know that!"

"God knows I love them more then my actual family back in Montana!" Lindsay shouted back.

Danny smiled. He was definitely looking forward to what had become a Boxing Day tradition. The coming together of the Messers and the Flacks.

* * *

"Uncle Danny!" Kellan cried as she spotted the familiar face strolling into the living room, where

DJ was already all over his Uncle Donnie, begging him to come skating with him in the backyard. Kallison and Amanda were already running upstairs to take a peek at Amanda's Christmas presents and Sam and Lindsay were talking excitedly about the Disney themed Christmas tree Lindsay had worked her ass off to decorate. Each Messer kid got a different Disney decoration each year. Starting with seven years ago when Amanda was born. Between the collection the kids had accumulated and what Danny had bought his wife just because, the tree was jammed back.

Danny easily caught the tiny body that came flying at him and scooped Kellan up into his arms.

"Hi, Uncle Danny!" she chirped and gave him a noisy kiss before curling her arms and legs around him.

"How's my girl doing?" he asked, showering her with kisses and stroking her silky black hair. "You have a good Christmas?"

She nodded energetically. "Did you?" she asked.

"I had an amazing Christmas. Did Santa bring you everything you wanted?"

"Well…" she said with a sigh. "Not really."

"No? What was it you didn't get?" he asked.

"I wanted a baby brother or sister," she replied. "But I didn't get one. And I didn't get one last year or the year before that!"

"Well Santa doesn't bring baby brothers or sisters," Danny told her. "Mommies and daddies take care of that stuff. And I think your mommy and daddy have already explained that God didn't want them to have any more babies. Just you and your sister. It's what makes you two so special."

"Can't mommy and daddy go somewhere and get me a baby brother or sister? Like the hospital? When Makenna was born there was lots of babies there. Can't mommy and daddy have one of them?"

"Those babies have mommies and daddies," Danny said.

"Well there has to be somewhere to get a baby brother or sister," she huffed. "'Cause I want one real bad."

"Kellan, we've talked about this," Flack said, where from he was already sprawled out on the floor rough housing with DJ. "No baby brothers or sisters. Alright?"

"Alright," she said with a heavy dramatic sigh.

"Why don't you go upstairs and find Kallison and Amanda?" Danny suggested as he sat his niece down on the floor. "Then you and your sister can open up the presents Aunt Linds and I bought for you."

"Can I play with Makenna?" she asked hopefully.

"She's having a nap," Danny replied. "But I promise you that as soon as she gets up, you can help change her and then play with her? Okay?"

"Okay!" Kellan chirped and bounded through the living room and up the stairs.

"Go easy on your Uncle Donnie there, Daniel," Danny said to his son, who was bouncing up and down on his uncle's stomach. "He's not as young as he used to be. Can't you see all the grey hair?"

"Funny, Mess," Flack snorted. "You got four years up on me so shut it."

"Four years older and I could still whup you, Lieutenant," Danny declared.

"You wish," his best friend laughed. "I could take you with both hands tied behind my back."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Me and you on the backyard rink later."

"You're on," Flack told him, finally escaping from DJ's clutches and standing up. "Merry Christmas, Dan-o," he said, offering his hand.

"Don't give me that crap," Danny growled and pulled his best friend into a tight hug. "Merry Christmas, Don. Things went okay with the parents yesterday?"

"Better then I expected. I was fearing the worse when Mel showed up on my door step. But she bailed on the way there so we didn't have to deal with her crap."

"And things are good? With you and Sammie?" the CSI asked as he and Flack moved from the living room and into the kitchen.

Flack frowned. "Why woudn't they be? I got laid like six times in two days. That hasn't happened since before the girls were born."

"You sounded a little…I don't know…agitated on the phone this morning," Danny told him, opening the fridge and taking out two bottles of Bud. Twisting the caps off of both and tossing them in the sink before handing a beer to his best friend. "And then you said you and Sammie had something to tell me and Linds. Guess I got to thinking it was something bad. Like you guys were separating or something."

"Nothing like that," Flack assured him and sipped his beer. "But we do have some news."

"What kind of news?" Danny asked, leaning against the island in the center of the kitchen.

"Sam and I wanted to wait until later on. After the festivities."

Danny frowned. "That bad?"

Flack shrugged. "Not life or death of anything. Maybe a little earth moving for some people."

Danny stared long and hard at his best friend.

"There's two things," Flack told him.

"What's the first?"

"Sam got fired from the lab," the detective announced.

Danny's eyes widened.

"And she's got another job. In another city."

"Okay…" Danny said, for the lack of nothing better to say thanks to the shock invading his mind and body. "What city?"

Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We're moving to New Jersey," he said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please review! It makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**much madness**

**hardylover7477**

**Forest Angel**

**Bluehaven4220**

**SpankyMcdoogleFace**

**Jennifer-353**

**wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Celine 007**

**Afrozenheart412**


	20. Flacks and Messers Part Two

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**I WAS TOLD TO ISSUE A WARNING: DO NOT EAT OR DRINK WHILE EATING THE PART OF THIS CHAPTER THAT IS IN ITALICS.**

**ITALICS DENOTES A FLASHBACK.**

**PLEASE READ THE SONG LYRICS. IT'S PERFECT FOR OUR TWO COUPLES FEATURED IN THIS CHAPTER!**

* * *

**Flacks and Messers: Part Two**

"Remember when I was young and so were you  
and time stood still and love was all we knew  
You were the first, so was I  
We made love and then you cried  
Remember when

Remember when we vowed the vows and walked the walk  
Gave our hearts, made the start, it was hard  
We lived and learned, life threw curves  
There was joy, there was hurt  
Remember when

Remember when old ones died and new were born  
And life was changed, disassembled, rearranged  
We came together, fell apart  
And broke each others hearts  
Remember when

Remember when the sound of little feet  
was the music  
We danced to week to week  
Brought back the love, we found trust  
Vowed we'd never give up  
Remember when

Remember when thirty seemed old  
Now lookin' back it's just a steppin' stone  
To where we are,  
Where we've been  
Said we'd do it all again  
Remember when

Remember when we said when we turned gray  
When the children grow up and moved away  
We won't be sad, we'll be glad  
For all the life we've had  
And we'll remember when."  
-Remember When, Alan Jackson

* * *

"So have you heard from Adam?" Lindsay asked, as she and Sam lounged on the living room couch. Listening to the kids directly above them in the designated playroom. Laughing and co-existing rather peacefully at the moment.

The girls got along exceptionally well despite their nearly three year age difference. To Amanda and the twins, they weren't just 'cousins' and best friends. They were as tight as sisters. And that included the scrapping and fighting that came with all siblings. Amanda even hung around the Flack girls on the school playground even though Kellan and Kallison were in kindergarten. M&M, as she was affectionately known as, defended the twins -especially the tinier, more frail Kellan- from the older kids who liked to pick on them.

But having all three girls and DJ, the sole boy, in the same room, well that was a recipe for disaster.

"He called us yesterday morning," Sam said with a yawn as she tucked her legs underneath her. "He and Paisley wanted to wish us all a Merry Christmas and Octavia and Sebastian wanted to talk to the girls. Tell them all about meeting Mickey and Minnie Mouse and all the rides and what not at Disney World. Make Kellan and Kallison jealous in other words."

"And did it work?" Lindsay asked.

Sam snorted and rolled her eyes. "They've been upset about it since Adam and everyone left on the twenty-third. Actually, now that I think about it, they've been pissed since Adam announced he was taking his family to Disney. My girls must have cried and begged and pleaded for a week straight for us to go, too."

"Until Daddy stepped in and.."

"And told them that he didn't like the idea of being away from home at Christmas and that he couldn't take the time off for a proper vacation and that he couldn't afford two weeks at Disney World for all of us even if he could take it off. He tried the whole, you're both a little too small right now and can't enjoy all the rides, but that didn't fly considering Octavia is only a year older then the girls and Sebastian is younger then they are."

"Such fun and games, isn't it, Sammie?" Lindsay laughed. "We sure didn't sign up for this craziness when we agreed to become wives, did we?"

"It's been a journey," Sam said with a sigh, placing her elbow on the back of her couch and the side of her head in her hand. "Not always a smooth, enjoyable one, either. But I wouldn't give my husband up for anything in the world. He can be a first class bastard when he wants to be, but in the grand scheme of things, he's my rock. He keeps everything together. Keeps things running smoothly when I feel myself falling apart. He's always been the strong, dependable one."

"Doesn't hurt that he's always been madly and crazily and passionately in love with you either," Lindsay added.

The petite brunette smiled. "I lucked out the day God decided to bring Donnie into my life. I guess someone was shoving him in the right direction that night he waited at my apartment for three hours so he could talk to me."

"The guy was determined," Lindsay declared, leaning forward to snag a handful of Hershey's Kisses from a candy dish in the center of the coffee table in front of them. "Not to mention tenacious as all hell. He wasn't going to take no for answer."

"Well he almost had to," Sam said. "Until I chased him down in the rain. You know, sometimes that seems like a lifetime ago and sometimes it seems as if it was just yesterday. I mean, I can still remember the first time I met all of you."

"So can I," Lindsay tossed her best friend of a few of the small chocolates. "I remember you sauntering into the room where I was working in your lab coat, all raring to go, asking me if I needed help on my starfish autopsy. No introduction, nothing. I was thinking, okay, who is this and what is she doing in our lab?"

"Mac wasn't one for doing the whole introduce the new girl thing," Sam laughed. "He pretty much threw me to the wolves and let me handle it on my own. I still remember Don thinking I was some lab tech and barking orders at me like I was just this young, sweet thing put on earth to serve him"

"Well he sure got a rude awakening when you flashed him that killer smile and your badge and your gun," Lindsay said. "I can still see the look on his face. Remember? Chased you down in the lunch room because he couldn't find some results you had promised him? How you humoured him for a couple of hours about being a tech until you just couldn't take it anymore?"

Sam smiled and nodded in remembrance.

"I will never forget that as long as I lived. When you let him know that A, you were a CSI and B, you weren't going to take his crap, man, he looked like he'd dropped a load in his pants. And I've never seen Flack look like that. Ever. And then when you called him hot buns and blue eyes, oh my God, I wasn't sure if he was going to kill you or die of embarrassment."

Sam giggled and unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into her mouth. "I call him hot buns from time to time to get him going. You should see his face. Priceless."

"But nothing can be a priceless as when he caught you and Adam hugging in the hallway…"

"And assumed we were dating!" Sam howled with laughter. "I had almost forgotten about that! The look on Don's face. I think that was the first time he'd shown this hint of his jealous side. And we'd only known each other what? Five hours? I mean, what kind of girl did he think I was hooking up with someone that quick."

"I think the thought of a girl like you being with someone that Adam mortified him," Lindsay said. "And when you told him that apparently he didn't catch on to your last name being Ross when you introduced yourself and that Adam was your brother? He nearly shit himself for the second time that day. And do you remember what he said? How is that possible? How can someone like you…"

"Share DNA with someone like him!" Sam cried, her and Lindsay saying the exact words in unison before they both burst into giggles.

"And then there was Devon…" Lindsay sighed, after her laughter had dissipated.

"Devon and then that little blond thing with huge boobs in the clerk's department and then Angell," Sam said. "I endured sheer hell for a year for that man. I hope he appreciates it. All that suffering and torture of seeing him with other women when I was having dirty dreams about him nearly every night."

"Well you could have just saved yourself a lot of hurt by just telling him you were jonesin' over him," Lindsay reasoned.

"And make things easy on myself? Never. Besides, I like to think that the way Don and I were? The whole friends first thing? I like to think that helped make our relationship and eventually our marriage stronger. I mean, I know we've had our issues, but we've always managed to get passed them."

"That's nothing but love, sweetie," Lindsay declared. "Look at what love helped Danny and I through all these years. Ruben Sandoval, Rikki Sandoval, workplace accidents. Need I go on? Yet here we are at the end of it all. A great marriage, three beautiful kids. Life is far from perfect but we're disgustingly happy. Same goes for you and Flack. What the two of you have? God, Sam. That's precious. That's a love we all wish we had but so seldom find."

"Well let's just say I'm holding on to him with two hands. As tight as I can. And he's not going anywhere."

"I doubt he'd ever want to. The guy is nuts about you. And those girls of his."

Sam smiled and nodded. "He's a damn good father. I just wish we would have had the chance to have more. Another baby would have been nice. A boy. Donnie would kill to have a little boy around the house."

"You guys wanna borrow Daniel for a while?" her best friend laughed. "That kid would be in heaven if he got to live with his Uncle Donnie. And with Kallison."

Sam popped a second chocolate into her mouth. "She told me about how he's her boyfriend," she said. "As cute and innocent as that is, I am keeping that from her father. Don's not ready to even consider one of his girls in that way. I know they're only five and nothing more will come of it other then playground hand holding and a kiss here and there and Valentines and Christmas and birthday cards exchanged, but it's just best Don doesn't know about it."

"I agree," Lindsay said. "'I'm not ready for him to be threatening Danny or making sure his kid keeps it in his pants. And about this baby thing…"

"We're not going to try adopting anymore," Sam told her. "The agencies just keep rejecting us because of my illness and my history of mental illness."

Lindsay frowned. "Is that what they said?"

Sam nodded. "They checked way back when and found records on my hospital stay when Zack had me committed. He was the crazy one. Not me. But they're holding that and my illness against me. So Don and I are shit out of luck."

"What about private adoption?"

"We don't know where to even start as far as private adoption goes," her best friend sighed.

"You know," Lindsay said. "The offer Danny and I made a couple of years back still stands. Danny's the one that got fixed after Makenna. I still have a lot of good, viable eggs kicking around inside of me. And Flack's obviously in normal, working order."

"Once I had the hysterectomy we never even had to worry about birth control ever again. But yeah, he still produces sperm if that's what you mean."

"The offer is still on the table, Sammie. Just say the word and…"

"I can't let you be a surrogate mother for us, Linds. I just can't."

"Why not?"

"My husband fathering a baby with my best friend? That's just a little too surreal."

"It's not like Flack and I actually have to have sex," Lindsay pointed out. "It's a medical procedure."

"I know how it's done," Sam said. "They fertilize your egg with his sperm. I know that. But still…I don't know. There's just something…weird about it."

"If you're worried about me getting attached to the baby and wanting to keep it myself, that's not going to happen. This is a business thing. Something I want to do for the two of you. I'm just carrying the baby for you. I won't stake claim to it or anything like that. I'll hand it over to you as soon as it's born. You know I'd never screw you guys over."

Sam sighed heavily.

"We will get lawyers involved and I'll sign whatever I have to. To prove to you that I'm not going to renege. I just want to give you guys a chance at having a baby. I wouldn't even expect you guys to pay for medical expenses. What the department doesn't cover through benefits Danny and I could easily cover ourselves."

"Linds, you know I appreciate the offer and the sentiment.."

"But…"

"But I just don't know if I can go along with something like that. I love you. Like a sister. But I just don't know if I can live with my best friend being pregnant by my husband."

"You don't have to decide right now," Lindsay said. "It's just something to think about. Before you guys were banking on adoption and now that that is out of the question, now it's time to seriously considering other options. And this is an option made with the best of intentions."

Sam smiled. "You'd actually do that for us?" she asked.

"In a heartbeat. You know that. I meant it two years ago and I meant it now. Promise me you'll think about it, Sammie. That you and Don will sit down and talk about it."

Sam nodded. "I'll talk to him."

"That's a start," Lindsay said and leaned over and wrapped her arm around her friend's slender shoulders. "You guys deserve the best. Let me try and give that to you."

Sam just smiled and returned her best friend's embrace. It was a hard decision to make to say the least.

One that affected everyone around them. And couldn't be made lightly.

* * *

"You can say something, Messer," Flack said, as he leaned against the counter across from his best friend.

"What do you want me to say?" Danny asked, unaware that several minutes had passed since Flack had dropped the New Jersey bomb on him and that they'd spent that time doing little more then staring at each other. Danny felt numb. Completely and utterly shell shocked. And both heart and stomach sick.

"Something," Flack replied. "Anything. Like maybe a 'are you fucking kidding me?' or a 'You've got to be out of your goddamn mind.' Something along those lines at least."

"New Jersey?" the CSI asked in disbelief. "For real?"

Flack nodded. "Nothing is set in stone yet. Just Sam starts at the lab there working for Stella on the first of February. I don't like the idea of her having to commute too much back and forth between here and Jersey so I figured the easiest, and smartest, thing to do is move everyone there. Start a new life."

"And what about your life here?" Danny asked, absentmindedly picking at the label on his bottle of beer. "Your parents are here. All your friends. Your career."

"I'm going to go in and talk to Sinclair first chance I get," Flack explained. "Explain to him what's going on and how the most logical thing for my family is to move to New Jersey and start anew. I'm sure he knows some of the top brass in the smaller cities and he could put in a good word for me with them."

"What about your house?"

"We're going to put it on the market in the new year. As soon as possible."

"How long have you and Sam known all of this? 'Cause to me it sounds like you guys have known for a while and have had lots of time to consider things."

"Sam was let go a little more then a month ago," Flack admitted. "We agreed to keep it between us until her last day got a little closer. And now that we're nearly at the end of December and we're going to be listing the house soon, I figure this is as good a time as any to start telling people."

Danny snorted and shook his head. "Can't believe the department fired her."

"It was Mac that did the dirty work," Flack said. "Called her into the office and did it in typical Mac style. No compassion, no sympathy. Nothing. Just told her that the department was cutting back and she was the first on the list for the lab. Because of all the time that she's taken off with her illness."

"They can't fire her because she's got a legit problem," Danny argued. "That's bullshit."

"Department considers her a liability, Dan-o. They don't want to be paying her to stay home when they can pay someone else to actually be doing work. And that's Mac's exact words. Not mine."

Danny downed half of his beer. A look of sheer contempt and disgust on his face as he considered what Mac had done. Cutting loose one of the best CSIs that that place had ever had. A woman with a legitimate illness and a husband and two little kids at home. Mac knew full well that the Flacks needed the two incomes to live comfortably. Hell, in New York City, everyone lived two incomes and sometimes three just to get by.

"So is that why Mac and Kelli turned down the invite to come here?" Danny asked. "They've been coming to Boxing Day at Chez Messer for nearly eight years now."

"He probably doesn't want anything to do with Sam," Flack reasoned. "Outside of work, anyway. He knows I'm pissed and ready to rip his head off. Who knows, maybe he even feels a bit bad for what he had to do. I always thought him and Sam had this tight relationship. Like a father and daughter deal. I mean, my kids call him Papa for Christ sakes. Apparently, they weren't that tight, huh? If he felt that way he would have handled things a lot better."

"Especially when he busted his ass to keep Adam on board a long time ago," Danny huffed. "Mac's got no heart. He's cold, Flack. Cold. How does someone as sweet and adorable as Kelli put up with him? And for so long?"

"Love I guess. That's the only thing I can think of. Same reason why Linds and Sam have put up with us all these years."

"Yeah…but we're human, Flack. We're not…we're not Mac…"

The detective nodded. "I called to wish the boys a Merry Christmas. Michael told me that Kelli's been making Mac ride the couch and giving him the cold shoulder since all this with Sammie went down."

"Rightfully so. Makes it hard for Brooklyn and Kelli to be friends. And if it wasn't for your wife, Mac would never had met Kelli. So he should be kissing Sam's ass of ever introducing them to each other. Fucking asshole. Anyone else know about this? And the move?"

"Only people who know are my folks," Flack said. "They were shocked. Especially the old man."

"I can imagine. I'm shocked. It's gonna kill Linds. And DJ. Gonna break his heart to lose his Uncle Donnie."

"He's not losing me," Flack argued. "We're going to be looking for a place in Hackensack. That's like twelve miles from here. If that."

"It'll seem like twelve hundred," Danny grumbled. "This sucks. Utterly fucking sucks. What am I suppose to tell my wife and my kids? Especially Daniel."

"Let's not tell them anything until we know when we're leaving Queens," Flack told him. "Who knows how long the house will be on the market. Until we sell, we're staying where we are. Plain and simple. Sam's going to tell Linds about losing her job when it gets closer to her last day. No one knows. Not even Hawkes or Adam. Keep it that way, okay?"

Danny nodded. "But I.."

He cut his own words off abruptly as Samantha wandered into the kitchen, cuddling Makenna, in white leggings and a scarlet red velvet dress with white lace trim around the hem and the sleeve cuffs and the neckline, to her chest, a protective hand on the back of the baby's head and her lips pressed to the little girl's ear as she talked quietly and lovingly to her. Flack couldn't help but smile at the sight of his wife with that baby in her arms. Sam had been a natural mom right from the start. Patient and loving and compassionate. Tending to her children's needs before her own and sacrificing a hell of a lot to give them a decent life. She'd always been a beautiful woman. But became even more so the first time he saw her cuddling their daughters and breastfeeding them. She had suddenly seemed so mature and ethereal the moment he saw her caring for the babies they had managed to create and bring successfully into the world together.

It was unfortunate that they hadn't been able to have more children. Hell, he would have had a whole starting line up for a hockey team with her if that had been in God's plans. But it hadn't been and fate had worked against them and it was a damn bitter pill to swallow regardless of how much he loved and adored his girls.

And seeing her with a baby, whether it be their 'niece' or someone entirely different, his heart nearly damn well broke for what had been taken away from them.

"You can take her home with you for a few days if you want," Danny commented.

"No, it's okay," Sam said with a smile, pressing a kiss to the side of the baby's head as she stood beside her husband. "My baby skills are rusty. Donnie has always been the better one with babies. He's got a knack with them."

"You're full of crap," Flack told her and sipped his beer.

"The girls always stopped crying when he picked them up," Sam said. "Always. And when I was pregnant and they were carrying on and using my internal organs as soccer balls, all he had to do was put his hand on my tummy and talk to them and they knocked their shit off."

"That's 'cause I'm the boss," Flack declared and wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders.

Sam snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, honey," she teased.

He grinned and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"You both make great parents," Danny informed his friends. "Seriously. It's a damn shame those stupid adoption agencies don't chill out a bit. Especially considering some of the homes kids grow up in these days. Alcoholics and druggies for parents. Mom's that are prostitutes. Abuse and neglect. And they have the nerve to question whether you guys are fit to care for a baby?"

"It's just their job, Danny," Sam sighed, running her fingers through Makenna's curls. "They have to put the health and the well being of the child first. And apparently they feel that I'm a risk."

"What a crock of shit," Flack said. "Like you'd ever do anything to hurt the girls or any baby for that matter."

"They're entitled to their opinion, Donnie," Sam told him. "And that's their opinion. We still have a couple of options to pursue. We're not completely at a loss just yet."

Makenna, a tiny fist shoved in her mouth, glanced up at Flack and let out a loud gurgle followed by an ear piercing shriek and a giggle. A gigantic smile spreading from ear to ear.

Flack returned the smile and set his beer down on the counter behind him and held his hands out to the little girl.

"All the kids love Uncle Donnie best," Danny declared. "There's no escaping it."

"It's because they find him tall and goofy looking," Sam joked, smiling up at her husband as she passed the baby over.

"Thanks, babe," he said with a smirk as he tucked Makenna into his chest. "I'll remember on my deathbed that you called me tall and goofy looking."

"Well to me you're tall, dark and handsome," she told him. "But to babies you're something entirely different. And look at her. She loves you. Next to daddy you're the most amazing guy in the entire world."

"Next to him?" Flack snorted. "Try I am the most guy in the entire world."

Danny rolled his eyes. "In your dreams, Flack. In your dreams. You guys were made to be parents, you know that? Seriously. You two were put on this earth to procreate and raise kids together."

"Don't know about the latter, but we're damn good at the procreating," Flack declared. "Or practicing the procreating."

"You're so full of yourself," Danny said with a dramatic sigh. "I'm just gonna run upstairs, check on my other two rug rats. You two okay with her?"

"I promise I won't hide her under my shirt and smuggle her out of here, Dan-o," Flack assured him.

"Like I said, I'm willing to lend her out for a few days," his best friend joked, patting him on the shoulder as he passed by. "I mean it guys," he said before disappearing out of the kitchen.

"Don't put her back to sleep," Sam said, peering at the baby tucked into her husband's broad, strong chest. "She just woke up from a nap."

"She's not gonna fall asleep. Are you Makenna?" he held the baby out at arms length, laughing as the baby gurgled at him and flashed a wide smile. "She's damn cute, huh?" he commented, as he laid the little girl along a forearm.

"She is," Sam agreed. "Not as cute as our girls were at the age…"

"We're prejudiced though. We're always going to think our girls are the most beautiful girls on earth. Makenna comes a close second."

"I saw you do hide her under your shirt," Sam said. "Run off with her."

"You'd like that wouldn't you? Not necessarily the kidnapping part. But having a baby in the house again."

Sam nodded and ran a hand over Makenna's hair. "Would you?" she asked.

"Have I not been going through all that disappoint with those agencies with you, babe? I wouldn't do that if I wasn't serious about wanting another baby."

"Like I said, there's a couple more options that we can think about," Sam said, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Private option, a surrogate…"

"We talked about that last one and we both decided it wasn't for us," he reminded her. "You aren't comfortable with me fathering a kid with Monroe and to be honest, the thought kinda freaks me out. My sperm and her egg? That's a little too bizarre even for me."

"What if it's our only choice?" she asked.

"Then it's our only choice and we got another dog instead of having a baby. Not even I want a baby that bad, Sammie. It would be nice, but…"

"It would be something we'd have to talk long and hard about, Donnie."

"We're talking about it right now. We talked about it two years ago."

"Well maybe this time we need to really, really, really talk about it."

"You can't honestly be serious," he said and looked down at her.

She stared up at him, her eyebrows raised.

He gave a small laugh and shook his head. "You're fucking mental, you really are. I'm not jerking off in a cup so someone can take a turkey baster, suck up my sperm and impregnate your best friend. No way. I'm not doing it."

"If it was another woman?" Sam inquired. "Someone random that a fertility clinic helped us find? Would it be okay then?"

"You know what? No. It wouldn't. Because that's disturbing. Having to use another woman's eggs. If it was eggs that they managed to harvest from you and put them in another woman to carry once one of them was fertilized, then I'd be all for it. But this way? Hell no. I'm against it and you know it."

"But what else can we do?"

"Private adoption is still open to us."

"How will we find a family?"

"I don't know," he sighed heavily. "We will manage. And if private tanks for us then that's it. That's a sure sign that we were not meant to have any other kids. I can't believe you'd even consider letting Lindsay do something like that."

"Well she offered," Sam reasoned.

"I'm not impregnating your best friend! Even if it's done scientifically! I am not doing it, okay? It's just plain fucking weird. And I know you want a baby. Badly. So do I. But you considering something like that? That's fucking selfish and you know it."

She sighed heavily and stared down at the smiling baby lying so comfortably along her husband's arm. "I'm sorry if things didn't work out the way you wanted. That I let you down some way and.."

"You know what? Knock it off. Don't even finish that sentence. You're getting on my nerves, Sam. When you talk like that it irritates the shit out of me. How many times have I told you that it didn't matter to me? That it sucked that it happened but it wasn't the end of the world? How many times?"

"Tons," she admitted meekly.

"Tons. Exactly. And I'm getting goddamn tired of saying it. Of having to make you feel better about yourself. It happened, Samantha. It happened and it fucking sucks but deal with it for Christ sakes! I love you but fucking deal with it! Own your shit already!"

She blinked. Taken back by his harsh, albeit honest words. It was the truth. And she knew it.

"We're in this life together, Sammie," he said, his voice softer as he gazed down at the happy baby. "I love you and accept you no matter what. And it's time you loved and accepted yourself no matter what."

She nodded slowly, letting his words sink in.

"I'll always be here, Sammie," he said. "No matter what. But that doesn't mean you have be totally dependant on me and lean on me all the time. And that's what's happened and you know it."

"Anything else you want to shit all over me about Don?" she asked and stepped away from her.

"I'm not shitting on you, babe. I'm trying to help you out. Don't get all defensive and run away from things."

"Well don't," she snapped. "Don't help me out. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself if something happened to you. I just don't ever want to have to be without you. What is so wrong about that?"

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with that. It's just sometimes…I don't know. Sometimes you rely on me too much."

"You're my goddamn husband. If I can't rely on you who can I rely on?"

"I don't want to fight, Sammie. It's Boxing Day. We're at Danny and Linds' house."

"I don't want to fight either," she said and started to head from the room.

Flack caught her by the arm and pulled her back. Capturing her lips in a long, soft kiss. "I love you," he told her. "Always. Don't ever doubt that, okay?"

She smiled and nodded. "I love you, too," she said and after a final kiss, headed from the room.

Flack sighed and looked down at his baby 'niece'.

"Don't ever torture some poor bastard as much as your aunt tortures me," he pleaded.

Makenna smiled up at him.

"Who am I kidding?" he asked. "I enjoy it. I wouldn't have put up with it for so long if I didn't. I wouldn't give your auntie up for anything in this world, you know that?"

Another smile. And a loud gurgle.

Nothing will ever come between us, he thought, laying his left hand on the baby's tummy, his gaze falling on his wedding band. Thinking long and hard about what that simple, four inch thick plain white gold ring meant to him. And to his life.

For better or for worse.

And everything in between.

* * *

_Sam was hunkered down over the dead time travellor's personal belongings. The strange helmet like apparatus that he'd been wearing, along with a watch and a GPS monitoring chip that Sid had pulled out of the vic's hand down in autopsy. The case was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. A naked guy, covered in blood, had stumbled into the twelfth precinct claiming to have killed someone. Kevin Murray. A Chelsea student. There were only two problems with the confession. The first was that the alleged murder didn't take place until the next morning. The second was that this Kevin Murray had apparently been found alive and well, and completely buck naked, in his shower at the Chelsea dorms._

_Now on top of a needle being found in the man's brain and the GPS device being found in the his hand -from what Sid had said, it had been a personal surgery, done with the aid of a local anesthetic- word had trickled back to the lab that thanks to the info Adam had recovered from the chip, their previous John Doe was a Doctor Martin Browning, a famous and award winning physicist. And sitting there at Browning's apartment, where Hawkes, Flack and Mac had been going through the good doctor's things and investigating what went wrong, was a very elaborate time machine. _

_Too science fiction for her. Adam had always been the Doctor Who and the Star Wars and Star Trek fanatic. Sam had never been able to stretch her imagination that far and get into such far fetched genres. Truth be told, things that were too out of this world, alternate universe scared the crap out of her. She believed in ghosts and was terrified of them. Hence why she avoided watching horror movies and woke up to the smallest sound in her darkened apartment. She wasn't interested in being contacted by someone on the other side. The only thing a visit from a deceased relative would do would be to cause her to piss her own pants and send her cowering under her sheets._

_So suspending belief long enough to by the idea of time travel was out of the question._

_Even though her curiosity was starting to get the better of her._

"_Hey, Linds!" she called to her best friend as she toiled across the room, processing evidence herself. "What do you think about…"_

_Sam's words were cut off by the sensation of something cold and rock hard being pressed up against the small of her back. Her eyes widened as she felt warm breath on the back of her neck and the touch of skin against her cheek. And the smell of Danny Messer wafting over her._

"_Hey, Brooklyn," he whispered into her ear. "Wanna see my pickle?"_

"_You're what?" she asked. "Danny…what the hell…"_

"_I know you wanna see it," he told her. His voice low. Sultry almost. "I know you wanna see it real bad. Can you feel it, Sam? Can you feel my pickle?"_

"_Danny Messer, I swear to God if you don't…"_

"_Take a look," he encouraged. "I know you want to see it. You're dying to see it. Look down, Sammie. Just look down and look at my pickle. Satisfy your wanton curiosity."_

_Sam glanced across the lab at Lindsay, who was doing her best to keep a straight face as her boyfriend tortured her best friend._

"_Come on," Danny whispered. "Just take a peek. It won't bite. Unless you want it to."_

"_Get the hell away from me, Messer! You're sick!"_

"_Just look already," he ordered._

_Sam sighed heavily and looked behind her. Dissolving into giggles at the sight of a massive dill pickle encased in an evidence bag._

"_You're a dirty girl, Brooklyn!" Danny chuckled. "You were seriously hoping it was something else!"_

"_I was not! Don't be such a dirty minded perv."_

"_Here," he grabbed her hand and brought it down to the evidence bag. "Touch it. Touch my pickle."_

"_No!" she shrieked and slithered away from him. "Get the hell away from me with that thing!"_

"_Come on Brooklyn," Danny advanced on her, the enormous pickle held out in front of him. "I know you want to touch it! Don't be shy! I heard you like guys with big pickles!"_

"_Don't come anywhere near me with that thing!" she warned, backing away from him. "You're disgusting!"_

"_Don't be like that! I know you like the pickle. You're not a Beaver kind of girl. You're a pickle kind of girl. So don't act all virginal here! You want to touch it!"_

"_Daniel Messer! I will kick your ass!" she cried._

"_You'll like it! I promise you!" he continued after her. "You'll like the feel of my pickle. The taste of it."_

_She shrieked as he seized her by the front of her lab coat and pinned her up against the wall near the back of the room and held her there with the weight of his body. _

"_Feel the pickle!" he bellowed. Jabbing her in the stomach with it until they, and Lindsay, were lost in fits of laughter._

"_Get the hell away from me, Messer!" she screamed, sliding down the wall until she was seated on her ass on the floor and assailed with ferocious hiccups._

"_I knew even a tough Brooklyn girl like you couldn't handle a Staten Island guy's pickle," Danny declared. "You okay?"_

"_You're.." hiccup "an…" hiccup… "asshole." HICCUP._

"_What in the hell is going on in here?" Flack asked, suddenly appearing beside his best friend. His eyes widening at both the sight of the massive pickle in his hand and the new girl on her ass with tears streaming down her face and her entire body shaking from hiccups._

"_Just hazing little Brooklyn," Danny replied, extending a hand to the tiny brunette. And smirking as Flack stepped in front of him and offered his own hand. It was no secret, at least to Danny, that Flack had a thing for the new girl. A lot of guys had a thing for her. She was smart and witty and took no shit. And hot as hell._

_And admittedly off limits to cops._

_She ignored both of their hands and got to her feet on her own. "You guys are mean," she declared and headed back to her work station._

"_Aww, come on now," Danny said as he followed her. "Just having a little fun with ya."_

"_She's supposed to be working," Flack grumbled. "On my case."_

"_Which was exactly what I was doing until someone poked me in the ass with their pickle and demanded I touch it. Don't get your panties in a knot, blue eyes."_

_Flack frowned._

_Danny snickered._

"_So what's with the pickle anyway?" Sam asked._

"_It's part of my evidence," Danny replied. "Death by orgasm."_

"_With the pickle?" Sam inquired. "The pickle wasn't the culprit was it?"_

"_She was eating the pickle at the time," Danny said. "Apparently she was just sitting there at the deli and BOOM. Had an orgasm. Died. What a way to go."_

_Sam snorted and peeled off her latex gloves and tossed them in the nearby trash and shrugged out of her lab coat, placing it on her stool. "I don't' believe an orgasm can kill you. I mean I've given myself some really good ones. But never good enough to kill me."_

_Across the room, Lindsay Monroe burst into laughter._

_Danny Messer and Donald Flack Jr could do little more then stare at the little Brooklyn girl, their eyes wise. Both at a complete and utter loss for words._

"_Can I borrow the pickle?" Sam asked, snatching the evidence back from Danny's hand. "Thanks!" she called, heading for the door. _

"_Where are you going with it?" Flack asked curiously._

"_The locker room. To see if it's as good as anything I've got at home," she answered, winking at him._

_Lindsay laughed even harder, until tears were spilling down her cheeks._

"_You two are so damn gullible," Sam declared and tossed the pickle back at Danny. "And don't be standing there thinking either of you can give orgasms like that. 'Cause whoever thinks they can, I'll be waiting down the hall."_

_And with that, she simply stepped out of the room and disappeared down the corridor._

"_Don't even think about it!" Lindsay shouted at her boyfriend who took a step towards the door._

"_Unreal…" Flack shook his head slowly. "She's just…unreal…totally fucking unreal."_

"_And you so want her," Danny declared. "So go. Go after her. Prove your manhood in the locker room."_

"_Shut up, Messer," Flack snapped and headed for the door._

"_Get your head out of your ass and ask her out already!" Danny called as his best friend left the room._

_Flack knocked on the glass wall and flipped Danny the middle finger before heading down the hall. In the opposite direction of Samantha Ross._

_Danny chuckled and shook his head. "Give it a few years," he said. "In a few years they'll be married with a couple of kids. Mark my words."_

* * *

"No word of a lie, that is what I said!" Danny Messer declared, as nine years later, he sat at his kitchen table surrounded by his wife and his best friends. "I said those exact words!"

Lindsay nodded, confirming his story.

"I knew as soon as I saw how jealous he was over you and I goofing off!" Danny said to Sam. "He had his big boy pants in a huge bunch. I knew right there and then that you two were gonna end up with a happily ever after."

"You are all knowing, Messer," Flack declared, finishing off his umpteenth beer. It was close to midnight as they lingered around the kitchen table. The girls had begged and pleaded to stay over night. To have a sleep over with Amanda. Once Danny and Lindsay had okay-ed it, their parents couldn't deny them the chance to spend the night and most of the next day with their aunt and uncle and their cousins.

The dinner that Lindsay had slaved over had been excellent. Succulent roast beef with roasted potatoes and carrots and three different types of salad. And homemade pecan pie for dessert. Following an hour of skating that had tired all the kids out and sent them into warm baths and then pyjamas and then to bed to talk and giggle for the next couple of hours, the adults had retreated to the kitchen to feast once again on baked goods and sip alcoholic beverages. Sam had accepted one glass of wine, then had moved to diet cola when it became apparent her husband wasn't going to take it easy when it came to the drink. Someone had to get him home in one piece.

"You two were so easy to read," Danny said, downing the remains of his JD and Coke. "The two of you wanted each other the second you laid eyes on each other. Admit it."

"Lust at first sight," Flack agreed. "All the way."

"Then what the hell took so long?" Danny asked.

Both husband and wife pointed at each other.

"It was you and you know it!" Sam laughed. "It was you that took your sweet time!"

"You could have told me you were into me," Flack told her. "Why were you waiting for me to make a move?"

"'Cause maybe girls like it when a guy pursues them," she reasoned.

"Well how was I to know you were that kind of girl, babe? You played hard to get all the time. I was starting to think you weren't into me that way. Or you were a lesbian."

Sam smirked. "That was so your wet dream, admit it. Me and Kaile Maka."

"Hey! You were the one that admitted once when we were fooling around that she was your girl crush!" Flack argued. "I can't help it if my mind went on overdrive after you said that!"

"You got a thing for Maka?" Danny asked. "Seriously?"

"I do not have a thing for her!" Sam replied. "I just find her really pretty."

"It's okay to get hot and bothered by another woman," Danny told her. "Lindsay admitted to me once that the thought of you and her doing things to each other got her horny as hell."

"Danny!" Lindsay cried, swatting his arm before burying her face in her hands, embarrassed.

"You two were the ones that kissed in the bar!" Flack reminded her. "Not us! So you two started all this perverted shit off!"

"You must have loved that kiss," Sam said. "You still go on about it all these years later."

"Of course I loved it! My girl kissed another girl!"

"What was that song back then, Sammie?" Lindsay asked. "I kissed a girl…"

"And I liked it. The taste of her cherry chap-stick," Sam finished.

"My lips taste like peppermint schnapps," Lindsay told her and winked.

Sam grinned, leaned sideways and laying a hand on the side of Lindsay's face, covered her best friend's lips in a long, smouldering kiss.

Danny and Flack's eyes widened. Especially at the sight of some tongue.

"On that happy note," Flack jumped up, swaying drunkenly. "I'm taking my wife home now and making an honest woman out of her!"

Sam laughed and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet by her eager husband. "I guess |'m driving," she said. "Considering your three sheets to the wind and won't be able to get it up even if there's a stiff breeze in the room."

"Don't worry about me," Flack said, ushering her towards the door. "I know how to take care of you, babe."

Both Danny and Lindsay laughed as they got up from the table as well and followed their best friends out of the kitchen and through the living room and to the front door.

"I'll swing by with the girls tomorrow afternoon," Lindsay told Sam, as the brunette slipped into her jacket and boots. "That gives you some time to sleep and take it easy."

"She's going to need the extra sleep," Flack declared, struggling to get into his coat.

Sam smirked and helped him out. And then had to instruct him as to which boot went on what foot.

"Sam's gonna get herself some if you don't pass out on the way home," Danny chuckled, as he watched the Flacks, Sam attempting to support her husband's tall, muscular frame as they stepped out the door and down the front steps.

"SHE"S GONNA GET LAID!" Flack bellowed. Loud enough for the entire street to hear.

"Shhh…" Sam scolded him as she yanked open the passenger door to their SUV. "Be quiet!" she whispered.

"Okay…" he whispered back. "Sorry."

Then nearly crushed her into the side of the vehicle as he kissed her passionately.

"Jesus Christ, Don!" she cried and shoved him towards the open door.

"Good luck!" Danny called, laughing as he watched Samantha buckling up Flack's seat belt. And Flack telling her that while she was down there, she might as well put her mouth to good use.

"Men!" Sam huffed and backed out of the SUV and slammed the door. Giving Danny and Lindsay a wave before climbing in behind the wheel, adjusting the seat and the mirrors and starting the vehicle.

"He is so going to be passed out by the time they hit the end of the street," Danny said, before turning around and heading inside the house.

"I love you so much, baby," Flack slurred as he reclined the passenger's seat. "You are so good to me. I am so going to treat you right when we get home."

"I sure you will, Donnie," she sighed. "And I love you too. Close your eyes and try and relax."

"Okay…" he said. "I will."

It was less then five minutes when she heard the loud snoring beside her.

Get myself some my ass, she thought with a smirk.

She stopped at a red light and glanced over at the passed out figure beside her. He looked years younger with his pale skin glistening in the moonlight and his long, dark eye lashes falling on her cheeks.

He was a drunk ass. No doubt about it.

But she wouldn't give him up for anything in the world.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please leave a review folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**Jennifer 353**


	21. Way too soon

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS. **

**A/N: I WAS TOLD TO GIVE A WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. NO SMUT FOLKS. BUT YOU MIGHT NEED KLEENEXES….**

**HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**BLAME THE MUSE FOR THIS CHAPTER FOLKS….AND MAYBE LAURZZ, TOO**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!**

* * *

**Way too soon**

"Baby why'd you leave me  
Why'd you have to go?  
I was counting on forever, now I'll never know  
I can't even breathe  
It's like I'm looking from a distance  
Standing in the background  
Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now  
This can't be happening to me  
This is just a dream."  
-Just a Dream, Carrie Underwood

* * *

She'd been in the house for an hour when she heard the front door swing open and then closed again, followed by the dull click of the dead bolt being set. She continued to watch The Sound of Music on the television across the room as she sat in a pair of flannel Care Bear pyjamas in the middle of the rumpled queen sized bed, leaning back against the headboard as she ate a bowl of Lucky Charms. Trying to pay attention to Julie Andrews sing about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, despite the muttering and cursing that drifted up from the bottom of the stairs as her husband attempted to hang up his coat and kick off his shoes while in an alcohol fuelled oblivion. She said nothing as his heavy footsteps climbed the stairs, casting a quick glance towards the bedroom door as he came into the room, stumbling slightly.

"I can't believe you let me sleep in the car," Flack grumbled, as he began peeling off his clothes, his head spinning and his stomach ready to rebel any second.

"Well I couldn't exactly carry you inside, Donnie," Sam said, spooning cereal into her mouth and watching as he struggled to get his shirt over his head. "You're twice my size."

"You could have woke me up," he informed her, finally managing to get his shirt off and tossing it across the room in the direction of the laundry hamper.

He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed and yanking his pants off. Worried that if he'd stayed standing and attempted to undress, he would have fallen over and passed out on the bedroom floor. He felt nauseous and dizzy as he pulled off his socks before allowing himself to fall backwards onto the bed.

"I tried to wake you up," his wife told him. "Twice. But both times you just kept on snoring. So I figured you were comfy where you were and left you there. No big deal."

"I would have froze to death out there," he complained. "Imagine how bad you would have felt if you'd come out in the morning and found me dead. You would never get over something like that."

"I was either going to come out and wake you up after my movie was over or at least take a couple of blankets out to you," Sam reasoned.

He snorted.

"You wouldn't have froze to death, Donnie. All that alcohol would have kept you warm for at least eight hours. You were in no danger of dying of exposure."

"What if someone had have come along and car jacked me?" he asked. "You would have felt like complete shit then."

"Are you not a cop? Do you not know how to fend people off and save your ass? You would have been just fine. Don't be such a damn baby."

"Leave me out in the car while you get the entire bed to yourself," he mumbled. "Thought you said you had a hard time sleeping by yourself."

"I do," she said, popping some Lucky Charms into her mouth. "But I have a worse time sleeping when you're drunk. You snore bad enough when you're sober. But when you're drunk? Intolerable."

"I am not drunk," he informed her, blindly reaching out to rub her foot through the mounds of blankets. "I'm tipsy."

She laughed. "You're drunk, babe. Stop living in denial."

He sighed heavily and rolled over onto his side and draped his arms over her legs. "Sammie…"

"Shhh…" she placed a finger over her lips. "It's back from the commercial. I love this part."

"How many damn times have you seen this movie? I know it's your favourite, but come on. You watch it every Christmas at least three times and I bought you the DVD for your birthday that first year we were together. Is it really that important to watch it tonight?"

"Do you see anything else for us to do?" she asked. "I'm sitting here, minding my own business, watching my movie and eating my cereal. What else is there for me to be doing?"

"I can think of a few things," Flack replied, pushing his way up the bed and snaking his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her thigh. "And none of them involve watching television and all of them involve me having a midnight snack."

She rolled her eyes and snagged the remote from the bedside table and turned the volume up.

"Come on, don't be like that, baby," he said, using his free hand to being popping open the buttons on her pyjama top. "I was good all day. I behaved myself."

She arched her eyebrows.

"Okay…so I drank a little too much and I may have been a little too loud out on the street and I may have passed out in the car. But none of that warrants punishment. So why don't you be a good little girl and just let me have some fun?"

"Do you mind?" she asked, pushing him away from her when he managed to get her top open and press a kiss to her stomach. "Don't go ruining my Captain Von Trapp fantasy."

He frowned and placed his lips against her warm skin once again. "Don't be like that," he said, reaching to undo the ties on her pyjama bottoms. "Don't torture me like this. You turn me on by kissing Monroe like that and then expect me to not jump you when we get home?"

"You've had way too much to drink," Sam informed him. "And when you have way too much to drink, two things happen. Either you can't seem to get things to work properly, or if you can it's sloppy. And I'm not in the mood for sloppy."

"It won't be sloppy," he assured her, sliding his hand along her smooth stomach and up to gently caress her breast. "You tell me whatever way you want it and I'll give it to you that way. I promise. You just can't be going around French kissing your best friend and not expect me to desperately need sex after something like that."

"When don't you desperately need sex?" she asked with a dramatic sigh, her eyes riveted on the television.

"Can I help it if you make me horny? If I am massively attracted to you? That I find you the most beautiful, sexy, alluring woman in the entire world? I can't help that. It's just the power you have over me, baby. You don't have to do anything and I'm ready to just attack you. You look at me a certain way or kiss me a certain way or touch me a certain way and that's it. I'm ready to go. I mean, I've been the way for eight years? Why would it change now?"

"Could you at least wait until my movie was over?" she asked.

Propping himself on his elbow, Flack looked in the direction of the television. Christopher Plummer was currently giving Julie Andrews shit for letting the kids come into her bed, and for singing, in the middle of a ferocious thunderstorm. The guy was a dick, as far as Flack was concerned. He treated those kids like they were soldiers under his command and ran his house like it was a damn army barracks. And it was so damn obvious right from the get go that meek and mild Maria, who had so desperately wanted to be a nun, actually wanted nothing more then to get laid by the Captain.

"Why not just cut to the chase and fuck each other and get it over with?" Flack asked. "I mean seriously. If it was me, I'd be like you wanna decide whether or not you wanna be a nun? Wanna see if you're destined to live a life of celibacy or you want to get laid every night? Baby, I'm your man."

Sam rolled her eyes. "You're so damn full of yourself," she said. "And why do you have to ruin my favourite movie with your running x-rated commentary?"

"Because it's so damn obvious they want each other!"

"Well people didn't do things like that back then, Donnie. They didn't have sex before marriage."

He laughed. "Bullshit. People were having sex before marriage from the beginning of time."

"He's a strict Catholic and she's studying to become a nun! They're not just going to fall into bed with each other! And why do you care?"

"It's not that I care. I'm just saying that it's obvious they got the hots for each other. So do something about it. Quit skirting around the issue and tell each other already. Or kiss her or something. Don't play these stupid little games with one another."

"Oh…you mean like someone I know who waited an entire year to quit playing his stupid little games?"

"That was entirely different," Flack told her and laid his head on her thigh once again. "I had no choice."

"You had plenty of choices," Sam said, finishing the last of the cereal and drinking the remainder of the milk in the bowl before setting her dirty dishes on the nightstand. "You just didn't make the right ones. Instead you waited a year before you.."

"Showed up on your doorstep and waited there for three hours like some pathetic, grovelling bastard," he finished for her.

"Well I wasn't going to be mean about it. I was just going to say that you waited a year before getting the balls to do anything about it."

"It's not that I didn't have the balls," Flack argued. "I was just confused."

"What was there to be confused about?"

"I don't know. I guess I was worried what the team was going to say when I suddenly dumped Angell and hooked up with you. I guess I was worried that the thing we had going on at work, the whole good cop, bad cop thing we had going on and the way we seemed to gel and work so good together would suddenly go down the shitter. And we had the cool brother and sister, best friend thing happening for us and I was worried that if we hooked up and it went bad, we'd lose that friendship thing too. And having you as a friend and a little sister type was better then not having you at all."

"You're rambling," Sam said with a grin, running her fingers through his hair.

"Maybe…but that's why it took me so long. But what does it matter now, babe? That's a long time ago. It all worked itself out in the end. I mean, look at us. We've come a long way, don't you think? From the night you chased me down the rain and I told you I was falling in love with you until now. We've come a long way."

She nodded and continued to comb her fingers through his short, and increasingly greying, hair.

"You ever thought that night, standing there in the rain, that we'd be where we are right now?"

"Eating Lucky Charms in bed while watching The Sound of Music? Uh…no."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I mean did you ever think that eight years later we'd be where we are in our lives? That we'd have our own house and both be driving nice cars? That we'd be husband and wife and have two beautiful little girls? And a wiener dog? Named Wiener. I mean, come on. How screwed up is that? Did you really think that we'd be here?"

"In a way," she said. "I used to think about it when we were just dating and then living together. I didn't dwell on it or anything. I knew I wanted us to get married and have babies together one day. You didn't see us here?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I was happy with us just living together. And when things started going bad, I thought we'd never end up together in the end."

"Yeah, well…" she sighed. "When things go bad for us, they go really, really, really bad."

He nodded. "But we're good now, right? We're happy? Things are good with us?"

"For the most part," she responded.

"What's that suppose to mean?" he asked, frowning. "For the most part?"

"It means that for the most part, things are amazing between us. But there's still times you do some things that are questionable."

"What?" he sat up and looked at her. "Like what?"

"I mean, we've been living together for almost eight years, married for nearly seven, and you seem to still have a hell of a hard time throwing your dirty clothes in a laundry hamper. I'm constantly going around picking up dirty underwear and socks and having to remember to take your suits to the dry cleaners. And then there's the toilet seat. You'd think that living in a house with three females you'd remember to put the seat down."

"Hey, it's not all the time," he defended himself. "I do that every once in a while. To keep you on your toes."

"Mm-hm," she said.

"Okay…so I'm not the greatest husband in the world. I don't pick up after myself like I should and I don't fix things around the house in a decent time frame and I'm allergic to house work. And I may forget to put the seat down from time to time. But I try hard. Damn hard. And that has to count for something, right?"

She smiled and leaning sideways, kissed him softly. "It counts for a lot," she told him. "And trust me, I can overlook the socks and underwear on the floor and the repairs that wait half a year before they get done. You're a great husband and an even better father and you don't give yourself enough credit. I don't know what I'd do without you, Donnie. Everything would fall apart if you weren't here."

"You're a strong woman, Sammie," he said, pressing a kiss to the spot below her ear. "You'd be okay without me and you know it."

She nodded slowly and solemnly. "I just don't like thinking about things like that," she sighed. "I just want to think that we have a long, long life together ahead of us. That everything's going to be okay and that we're going to…"

He silenced her with a long, slow kiss. "We're going to be okay," he told her, skimming his knuckles along her cheek. "Everything is going to be just fine. Alright? Me, you, the girls. The damn dog. We're all going to be okay. Once we get out of New York and start off new somewhere else, things will pick up. I promise."

"Just everything has seemed so hard in the past five years," she said. "It's been one thing after another and if one more crappy thing happens to us, I don't know if…"

He kissed her again. "I just said that everything is going to be fine. You trust me, don't you?"

She nodded. "You're the only person I do trust, Donnie. You know that."

"I know things haven't always been easy for us. I know that shit just keeps piling up left, right and center. But moving to Jersey will be the best thing for us. For our family. And you'll probably love working for Stella again. The two of you always got a long great and she really took you under her wing when you started here. And I know for a fact you missed her like hell when she left New York."

"It was hard when she left," Sam agreed. "Stella was always one of my greatest allies against Mac. She left and I seemed to have a permanent spot on the top of his shit list."

"Wasn't personal. He just thought you weren't challenging yourself enough. Putting everything you had into the job."

"It's hard to put everything into a job when you're at home putting everything into a marriage and kids," Sam said. "And I love the job and the people there. It's just that…" she sighed. "…I think getting let go was the best thing for me. Because I need a change. I needed a change a long time ago. I need to get away from there."

"And that's what we're going to do," Flack told her. "Get the hell away from there. 'Cause you know what? It's time to move on. Away from that place. Away from the department. Because it's starting to break me down, babe. And I don't like that feeling. I don't like feeling suffocated there. It kills me just having to get up in the morning and go to work. And I never felt that before."

"You never used to talk like that either," she said, running her fingers through his hair and letting her hand settle at the back of his neck.

"I don't know when it happened or how. But I woke up one day and felt like I wasn't a human being anymore. Like I'd lost everything that was good inside me. Any compassion and sensitivity that I ever had felt like it had disappeared over night. And I'm worried if I don't get out of here soon, that's going to be me outside of the job, too. And I don't want to be that way with you or the girls."

"And you think that working somewhere in New Jersey will help bring that all back? That it was this city that took those sides of your personality away from you?"

Flack's eyes narrowed. "Don't psychoanalyze me, babe. I don't need a therapist."

"I'm just asking if…"

"This city has fucked me up, Samantha. It's screwed with my head. All the years on the job, seeing the things that I've seen. The goriest of gory and the lowest of the low. Child molesters and baby killers and junkies that kill their own mothers to get money for their next hit. Guys that kill their pregnant wives or their mistresses. And the list goes on and on and on. All the innocent people that deserved to live long, happy lives that were cut down just 'cause they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've dealt with the scum of the earth for nearly two decades and I can't handle it anymore. There's got to be some good out there, right? Somewhere?"

"You're still going to see that kind of thing in New Jersey, Donnie."

"But not like I see it here," he said. "Nowhere close. I need to get out of here, Samantha. To save myself. You understand, right?"

She nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Why is it we have our deepest conversations when you've been drinking?" she asked, a teasing quality to her voice, her eyes sparkling.

"For some reason, I'm more lucid with alcohol on me. I make more sense."

"Actually," she said. "I think it's because you get some liquid courage in you and you get loose lips and spill your heart and your soul and get all sensitive and emotional on me. How many times have you gotten drunk and come home and started rambling about something and bawling your eyes out?"

"Let's keep that between me and you, okay? No one else needs to know I'm a sensitive drunk. And besides, I'm not that drunk. Just a little buzzed. I didn't drink that much."

She smirked.

"Okay. So maybe I did. But it is the holidays and I figured seeing as I don't have to get up early with the girls, I might as well get a bit polluted. Just a bit, though."

"Speaking of the girls," she said, pushing him back against the headboard before climbing onto his lap.

"Oh God…what did they do now?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I was just going to remind you that we are looking after Amanda from the morning of the thirty-first to the afternoon of the second. Danny and Lindsay are having their weekend away and DJ and the baby are going to Danny's parents."

"We couldn't take the boy? So it brings me to an almost level playing ground with all the women around here?"

"We said we would take Amanda with us to Disney on Ice. Remember?"

"I agreed to that? That I'd go to Disney on Ice?"

Sam nodded. "You were the one that told me to buy five tickets. Three children and two adults."

"Yeah…but I meant the second adult ticket to be for anyone other then me."

"Well that's just to bad," Sam said, running her hands up his chest and across his shoulders. "I guess you're just shit out of luck, aren't you."

"Please don't make me go to Disney on Ice," Flack pleaded. "Please, babe. If you love me, don't do that to me."

"They're your children too," she reminded him, and leaned forward, her breasts flattened against his chest as she pressed kisses along his neck and up to his ear.

"Don't you use that against me," he said, shuddering and squirming under the touch of her lips and tongue on his ear and the sensitive spot below.

"I'm not using anything against you," Sam told him innocently. "I'm just telling you that we are going to Disney on Ice. And by we, I mean me and you."

"How can you be so evil?" he asked, slipping his hands up the back of her pyjama top and skimming his fingertips along her soft skin. "Seriously. How can you do something like that to the man you say is the love of your life? Your forever. Your devoted and loving husband who worships and adores you. Who gave you two beautiful daughters. How can you possibly do something so mean to him?"

"Because I can," she answered, licking her way around the outer edge of his ear, feeling his fingers biting into her hips. "Because you love being tortured. You always come back for more, don't you? You're still here when you could have left so many times."

"I don't want to leave," he told her, groaning as she ground her lower body against his aching erection. "Ever. I don't want to go anywhere. I couldn't live without you. You know that."

"So that means you're up to doing anything I want or say," she said, and nipped at his ear lobe.

"Anything," he vowed. "Anything."

"Including going to Disney on Ice with your wife and three little girls."

"Please don't make me. That's inhumane."

"Fine then," she huffed and stopped rubbing herself against him and made to climb off. "You're loss."

He flipped her onto her back, catching her off guard. "You're such a goddamn tease sometimes," he told her, covering her body with his and capturing her lips in an intense kiss. "I like it when you tease me like that, baby. You know that, right?"

"It's why I do it," she admitted.

"I'll tell you what," he drew away from her and pushed her pyjama top open. "You give me a little of your time and I will go to Disney on Ice with you and the girls and Amanda. And I won't even bitch about it the day of. Sound good?"

"Depends on what you're going to do with the time I'm giving you," she said.

"Oh I don't know…." he trailed kisses along her collarbone. "A little bit of this…" his lips moved over the swells on both breasts before settling on the valley in the middle of them. "A little bit of that."

She groaned loudly and arched underneath him as his mouth closed on one of her nipples.

"We got a deal?" he asked, looking in her eyes as he flicked the tip of his tongue over the painfully erect nub.

She gave a small squeak in response and nodded.

"Let's show you what kind of drunk I really am," he said, his voice husky as he drew the nipple into his mouth and sucked roughly at it.

She cried out at the sensation, her fingers buried in his hair as his warm, moist mouth moved away from her breast and travelled down her body. Her eyes closed as she felt him tugging at her bottoms. Lifting her ass for him as he peeled them off and tossed them aside. Parting her legs to his gentle hands and letting out a long, loud groan as she felt his tongue touch her clit.

From there on out, all rational thinking had deserted her. All that mattered was the two of them. Of giving each other the most intense pleasure either of them had experienced in a long time.

Enjoying each other. Their lives together and how they made each other feel.

Living every moment to the fullest.

* * *

The ringing of the phone on the bedside table cut into the silence of the early morning hours. It was loud and obnoxious as it shattered the deep and comfortable sleep that both Flack and his wife had fallen into following two hours of consistent and powerful love making. Their sex had had an edge to it that hadn't seemed to exist for nearly six years now. A hardcore and rough feeling to it that they had enjoyed while living together and through out their first year of marriage. A pleasure that dangerously bordered on pain. A craziness that took their breath away and shattered their souls.

Without their children in the house, his wife became relaxed and uninhibited. Open to just about anything. Things that they had tried many a time, and tremendously enjoyed, but had vanished once the kids came along and love making had to be as quick as possible. Which in turn, wasn't the most enjoyable or memorable. When you were too busy worrying about who was going to come knocking on the door in the middle of the things, it was hard to put your all into it. Never mind not being able to make a damn sound without waking one, or both the girls up.

That night Samantha had been completely at ease. Which had been a good thing for both of them. The noises that had come out of her had both spurred him on and let him know just how much she was enjoying things. His shoulders and back bore evidence of how amazing things had been. Of the multiples times he'd made her orgasm. The scratches that crisscrossed his back and the bite marks on his pale skin a testament that he still had what it took to reduce his wife to a sobbing, quivering mess as she clung to him and marked him during her powerful releases.

And now the phone. It had felt like only minutes had passed since they'd fallen asleep. Completely naked and drenched in sweat, their limbs entangled and their bodies and the room smelling of sex. Flack rolled over onto his right hand side and fumbled in the dark for the cordless phone on the table next to his head. Scooping it up, he checked the illuminated call display before bothering to answer. Dispatch. 6:13 am. He'd left his cell phone off. He wasn't scheduled to go into the office until the afternoon and wasn't on call. His plan had been to spend the morning with his wife. Make them breakfast and eat it in bed. Take a long steamy shower together. Two showers if the first one turned out to nothing but pure sex for the hell of it.

"Donnie…" his wife mumbled, her skin brushing against his as she shifted alongside of him.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered, rolling onto his back and reaching out to rub her back softly. "I'll get it."

"Okay…" she said with a sigh and turned onto her side facing him. Her hair over her face, her hand falling on his stomach.

He cursed the dispatcher on the other end of the line and pressed talk. "Detective Flack," he said in way of answering. His voice heavy with sleep. He listened quietly to the information being handed out to him, a forearm over his eyes. "Is there no one else?" he asked. "I'm not even on call and had something planned with my family. Is there no one else you can possibly call in on this?" he sighed heavily as he was given a firm and blunt negative response to that. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What's going on?" Sam asked groggily, propping herself up onto her elbow and looking at her husband in the dark as he pressed end on the phone and tossed it onto the bed.

"I gotta go in," he replied. Reluctance in his voice. "There's a homicide in Astoria and all the detectives that are on duty and the ones on call are already at scenes of their own. And seeing as Astoria is only a few miles away…"

"You were the first person on their list to call and you just couldn't say no," Sam concluded and rolled away from him. Presenting him with her back.

"Don't be like that, babe," reaching out, he stroked her hair softly. "I probably won't be gone for very long. Just supervise for a bit, make sure things are under control and secure, then come home."

"We were suppose to do things," she told him. "We were going to have breakfast and stay in bed all morning. It's why Lindsay agreed to keep the girls overnight. So we could spend some time together. Alone."

"And we will," he promised, moving onto his side and wrapping his arm around her from behind.

Pulling her into him, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled her intoxicating scent. There was nothing more he wanted to do then lie there with her, their warm bodies pressed up against each other. He had no desire to leave that bed. To leave her. He wanted to stay there all morning. All day, preferably. But that wasn't real life. Real life came with bills to pay and responsibilities to attend to. And the job was the thing that was keeping real life on track.

"I won't be gone that long," Flack told her, his lips against the back of her head. "A couple of hours. I'll make sure of it, okay? I'll do what I got to do and pass the case off to another detective and come home. Plain and simple. I'll be home before you even start to miss me."

"That's not likely," she mumbled.

"I wouldn't go in if I didn't feel I had to babe," he said, kissing her cheek. "I promise you I'll be back as soon as I can. Once I do what I gotta do, I'll be on my way home. And then I'll make us some breakfast," he placed a kiss to her ear. "Some of my famous banana pancakes you love so much. We can have breakfast in bed, make love a couple of times before I have to start getting ready for work or Linds brings the girls home. Whatever comes first. Sound good?"

She nodded.

"You were incredible, you know that?" he pressed his lips to her shoulder. "I missed that side of you. That wild and crazy sex goddess side. The one that isn't afraid of trying things or making noise."

"It's hard to be all raging sex goddess when there's two little girls in the house that are light sleepers that ask for a dozen glasses of water during the night and want to come in to our bed every time they have a bad dream. But you know what? I missed that side of me, too."

He smiled and tightened his grip on her. "We need to send them away more often," he said. "Find a way to have more mommy and daddy time."

"That would be nice," she agreed with a dreamy sigh. "That kind of time is few and far between unfortunately."

"We should find a time to go away for a few days," Flack said.

"Where would we go?" she asked, softly rubbing his arm.

He shrugged. "I don't know. We could just take off. Maybe we can combine it with going to look at houses in Jersey. You said you had a couple of the smaller cities in mind. We can go on the 'net, look up some real estate listings in them cities and drive down for a few days. Stay in a hotel or a nice little bed and breakfast. Spend twenty percent of the time looking at houses and the other eighty staying in bed and making love all day."

She smiled and hugged his arm to her. "Now that's my kind of road trip," she said, and giggled in the darkness of their room as the tip of his tongue teased the inside of her ear. "Don't be doing that now," she scolded. "You know what that does to me."

"That's exactly why I'm doing it," he chuckled, taking her ear lobe between his teeth and biting down gently.

She moaned at the sensation and raked her nails along his forearm.

"What I wouldn't give to just take you right now," he told her, his voice low and seductive against her ear, making her shiver.

"Trust me, what I wouldn't give to let you just take me right now," she said. "But…"

"Always a but," Flack complained, and with a heavy sigh, flopped onto his back.

"Someone has to make a living out of the two of us," Sam reasoned, rolling onto her stomach and moving towards him. She draped her one arm across his torso and placed the other on his shoulder as she rested her chin on his broad chest.

"I know…" he said, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair. "It's pretty bad when you use to love to get up and go to work and now the sheer thought of it makes you sick to your stomach."

"Soon," she told him and placed kisses along his chest. "Soon."

He nodded and twisted his fingers in her hair and tilted her face up towards him. He seized her lips in a long, intense kiss that left them both breathless. "I love you, baby," he whispered as he pecked the tip of her nose.

"I love you, too," she said in return. "But now it's time for you to go be a police man. Then you can come back and be all sex maniac, horny husband again."

He laughed at that and she kissed him. The kiss was softer then before, but no less passionate or promising. "I should go," he said with great reluctance.

She nodded and gave the cross around his neck a gentle, playful tug before rolling away from her. She'd bought the white gold Celtic protection cross and the thick white gold chain it dangled from as a wedding present. And had the department chaplain take it to the archbishop of New York and bless it two days before their flight to Turks and Caicos. That cross had gone around Flack's neck the night he became her husband, and had only taken it off twice in almost seven years. Aside from his wedding ring, it was the most precious thing he owned. And he felt naked if either items were removed.

"Well look at this way," Flack said, as he slipped out of bed, wincing slightly as his bare feet hit the ice cold floor. "You've got the whole bed to yourself for a while."

"And I plan on enjoying it," she told him, laughing as he tossed the heavy duvet over her head.

"I'll call you if I'm going to be later then I thought." Flack said, as he headed for the ensuite bathroom.

"If I'm sleeping before you leave…"

"I won't leave without saying so long," he promised her from the doorway to the washroom. "I never do."

"You're a good man," she said. "I've trained you well."

He gave her a playful wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

She heard the light flick on, followed shortly afterwards by the shower curtain being pulled across and the water taps between turned on. It was less then a minute that he spent adjusting the temperature of the water -cursing about how crappy the pressure always seemed to be at that time of the day- and she heard the curtain being yanked across once again and the shower being turned on.

She had dozed off by the time Flack had taken a quick and less then satisfying and invigorating shower. He dressed quietly. Deciding to forgo the usual suit and tie and opting instead for a pair of jeans and a black Henley top. He wasn't going to be that long and had no plans on going into the station afterwards. He was doing his thing and passing the case off as soon as possible to someone else and getting his ass home. And no one, or nothing, was going to get in his way.

He yanked on a pair of socks and climbed into his jeans. Doing up the button and the zipper he quickly snagged a belt from the rack at the back of the walk in closet and slipped it through the loops on his jeans. He was used to dressing in the dark after eight years of sharing a bed with someone and getting call outs at the oddest hours of the day.

He buckled the belt and moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Where he kept his badge, holster and the lock box that held his service weapon and a full clip on ammunition. Any other bullets were kept in another secure container at the back of the closet on the highest shelf possible. He punched the combination into the small padlock dangling at the front of the box, waiting for the dull click before removing the lock all together and opening the lid.

Securing his holster in place on his right hip, he snapped the clip into his weapon, set the safety and slipped the gun into the holster, fixing it in place with the small leather strap that kept the piece where it was until he was ready to use it. Surprisingly enough, the longer he spent on the force, the less times he'd actually had to pull his gun, never mind actually use it on someone.

The latter was never a pleasant decision to have to make. Even if it was completely necessary.

He put the lock box back into the dresser and closed the drawer. Clipping his badge to the waist band of his jeans, Flack walked over to the bed. He stood watching his peacefully sleeping wife for several minutes. She looked so innocent with her long, dark eyelashes falling on her pale cheeks and her mouth curved into a dreamy smile.

Crouching down at the side of the bed, he reached out and smoothed her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Sammie…" he whispered.

Her eyes flickered and slowly opened.

"I gotta go now," he said. "I'll call you if anything comes up, okay?"

She nodded. "Please be safe, Donnie," she pleaded, bringing a hand up to gently touch his face.

"Always," he assured her and kissed her softly. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too. See you soon, okay?"

He nodded and kissed her once more before standing up. "Get some sleep," he told her, and headed for the door.

"Donnie?" she called to him.

He paused in the doorway. "Yeah, babe?"

"No matter what time you get in, you owe me some wild and crazy sex and then some banana pancakes. Think you're game for that?"

"Absolutely," he told her, and with a wink, slipped out of the room.

Samantha sighed and rolled over onto her other side and reached for his pillow. Pulling it tightly against her, she buried her face into it and breathed in his scent.

Anything to keep him close.

* * *

The doorbell chiming throughout the house woke Sam from her deep and peaceful slumber. Her eyes snapped open and she was greeted by not only bright sunshine streaming through the curtains and tumbling across her body, but to a cold, empty bed. She bolted into a sitting position and reached across the bed for the old fashioned Big Ben style alarm clock that sat on the night stand. Her eyes immediately falling on the white gold Tag Hauer watch that sat next to the clock.

He never forgets his watch, she thought, scooping it up and running her thumb over the face. She had purchased the watch their first Valentine's Day together. While they had dinner at The Russian Tea Room. That was nearly eight years ago now. He said it was the first time that anyone had ever bought him jewellery. Especially a woman. Jewellery to him had always signified that there was something serious between him and whoever he was in the relationship with. And until her, jewellery had been completely off limits. And he'd given her that dimply smile and leaned across the table and kissed her long and soft much to the chagrin of the diners around them. Then he'd sat back in his chair and took off the watch he already wore -something cheap and simple he'd bought himself a couple years before- and slipped it into his suit jacket pocket and put on the one she had given her.

Sam couldn't remember a time that she didn't see her husband with that watch on. Even when he was just hanging around the house, he always wore it. And looking down at it in the palm of her hand, her head was filled with a sudden sense of dread. The watch felt as if it weighed a ton as the doorbell continued to sound. Something in her heart told her that the two were connected. The watch in her hand and the visitor at her door. But her mind couldn't seem to fit the pieces together so that connection would make sense.

She jumped out of bed and threw on a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt and hurried from the bedroom and down the stairs, still clutching her husband's watch in one hand as she combed the fingers of her other hand through her messy hair.

"I'm coming!" she called to whoever stood on her front porch ringing the bell repeatedly. She flicked open the dead bolt and pulled the chain across and yanked open the heavy wooden door.

Her heart stopped at the sight of the two men before her.

A solemn looking Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair and a teary eyed Danny Messer.

"Can we come in Samantha?" Danny asked, his voice quiet and choked.

She nodded and reached out with a trembling hand and unlocked the screen door. Backing up as Danny opened the door and the two men stepped into the small foyer. She felt closed in. As if she was suffocating. That her entire world was closing in around her.

"Mrs Flack…" Sinclair began in an ominous tone.

She shook her head. Feeling sick to her stomach and light headed. There was only one reason for that man to be at her home. No words needed to be said. It was all in Sinclair's presence. All in Danny's haunted eyes.

"No…" she was unsure if she actually spoke the word or just thought it. But she felt her legs threaten to buckle and she reached behind her for the wall.

"Samantha…" Danny stepped towards her. Unable to catch her before her slender body slid down the wall and she sat on the floor at their feet.

"No," she cried, shaking her head, gripping that watch as tight as she could. "No…nothing's happened to him….he's fine…Donnie's fine…"

"Mrs Flack…" Sinclair began again. "I'm sorry to have to come here and tell you this. But there's been an accident."

Her entire body trembled, tears spilled down her ashen face as she wrapped both of her arms around herself and began rocking back and forth. "Don't do this to me," she pleaded, looking up at the men standing above her. "Please…don't do this to me…"

"I'm sorry, Brooklyn," Danny said, as he crouched down in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "There was an incident. Don was heading a raid on a perp's house and they were ambushed the second the door was kicked in."

"No!" she screamed and shoved Danny away from her. "He's fine! You're wrong! He's fine! He's fine and he's going to come home any second!"

The CSI shook his head. "No…he's not. He was shot twice. Both bullets went through his vest and…."

"Get the hell out of my house!" she shrieked. "Don't come here and fuck with me like this! Don't do that to me, Danny!"

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, taking her face in his hands. "But EMS did everything they could. They tried their best to save him, but he didn't make it. He died on the way to the hospital."

"NO!!!" she cried. "You're wrong! You're both wrong! He's coming home. Any second now. He's coming home and he'll prove you both wrong! He's going to come home!"

Danny shook his head slowly. "He's not, Samantha. He's gone. He's not coming home now."

She drew in a choking breath and sobbed his name. The one true love of her life. The man who had taught her that true love didn't hurt. That when you loved someone wholly and completely and unconditionally, anything was possible. Who had taken her wounded heart and soul and healed it and claimed it for his own. Who had given her two beautiful daughters and the best eight years of her entire life.

"I was counting on forever," she whispered. "And now I'll never know…"

_This can't be happening to me, _her agonized brain shouted at her.

_This is just a dream._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing!! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please leave me a review folks! Consider if making my New Year extra happy! Now someone pass me the tequila!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**Afrozenheart412**


	22. Aftermath

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE TWINS, KELLAN AND KALLISON**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO IS ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! HOPE THIS CHAP DOESN'T DISAPPOINT! HAVE NO FEAR, THE QUESTION IS ANSWERED. IS HE OR ISN'T HE DEAD? ON WITH THE SHOW….**

* * *

**Aftermath**

"When the visions around you,  
Bring tears to your eyes  
And all that surround you,  
Are secrets and lies  
I'll be your strength, I'll give you hope  
Keeping your faith when it's gone  
The one you should call,  
Who's standing here all alone...  
And I will take  
You in my arms  
And hold you right where you belong  
Till the day my life is through  
This I promise you  
This I promise you  
I've loved you forever,  
In lifetimes before  
And I promise you never...  
Will you hurt anymore  
I give you my word  
I give you my heart (give you my heart)  
This is a battle we've won  
And with this vow,  
Forever has now begun…"  
-This I Promise You, N'Sync

* * *

Her entire body felt numb as she sat in the middle of her front foyer. A stern faced Brigham Sinclair towering over her. His deep brown eyes filled with sorrow. Betraying his true feelings for what had occurred. How he was coping with the sudden and tragic death of one of the genuine bright lights in the NYPD. It had been a tragic mistake. Nothing short of a horrific accident. There should have been better surveillance done on the perp's apartment. ESU should have done a proper threat assessment before giving the green light for anyone to go in there and attempt arrest. The officers allowed into the building should have been heavily armed and highly experienced ESU members. Not uniforms and crime lab employees and two detectives. All wearing nothing more then a simple bullet proof vest.

Under normal circumstances, that vest would have been enough to save Don Flack Jr's life. But had ESU done their homework, they would have realized that the circumstances were far from normal. They would have learned that the perp in question had an extensive history with weapons and had been arrested once for carrying a gun with ammo that could pierce through the Kevlar vests the NYPD supplied their personnel with. One minute, Flack had been standing outside of that apartment building in Astoria, strapping on his vest and joking with his colleagues about wanting to get the dirty work over and done with ASAP so he could get home to his wife, and the next he was bleeding out in the middle of the perp's filthy living room floor. Gasping for breath while he choked on his own blood and struggled to stay alive.

Had things been handle properly by the department, Flack would still be alive. And Sinclair would not have been standing there delivering the worst possible news anyone could ever receive.

Sam felt as if she couldn't breath. As if she was drowning and couldn't find her way to the surface. As if she was standing on the sidelines watching and listening to everything unfold around her. So lost in a mixture of anger and grief that she was only vaguely aware of the tears that spilled down her face and the way her entire body shook from heavy sobs that she couldn't seem to hear over the thundering of her own heart.

Her life was over. Everything had been torn away in an instant. The one person that she trusted and love more then she ever thought it was possible to love someone, who'd come into her life when she needed someone the most, and who had given so much and asked for so little in return, was gone. Her nightmare had finally come true. That fear that all cops' wives carried inside of them and spent time dwelling on during long and cold lonely nights.

He had walked out the door and would never be walking back in.

A husband had been lost. A father torn away. And as she sobbed his name and fought of Danny Messer's hands as he tried to embrace her and comfort her, she wondered how she would ever tell her girls that their daddy was never coming back. That the last time they'd seen him -fighting with him over not wanting to go to bed at Danny's house - was the last time permanently. Kallison had told him he was being mean, that she hated him. But he'd kissed her goodnight anyway and tucked her securely into the bed beside her sister and told her he'd loved her and would see her when Aunt Linds brought her home the next day.

And now she would never see him again. That would be her last memory of her father. Both girls would be destroyed. Beyond belief. And Sam had no clue how to break the news to them. Or how she was going to manage raising them on her own.

"Sam…" Danny's voice was calm and soothing despite the tears that poured down his face. "I need you to know…"

She shook her head vigorously. "You're wrong…" she screamed. "You're both wrong!"

"I need you to know that he went quickly. He'd want you to know that. He didn't suffer for long, okay? And you and the girls were on his mind the entire time. He kept saying your name, asking for you. And I told him that I'd come here and talk to you. That I'd take care of you and the twins."

"No!" she yelled and shoved Danny away. "He's not dead! He's fine! He's not dead!"

"Listen to me, Samantha…" Danny seized her by the shoulders and shook her. "You have to listen to me!"

She shook her head and attempted to fight him off.

"Sam!…Sammie…Samantha!" he bellowed, shaking her vigorously. "Listen to me! You need to wake up! WAKE UP!!!"

* * *

Her eyes snapped open as she bolted upright into a sitting position. Her breath coming in choked sobs as her legs struggled against the mess of twisted sheets holding her captive. Her chest ached and tears spilled down her face and had soaked her pillow. As she struggled to compose and orientate herself, strong hands gripped her shoulders firmly, attempting to shake some sense into her. Her eyes and brain finally merged and her surroundings and her understanding of what she had experienced became clearer to her.

She was still in her bedroom. The first sliver of early morning winter sunlight poking through the blinds. And the man she'd been told was dead was holding onto her shoulders and looking at her with concern etched all over his face and in his beautiful blue eyes. He was very much alive. She could feel the grip he had on her. Smell his familiar scent. And the sheer relief that he was there, that news of his death had been nothing but a horrible dream, had her breaking down into sobs.

"What happened, baby?" he asked in a quiet, worried voice, releasing his grip on her shoulders and taking her face in his hands. Clearing tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

"I…" she could barely get the words out. "I…had a dream…a terrible dream…"

"It's okay now," he assured her. "You're okay."

She shook her head and reached out for him. Circling his neck with her arms, she sobbed into his shoulders as she clung to him with every ounce of strength in her petite body.

"It's alright, baby," he whispered into her ear, as he wrapped both arms around her trembling body. "It was just a dream…that's all it was. Just a dream."

"It felt so real," she cried. "It felt like it was really happening."

"Well it wasn't," he told her, rubbing her back comfortingly. "You were dreaming it. Whatever it was, it wasn't real. And I'm here and you're safe now. It was just a dream, Sammie."

"Danny was here," she said. "And Sinclair. They were both here. They rang the doorbell and I went downstairs and answered the door and they stood in the foyer."

"No one is here but me and you," he told her. "No one came to the door, babe."

"But it felt so real!" she argued. "They stood right in the foyer and they told me…" her voice caught in her throat. "…and they told me that you were dead…that you went through the door on a raid and the perp had bullets that could go through Kevlar and that you were shot twice…they said that you were dead!"

The force and the certainty in which she said those last six words hit Flack hard enough to make him wince. While he knew that it was a fear of hers -hell, a fear of anyone, male or female that was married to, or involved with a cop- she had never once, in the eight years they had been together, ever experienced a dream like that. One that had her thrashing around in bed and fighting off any attempts to calm her. One that had her sobbing uncontrollably and screaming his name.

"But I'm not dead," he said, pulling away from her so she could see into his eyes. "Look at me, Sammie…"

She whimpered and sniffled and did as she was told.

"I'm not dead," he told her. "I'm right here. Right here, babe. Come on, feel my face. Touch my face, Sammie. I'm right here."

She raised her hands to his face and touched every feature softly. Needing that affirmation that he was there. That he was very much alive and well and right there in front of her.

"You're okay now," Flack said and kissed her softly. "Everything's fine. You're okay now."

She wiped her eyes on her arm and laid her head against his shoulder. "It felt so real," she whispered.

"It wasn't real," he assured her, gathering her into his arms once again and drawing her tight against him. "Just a dream."

She relaxed in his embrace. Comforted by his strong arms and his warmth and the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

For several minutes they sat there, in complete silence, enveloped in each other's embrace. Until her body shivered against him. There was a chill in the room and neither of them had clothes on.

"Are you okay now?" Flack asked, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

"I think so…" she replied meekly.

"I'm going to go and get you one of them lorezapam pills," he told her, releasing her from his embrace. "It will calm you down. Why don't you put your jammies back on before you catch pneumonia."

She nodded, wiping the remains of her tears away with the back of her hand as he slid out of bed, pausing to bend down and scoop her pyjamas up from their resting place on the floor.

"It felt so real," she whispered, as she reached for the clothing he held out to her.

"Well it wasn't," he responded. "If it was, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

She shook her head.

"You're okay," he said and reached out to run a gentle hand over her face. Leaning over the bed, he kissed her, long and soft, before backing away and heading for the bathroom. Snagging his own clothes and climbing into them along the way.

Sam pulled on the flannel bottoms and slipped into the top. Her fingers trembling so bad she could barely manage to get the buttons secured. She had had dreams like that before. Where Danny -it was always Danny delivering the bad news - had come to the door to tell her that her husband was dead. But she usually woke up just as Danny got the words out. And no dream had ever seem so vivid. She had been able to smell the two men in that foyer with them. She had felt Danny's hands on her arms and his warm breath on her face. She could still hear his words. The anguish that existed in his voice. She could still see the torment in his eyes. The unbearable grief of having lost his best friend. Someone he loved like a brother.

It had felt so real. She'd never, ever been that frightened before. And she knew, as she sat there in the middle of their bed, that it was time to make amends for things that she had done in the past. For not always appreciating and validating all the wonderful things that her husband had done in the course of their relationship. She'd taken for granted the things that he had done and the sacrifices he had made. She had chose to fight over small, insignificant things when forgiving would have been a much easier option. She had said mean, hurtful things to him in a course of a fight that she could never, ever take back. She hadn't always told him she loved him. For everything he was and everything he had. That he was her one and only love then, and he was her one and only love now.

"You're going to need some more of them anxiety pills, babe," Flack said, as he rejoined her in the bedroom, four tiny, white pills in the palm of his left hand. "These are the last of them. If you want to, you can call it in to the pharmacy and I'll pick them up on my break."

"I hate taking so many different meds," she grumbled.

"Yeah? Well it's not like you take these that much. That bottle lasted over three months. If you ask me, you're doing alright."

He climbed into bed beside her and held out his hand as he leaned back against the headboard.

"Thank you, baby," she said and plucked the pills out of his palm and placed them, one by one, under her tongue. She clamped her mouth shut and leaned her head against his shoulder, waiting for the tablets to dissolve.

"You're okay?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her slender shoulders and pulling her tight against him.

She nodded and snuggled in as close as she could get. Both arms wrapped around his torso.

He stroked her hair softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's okay, you know. To have dreams like that. It's normal."

She shook her head.

"Anyone that is with a cop has dreams like that," he told her. "And if they tell you they don't, they're full of shit. Look at what we deal with on a daily basis, Sammie? The type of people we come in contact with. The scum of the earth. We know what we're up against and we still do it. So it's perfectly normal for you to have dreams like that. You more so then someone that is married to a cop but not on the job themselves. Because you know what's going on out there. What I'm coming face to face with."

"I feel like some days I'm going to go insane," she admitted, swallowing the powdery remains of the pills. "I worry so much and I get scared that if you knew how much I was worrying…"

"Don't even finish that sentence, babe. I'm not going anywhere. You think I don't worry about you? That I don't freak myself out when you're out there in the field? I've had some pretty wicked dreams too, you know."

"You have?" she asked, sniffling noisily.

He nodded and combed his fingers through her hair. "Couple months ago, when you were back on nights after being off sick all that time, I had this horrible nightmare about Mac coming to the house and telling me, in front of the girls, that you had been killed. That someone had shot you. In the head. While executing a warrant. And it felt so real, babe…" he closed his eyes as long buried tears threatened to escape. "It felt so real. As if Mac was actually there. And the girls were crying and Kellan came over and was tugging on my arm to get my attention and that's when I woke up. I was a total and complete mess. Covered in sweat, sobbing, all the blankets tangled at my feet. It was Kellan that woke me up. She was actually at the side of the bed trying to wake me up to get her a drink of water. I swear to God, Sammie, after I got her settled again, I laid down in this bed and bawled for about an hour. Then I got myself together and called you. Just to hear your voice and make sure you were okay."

"It was three in the morning," she recalled. "And you said you were having a hard time sleeping and wanted to know how my first day back was coming along. That night?"

He nodded and cleared his throat noisily. It was amazing how the sheer thought of losing her was enough to nearly cripple him.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"What are you scared of, baby?" he asked, placing a kiss on the top of her head and rubbing her shoulder.

"Losing you like that. I know that one day, I will lose you. That's just life. But I want that to be when we're really, really, really old and it's just your time to go. Nice and peacefully. Warm in your sleep. I don't want to lose you to something like that."

"You won't," he promised. "I'm careful on the job, you know that. I used to go out there and practically throw caution to the wind. I haven't been like that since we got married and the girls came along. I've got too much to loose. A wife and kids. I don't want to leave you guys like that."

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes on his t-shirt.

"For what?"

"Freaking you out like this. With my nightmare."

"Isn't that what I'm hear for? Fight the monsters under the bed? Slay the demons in the closet? Am I not here to protect you?"

She nodded. "I like having you protect me," she told him. "Even if I bitch about it all the time."

"Well bitching is your speciality," he joked, chuckling as she pinched his side. He tightened his hold on her and pulled her as close to him as possible.

She draped a leg over his thighs and rested her head on his chest. He buried his face in her hair, losing himself in her scent, relaxing and enjoying their intimacy, and the tender way in which she ran her fingers along his forearm.

"What time is it?" she asked, after several minutes had passed.

Flack reached for his watch lying on the nightstand and picked it up. "It's quarter to eight," he told her, sitting the watch down and closing his eyes as he laid his cheek on the top of her head.

She yawned noisily. "Long time before we actually have to up and at 'em," she commented.

"I figured I'd drag my lazy ass out of bed in a while, make us some breakfast," Flack told her. "What time is Linds bringing the girls home?"

"She said after lunch. So probably around one-ish. Your mom is bringing Wiener back around eleven. And you have to leave at…"

"One-ish," he said with a grin. "So we've got lots of time to just hang out, have some breakfast, have life affirming sex a couple of times…"

She sat up and smirked at him. "A couple of times? What do you think I am, your wife or something? I told you this years ago, Donnie, when we first met at the lab. I am not some sweet, young thing that was put on earth to serve you."

"Alright," he said, giving that dimpled grin he was famous for. "Then how about I serve you?"

"I think can live with that," she declared, and laughed as she found herself dumped onto her back.

"You know," he said, as he set to work slowly unbuttoning her pyjama top. "I think everyone thinks we have way too much sex."

"Whose everyone?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Just everyone. I guess they don't think it's normal for two people to actually have sex and enjoy it as much as we do."

"Well then they have extremely boring lives, and must have the worlds most boring sex," she concluded.

"They must," he agreed, finishing with the last button on her top and laying it open, revealing her pale, silky skin. "That and they're really goddamn jealous."

"Insanely," she said, and sighed when he licked her navel and the area around it and blew softly on the moistened skin.

"Perfectly normal if you ask me," Flack told her, hooking his fingers in the waist of her bottoms and pulled them down slowly, sliding his body down the bed. "I mean, were husband and wife. We love having sex. We love making each other feel good. What's so wrong about that?"

Nothing," she responded, biting her lip and inhaling deeply as his hands and his tongue drifting slowly up her leg. Starting at the top of her foot and coming to a halt on the inside of her thigh. "Anyone who thinks there is something wrong with it has serious problems."

"Jealousy, babe," he said, and gently turning her leg to the side, leaned over to press his lips to the back of her knee. Grinning as she whimpered and wriggled, attempting to free herself from his grip. It was all in vain. He just tightened the hold he had on her and proceeded to drive her absolutely wild with his lips and his tongue and teeth at what he'd found out long ago was an extremely sensitive area of her body.

"I guess that's it…" she agreed, her breath coming out in pants.

"I know that's it," he told her confidently, pressing kisses along the inside of her thigh and around to the front of her leg. His warm lips moving slowly and tantalizingly up her body. Along her slender thighs and across and then up her abdomen. The tip of his tongue grazing the skin between her breasts before moving higher. Eventually capturing her mouth in a steamy kiss.

"Don't tease me," she whispered, holding his face in her hands.

"But that's the best part," he argued. "Getting you all worked up. Makes things better in the end, doesn't it? Makes the orgasm more intense?"

She moved her hands to the back of his neck and up to his head, fisting them in his hair as she kissed him passionately. Her tongue wasting no time pushing through his teeth and into his mouth, seeking out, and easily finding his.

"I need to feel alive," she told him, as she broke away from his lips and placed kisses along his jaw. "I need to feel you alive and inside of me."

He shoved his fingers into her hair and turned her face towards him. Kissing her passionately as her hands reached between them to grab the bottom of his t-shirt and yank it up his back.

Her nails raked along his skin, their breathing heavy and the desire and desperation evident in their eyes as he broke out of the kiss long enough to pull of his shirt and rid himself of his boxers.

"Come here, baby," he said, his voice husky as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her towards him. "I'm here…" he told her, kissing a path along her collarbone as he settled himself between her legs, bearing his weight on his arms. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Ever. You know that right?"

She nodded, her hands gripping his forearms as he kissed her deeply. Moaning into his mouth as he filled her up with one strong, hard thrust.

"I'm here, baby…" he whispered, his forehead against hers as he moved inside of her warm, welcoming body. "I'll always be here."

There were no words to say. None that could convey the emotions and feelings that surged through her. And as he made love to her slowly and lovingly, she closed her eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks.

She knew that things had to change. She had to change. Because she couldn't afford to lose him.

Because a life without him was one she couldn't bear to face.

* * *

It was quarter after eleven when Flack found himself answering the knock to his front door. After spending nearly an hour and a half in bed doing nothing but engrossing themselves in each other, he'd put some clothes on and headed downstairs and made them pancakes for breakfast. They'd sat, amongst the rumbled sheets on their bed and watched television and talked about everything under the sun. From the memories that had been made over the past year of their lives, to their hopes and dreams and expectations of a new life in New Jersey. Flack was confident in his decision. It was a move that needed to be made. A damn near necessity if he wanted to keep his sanity. He was looking forward to the change. A new city, a new neighbourhood, a new house. New scenery and new colleagues. He'd miss his guys, especially Scagnetti, and he'd miss the members of the crime lab that had become family to him over the years.

But those friendships were tight and wouldn't disintegrate just because he was moving to a different city. They had long ago surpassed simple working relationships. He'd still be able to talk to Danny on a regular basis. Their kids would still be able to hang out. They wouldn't be at the same school anymore, but there'd still be weekend sleepovers and talks on the phone and birthdays and holidays spent together.

And any real friend would understand that he had to do what he felt was best for his family.

Those were the thoughts that were consuming his mind as he journeyed from the kitchen at the back of the house, down the narrow hallway that led into the cluttered living room and to the front door. Picking up toys and clothes as he went, tossing them on couches and chairs and tables. Anything to get the crap off of the floor. It was time that the girls learned to clean up after themselves. So far, not even threats of having their favourite toys and clothing taking away was enough to get them to tidy up. Flack was teetering on the edge of threatening to take things away completely. Even going as far as putting the stuff in garbage bags and hiding them. And not giving them back no matter how horrific the temper tantrums the girls threw were.

He unlocked the deadbolt and slid the chain across and pulled open the heavy door. Finding his mother shivering on the front porch with Wiener, in his red and white Christmas sweater, cradled lovingly in his arms.

"Why'd you bring him back?" Flack asked as he opened the screen door. "When I said to keep him I meant for good."

"You're life would be meaningless without him," Patricia told her son as she stomped the snow off of her boots before stepping into the house.

"He's a dog, mom," Flack reminded her. "An animal. He's not a human being."

"Give your daddy a kiss," Patricia ordered the dog and held the Daschund up to her oldest son's face. Laughing as Wiener proceeded to unleash a series of wet and sloppy kisses on his master's clean shaven face.

"For Christ sakes!" Flack exclaimed. "I just got out of the shower and shaved. Now I'm covered in goddamn doggie slobber."

"Oh don't be such a baby," his mom said, toeing off her boots and setting the dog on the ground. "Where's the girls?" she asked.

"At Danny and Lindsay's," Flack replied, kissing his mother's cheeks in greeting. "They wanted to have a sleep over with M&M. Linds is bringing them home after lunch."

"How are the Messers doing?" she asked, as she shut and re-locked the door and followed her older child through the living room and back into the kitchen.

"Good. Still wildly and crazily in love with one another. All the kids are doing great. Amanda and DJ love school and the baby, Makenna is getting really big. You'll have to stop by and visit them. I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"That would be nice," Patricia said, as she shrugged out of her coat and draped it over one of the kitchen chairs. "Where's Samantha?"

"She's sleeping," Flack told her, snagging the kettle off the stove and moving to the sink to fill it. "We had a late night last night," he said, placing the kettle on the burner and flicking it on. "Didn't get in until past midnight."

"She didn't drink, did she?"

"Mom, she's on all those meds. She knows not to drink. She's not stupid."

"I would never even suggest such a thing," Patricia told him, taking a seat at the table and watching him as he removed dry dishes from the drain board and put them in their appropriate cupboards and drawers.

She was somewhat taken aback by how domesticated he'd become. It had been a shock when he'd announced, in a telephone call that November evening seven years ago, that he was engaged. And that they were getting married as soon as possible. It wasn't that she had lost all hope, after a string of disastrous, brief relationships, that her son would ever get married and start a family. She knew that there was somewhere out there for him. He was tall, dark and handsome and had a lot of love inside of him. It was who he had chosen to marry that had taken her by surprise.

It wasn't that she hadn't liked Samantha Ross when she had met her during the Christmas of 2008. She was a pretty girl with a stellar education who was devoted to Patricia's son right from the get go. She was bubbly and down to earth and seemed to fit right in with the Flack's. She could hold her own with the boisterous behaviour and sarcastic dry wit. She was able to snap off comebacks and put downs with the best of them. She laughed easily and charmed them all. Including the usually cold and hard ass Flack Sr.

But the girl had problems. There was no other way to put it. Mentally she had issues that Patricia wasn't sure her son could deal with. A troubled, abusive childhood, a mother that lived to put her down and make her life as uncomfortable as possible. An ex-fiance that just didn't know how to let go. It was a lengthy list, and Patricia wasn't sure that love was enough to see the young couple past all the hard times.

She'd bit her lip when they'd moved in together. They seemed happy and in love and her son was finally in a steady relationship. He smiled and laughed more. Everyone saw the transformation and everyone was appreciative for bringing out that side of him. A side that had been closely guarded since the bombing. They had had their share of hard times. Both had fiery Irish tempers that often resulted in vicious arguments. Not to mention two nasty break-ups. It was a volatile and passionate love/hate relationship. Yet they always found their way back to one another. They went to counselling, learned to talk things out instead of jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

But marriage. That through Pat for a loop. And when her son had called to say he was going to be a husband, that was when she had put her foot down. She had let loose on him and spoke her mind. Told him the way it was and the way she felt. That she didn't think that Samantha Ross was the right one for him. That the two of them just didn't have what it took to have a successful relationship. That there were other women, like Devon Maxford and Jessica Angell, that would fit far better into the wife role.

They never spoke for more than a year after that. He had none to politely told her where to shove her opinion and hung up on her.

The next time she'd heard from him was with the news that she was going to be a grandmother. That Samantha was five months pregnant. That an ultrasound showed that it was twins and the doctors thought both babies looked like girls.

It was Kellan and Kallison that brought them all together as a family. And it was through being there for the rest of the pregnancy and the years afterwards, that Patricia finally realized that she was wrong. That Samantha Ross was perfect for her son. She loved him and respected him and took care of him. Better then anyone else possibly could.

"Is everything okay, Donnie?" Patricia asked now, as she watched him putting dishes and cups away.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he answered with a question of his own.

"You seem a little…distant."

"I just have a lot on my mind, mom. Nothing major. Things are good here. Between me and Sam. It's nothing like that."

Patricia frowned. "Don't jump to conclusions," she scolded him. "I wasn't even thinking that."

He smirked and moved to the stove, mug and tea bag in hand as the kettle reached its boiling point. "That's exactly what you were thinking," he said, and filled the mug with water before tossing in the bag.

"I don't know why you always think that I am…"

"It's okay, mom," he said. "I'm used to it. You've been doing it since the day I brought Sam home to meet all of you. You don't like her that much. I get it."

Patricia didn't respond.

"I look at this way, you don't have to live with her, right? I love her and I chose to have her as my wife. And if I had to have been able to chose a family, meaning you and dad and Mel and Chris? Trust me, you wouldn't be sitting in my house right now and we wouldn't be having this conversation. In fact, I wouldn't even exist. So just lay off of my wife, okay?"

Patricia held her hands up in surrender. "Did you at least hear from your in laws for Christmas?"

"Nope," Flack went to the fridge and opened it and grabbed the milk from the top shelf. "Not even a card or a telephone call to the girls. And they're in Florida with Adam and his family and Adam managed to call. So there's no damn excuse why they couldn't have."

"And you're okay with that?"

"No. But what can I do? Buy her mother a personality transplant as a late Christmas gift? She's a raging bitch. That's never going to change. There's two things that are certain. Adam will always be her favourite and she'll always shit on Sam."

"And how does Sam feel?"

Flack shrugged. "Says she's okay with it. She's come to expect it. Says it doesn't matter anymore. They couldn't come to our wedding despite the fact I offered to pay for them. They couldn't afford it the bitch said. Yet a month later they were coming to New York City just 'cause Adam got engaged. They couldn't come to the girls' fifth birthday party but they made sure they got her for Octavia's birthday three goddamn weeks later."

"It's no wonder Samantha is the way she is," Patricia concluded.

Flack rolled his eyes. "You couldn't resist, could you," he said.

"Just making an observation."

"Well don't," he told her, using a spoon to scoop the tea bag from the mug. Dropping it into the sink, he stirred some milk into the boiling hot beverage and carried it to the table.

"Aren't you going to throw that out?" she asked, accepting the drink from him.

"What?"

"The tea bag. Aren't you going to throw that out?"

"Eventually," he said. "What's the rush? It's not going to grow legs and walk out of here on its own."

"It will stain the sink," she complained, a grimace on her face.

"Yeah? Well that's what bleach is for. To get the stains out of shit, right? It's a goddamn tea bag mom, take it easy."

"You're getting bitchy in your old age," Patricia commented.

"My wife tells me that every day," Flack mused as he tidied the kitchen table up. Removing colouring books and markers and stickers and arranging them in a neat pile in his hands before carrying them over to the microwave stand. Opening the bottom drawer, he stuffed the girls' belongings inside.

"What are you doing?" his mother asked, watching as her son proceeded to, despite the fact he was already somewhat dressed for work in a pair of navy blue suit pants and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a striped tie in various shades of blue, begin cleaning up the kitchen.

"I'm cleaning up my house at bit," he replied. "In case you haven't noticed, it's kinda a mess in here."

"Don't you have a wife?" she asked.

"I do. But I know how to clean, mom."

"I'm just saying that you work a lot of hours and she's off for the holidays. You think she'd be concentrating on getting the place cleaned up. Making sure everything was neat and tidy and that dishes were done and laundry was caught up on and the girls were taken care of."

"She's sleeping. I told you that already."

"It's after eleven in the morning. Why is she…"

"Because she's tired," Flack snapped. "Alright? She's tired and needs sleep. Fuck, mom. What does it matter to you?"

"I'm just saying…"

"Well don't say it!" he barked. "Just don't say it! Mind your own business. Are we hurting you living like this? Does it bother it? Do you live here? No. And this…the way you are? This is why you don't have a key to get in here. So you can't just come in here and start tearing our place apart making it the way you want. You know who you remind me of? Remember that show Everybody Loves Raymond? His mother? That's you, mom. That is you. Shit on the daughter in law each chance you get."

"What is wrong with you today, Donnie?" she asked. "Why are you in such a mood?"

"Because I'm tired, alright?!" he tossed the dish cloth into the sink. "I'm tired of my goddamn life!"

"So you're saying you're tired of having a wife and children?"

"No. What I'm saying is that I'm tired of my life outside of my marriage and my kids. I'm tired of my job. I'm tired of slaving away for an ungrateful city for shit pay. I'm tired or murderers and child molesters and junkies. I'm tired of dealing with the scum of the earth. And I never used to think like this or feel like this and I make myself sick for being this way."

"Maybe you need a holiday." Patricia suggested.

"What I need is for people to lay off of me and stop second guessing every goddamn decision I'm making with my life," he told her.

"No one is…"

"Yes, they are. Especially you," Flack said, as he moved to the girl's tiny wooden Dora the Explorer table and chairs that was tucked into the far corner of the kitchen.

While they always at dinner together as a family at the big table, the twins in their booster seats enabling them to even reach their food, the Dora table was where the girls at their breakfast and lunch and worked on craft projects and things for school. And like the big table had been -covered in art supplies even though they'd been told a million times to use the Dora one for that sort of thing- this table was a damn disaster area as well.

"You've always have an issue with someone I'm doing," he said to his mother, as he gathered up glitter glue sticks and left-handed scissors -both Sam and Flack were lefties, so it had been no surprise when their girls had shown a preference for using their left hands as well- even more markers and stickers and drawing paper.

"Donald, I never…"

"When Sam and I moved in together it was an issue, when we got engaged it was a massive one," he continued, cutting his mother of mid-sentence. "You didn't want me getting married. Said you didn't think it was the right time for me. Or some bullshit like that."

"I just didn't think that you and Samantha were in the right place to be getting married," Patricia defended herself. "And well, you both proved me wrong. For the most part."

He gave a small laugh at that. "For the most part? You just had to throw that in, huh? You couldn't have just left that last part out?"

"I'm entitled to my opinion," she informed him.

"You know what, mom? You're right. You are. And so am I. And my opinion is that you're full of shit and that if you don't have anything nice to say about my wife, then you can take your ass on out of my house and never come back."

She blinked at the anger in her son's voice.

"And don't think she doesn't know how you really feel," Flack said, carrying his daughters' things over to the microwave stand and placing them in their proper drawer. "She's not stupid. She can spot an ass kisser from a mile away."

"I think that she's a lovely young lady whose made your life a lot happier and a lot fuller then you, or anyone in your family, ever thought it could be," Patricia told her oldest son. "And I think that you're madly in love with her but at your wits end sometimes. Because you're trying to do so much and it's taking a toll on you. All the hours you put in with the department, and then have to come home and cook and clean and take care of the girls."

"Mom, let me make something very clear to you. Sam does a hell of a lot around her. She's the one doing the cleaning and making the meals and taking care of the kids. You know what I do? I pay the bills and help tidy up and do repairs and whatever else little thing comes up. She's the one that's running the show in the house. And she keeps this family, and our marriage, together. So don't sit there and tell me that she doesn't."

"I'm only trying to…"

"Piss me off," he finished for her. "Because for some reason you just love doing it. You love seeing me get upset. You're the same way with dad. You always have been. And I'm telling you the same thing he's been telling you for years. Shut the hell up."

"I am your mother!" Patricia reminded him. "You can't talk to me like that!"

"And you can't come into my home and insult my wife. The mother of my children. So either shut your goddamn gate or just leave!"

"I will not shut up when I am concerned about you! I see how stressed out you are!"

"You know what? I am stressed. I'm pissed off with the way things turned out. I'm pissed off that I hate my job when I used to love going to work every day. It makes me sick that I can barely drag myself out of bed to face another day there and when I do get there, I spend the whole day wishing I was somewhere else."

"We all go through rough spots," Patricia reasoned.

"You don't think I'm not pissed off with the way certain aspects of my life have turned off? You don't think I'm not angry that my wife is sick? That I'm not frustrated when her illness flares up and I have to do everything around here? You don't think that pisses me off?"

"Of course it upsets you, Donnie. And if it's too much for you to handle, you walk away."

"No, mom! I don't walk away! I don't want to walk away! Because I love my wife and I love my kids. They're the only things that keep me goddamn sane! Everything I do is for them. Every choice I make, every decision. It's what gets me through each day."

"And moving to New Jersey is a choice you're making for them?" she asked.

"Moving to New Jersey is for my family," Flack replied. "And for me. Because I need to get the hell out of here. What is so hard to understand about that? Why are you people having such a hard time grasping that concept?"

"Because it seems so out of character for you. You love New York City. It's your home! And you always swore up and down that you'd never, ever leave."

"People change, mom! Different paths come up and people choose which one to take! And this is the one I'm choosing, now just back off of me!"

"I don't think you're being rational at all," she sighed.

"Yeah? Well ask me if I give a shit what you think," he said.

"I think you're being immature and selfish and…"

* * *

"Ummm…excuse me?" Sam's voice piped up from the kitchen doorway. Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail and she wore her heavy bubble gum pink terrycloth robe over her pyjamas and matching slippers on her feet. She carried the cordless phone from the bedroom. "Donnie? The duty captain from the precinct is on the phone. He wants to talk to you."

"The ringer on the phone in the living room isn't on?" he asked, as he crossed the kitchen and took the cordless from her.

"Guess not," she replied.

"Thanks, babe," he said, kissing her softly before heading out into the living room to take his call.

Sam crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame. "So," she said to her mother in law. "The Christmas spirit couldn't extend into the New Year, huh? You had to come here and cause issues for him?"

"Now that's a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black," Patricia snorted and pushing her chair away from the table, stood up. "You've been causing him nothing but for eight years."

"Sticks and stones," Sam said and shrugged. "I find it hard to take criticism from someone that stayed with a man that beat her and her kids senseless on a daily basis. Someone touched my kids, and that would be it. I'd be packing my shit and taking off."

"Well we all can't be Little Miss Independent like you, can we," Patricia said dryly and carried her mug to the sink.

"Personally, I wonder who was the worst out of the two of you. 'Cause if you were anything back then like you are now, no wonder the poor man drank so much."

"And it's no wonder my son isn't a raging alcoholic with sclerosis of the liver with all the problems you cause him," her mother in law snapped back. "Putting all this crap in his head that New York City isn't his home. That he needs to move to New Jersey."

"That was his decision," Sam said, pushing away from the door frame and going over to the table. She scooped up a mandarin orange from the small plate of the fruit that sat in the middle of the table. "Donnie made the choice all on his own. I was more then happy to commute back and forth."

Patricia snorted. "And do you never clean up around here? Dishes in the drain board, some in the sink. A full dishwasher? Junk from one end to the other?"

"The maid was off for the holidays," Sam joked, ignoring the tirade as she peeled the orange in her hands. "I figure let the mess really pile up until she's got a disaster to work with and made her earn her money."

"I don't know what you do all day," Patricia sighed.

"Oh a little bit of this, a little bit of that," Sam said, popping a segment of fruit into her mouth. "I lie around in my pyjamas, watch television, max out the credit cards on QVC. Invite my boyfriend over for a mid afternoon romp while my husband is at work. That kind of thing."

"Why wouldn't that surprise me," her mother in law crumbled.

Sam smiled. "Sorry. The whole cheating on my husband thing stopped at you. It didn't extend to the daughter in law."

Patricia glared at her. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed.

"It's okay. I'm not judging you because you slept around with your husband's colleagues. That's your business. I can understand that you were that unhappy in an abusive relationship and needed to feel some kind of love. I get that. I just often wonder if Mrs Gerrard knew what Mr Gerrard was up to all those nights when he said he was working late and wasn't."

Patricia stared long and hard at the younger woman standing so calmly and indifferently at the table.

"So you condone cheating?" she asked.

"Of course I don't condone it," Sam replied. "I just don't get involved in other peoples' lives and I expect them not to get involved in mine."

"He's my son!" her mother in law snapped.

"That last part I said was not a personal shot at you," Sam told her. "Don't be so sensitive."

"He's my son and those two little girls are my granddaughters and I…"

"And he's my husband and those are my children and how we live our lives is none of your business," Sam informed her. "So do me a favour and take your son's advice and shut the hell up."

Patricia fumed and stomped away from the sink and towards the table. "You're impossible!" she huffed, snagging her coat off the back of the chair it rested on.

"I'm a handful," Sam admitted. "Thanks for bringing the dog back."

"He's better company then most of the humans in this place," Patricia snapped.

Sam laid a hand over her heart. "You wound me," she said, sarcasm dripping out of every pore.

Her mother in law simply glared at her and stormed from the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" Flack asked, as he returned to the kitchen, setting the cordless phone on the table.

"We had a minor disagreement," Sam replied, casting a glance towards the front of the house as the front door slammed. "What are you doing?" she asked, turning her attention back to her husband who was busying himself removing his tie and un-tucking his shirt. "Did you get fired or something?"

"Duty captain said my services weren't needed today," Flack replied. "Said to take the day off."

"Seriously?"

He nodded and leaned down to kiss her softly. "That doesn't happen often, huh?"

"It never happens," she said. "Are you sure there's not more do it then that?"

"I'm sure. You wanna call him back and ask?"

"No…I trust you. It's just…odd."

"A little. But stranger things have happened. I figured we could take the girls out somewhere. Spend the whole day just hanging out? Maybe we can go into Manhattan? Do some skating in Central Park? Have ldinner somewhere. Just have some family time?"

She smiled brightly. "I like that idea," she said.

"Me too," he told her, and kissed her long and soft. "You're okay now?" he asked. "After that whole dream thing?"

She nodded. "I have to admit. I nearly had a panic attack when the phone rang."

"You'll be alright," he said and pecked her forehead. "So? What do you want to do? We got at least an hour before the girls get home."

"Oh I don't know…" Sam said with a sigh and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I could really use a shower. And someone to scrub my back for me."

"I think I can do that," he told her, reaching for the ties on her robe and undoing them. "You know what I was thinking?"

"What's that?" she asked.

"I was thinking doing that whole Bull Durham sex thing on the kitchen table. For old times sake."

She grinned up at him, her fingers falling on his belt buckle.

"I think that's the best damn idea you've ever had," she declared.

* * *

**Okay, I have to admit. I fought long and hard with the muse. She wanted Flack dead and she almost got her way. But I prevailed!**

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! There was such an amazing response to the last chapter and I hope that can continue! So please, please, please R and R! Thanks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**Bluehaven4220**

**daytime drama**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**MonoxideLullaby**

**Daisy-Buchanan**

**Samantha 778**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**

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**wolfeylady**

**Hardylover7477**

**Kassandra J**


	23. Quality Time

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS.**

* * *

**Quality Time**

"Everybody's looking for what we've found  
Some wait their whole lives and it never comes around  
So don't hold back now,  
Just let go of all you've ever known  
And put your hand in mine  
Don't fear it now; we're going all the way  
Where the sun is shining on a brand new day  
It's a long way down, and it's a leap of faith  
But I'm never giving up, 'cause I know we got a once in a lifetime love  
I close my eyes and I see you standing right there  
Saying "I do" and they're throwing rice in our hair  
Then the first one's born, then a brother comes along and he's got your smile  
I'll be looking back at the life we had still at your side  
So don't fear it now; we're going all the way  
Where the sun is shining on a brand new day  
It's a long way down, and it's a leap of faith  
But I'm never giving up, 'cause I know we got a once in a lifetime love."  
-Once in a Lifetime, Keith Urban

* * *

"I spy with my little eye, something that is…" Lindsay Messer peered out the windshield of her family's black Nissan Pathfinder. Navigating her way through the snowy streets of Ridgewood, Queens while Kellan and Kallison Flack, bundled up in their snowsuits and secured in their booster seats, happily and exuberantly played along with their aunt.

"Yellow!" Kellan called out impatiently.

"Gween!" Kallison offered.

"No…it's not blue or green," their aunt replied.

"Purple!" Kallison yelled.

"Pink!" her sister tried.

"Nope," Lindsay shook her head, getting a kick out of teasing her 'nieces'. "Try again you two."

There were no words that could accurately describe the depth of love that she felt for the two little girls behind her. Of course, no parent could ever love someone else's children as much as they loved their own. There was a bond that existed between mother and child that could never be duplicated or replaced. But the bond that she had between the Flack twins, the beautiful little girls that had been brought into the world by her best friend, was something Lindsay had never experienced before. A bond that was powerful and impenetrable. Those girls meant the world to her, as did their parents. And there was nothing that she wouldn't do for that entire family.

But Kellan and Kallison held a huge part of her heart. Those sweet, cherubic little faces framed by all that dark hair and those big blue eyes and rosy lips and cheeks. They had the faces of angels and at times, personalities of the devil. And Lindsay wouldn't have had them any other way.

"White!" Kallison cried.

"Blue!" Kellan said. "That's daddy's faborite colour!"

"Mine too!" he sister declared.

"No it's not," Kellan argued. "Your faborite colour is purple."

"Not any more," Kallison informed her, munching on the cherry flavoured candy cane clutched tightly in her hand. "It's blue now."

"You're only saying blue 'cause it's the one that daddy likes. And blue is my faborite too and you never liked it before."

"Well I like it now," Kallison said. "So there."

"You can't like the same faborite colour as me and daddy!" Kellan argued. "That's not nice!"

"Girls," Lindsay said in a warning tone. "No fighting. You've both did so well all last night and this morning. You haven't fought the entire time you've been at my house. Don't ruin things by starting now."

"She's only saying that blue is her faborite colour to make me mad," Kellan pouted. "Tell her that that's not nice, Auntie M."

Auntie M. Short for Auntie Montana. A nickname Danny had taught the girls once they were old enough to remember it and repeat it. The same way Danny had told his kids that Samantha was Auntie Brooklyn and soon after allowed them to adopt the moniker of Auntie B for her.

"Kellan, people can like whatever colour they want, sweetie," Lindsay told her gently. "And they can have different colours they like every day."

"But she's only doing it to make me upset!" Kellan cried. "'Cause it's the colour that daddy and I like."

"And you and your daddy can still like that colour," Lindsay said. "But Kallison can like it too."

"She's just being a baby," Kallison declared.

"I am not!" her sister yelled.

"Are too!" Kallison screamed back.

"I AM NOT!" Kellan shrieked and proceeded to knock her sister's hat off and damn near yank a clump of hair right out of Kallison's head.

The little girl didn't cry or even whimper or wince from pain. But a full out slapping and shoving match ensued in Lindsay Messer's backseat. As much of a fight as could take place when the guilty parties were strapped into booster seats. It was hard to drive and beg and scream for calm. Especially when the two girls were so intent on punishing each other. It wasn't the first time that things got physical between the sisters and it wouldn't be the last. Lindsay had seen a couple of good scraps between Amanda and DJ when Amanda objected to her little brother being in her room and messing things up. But Kellan and Kallison Flack were in a league all of their own when it came to fighting. Name calling, hair pulling, biting, punching, kicking. You name it and they did it.

And five minutes later they were best friends again.

"Girls!" Lindsay yelled over the hollering going on behind her. "Do not make me pull this car over and get out and toss you both over my knee and spank both your asses!"

"She's hurting me!!!" Kallison screamed, trying to wiggle out of the firm grasp her sister had on her hair.

"You deserve it!" Kellan yelled back. Proving that it was the always the small ones you had to watch out for. That big things came in tiny packages.

"Stop it!" Lindsay roared. "Both of you just stop it! I do not want to have to tell your mommy that this was going on!"

"Let go of me, Kellan!" Kallison shrieked.

"Not until you say sorry!"

Lindsay decided to take a different approach. Use the one thing, or more specifically, the one person that could always easily and efficiently end such behaviour. Without having to even resort to violence of his own. A simple stern, angry glance and a raised voice from said person being enough to calm the twins down right quick.

"Do not make me call your daddy and tell him you're fighting!" Lindsay bellowed.

That did it. Both girls quickly stopped their screaming, Kellan let go of her sister's hair and she straightened up in her booster seat and folded her hands in her lap. Kallison smoothed her hair down and put her hat back on. Both had tears welling in their eyes and huge pouts on their faces.

"Now are you both calm?" Lindsay asked, casting a glance at them through the rear view mirror.

The twins nodded.

"There is no reason to be fighting like that! What is wrong with you two? Now knock it off and behave! Got it?"

They nodded again.

Lindsay sighed and shook her head and concentrated on her driving.

"Auntie M?" Kellan asked in a tiny voice.

"What, baby?"

"You're not going to tell daddy are you?" the little girl inquired.

"Do you think I should tell daddy?" Lindsay responded.

Kellan shook her head. "Daddy is scary," she declared.

Lindsay frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"'Cause daddy yells really, really, really loud," the little girl told her. "And 'cause he's really big, too."

"It's 'cause he's a policeman," Kallison concluded.

"No," Kellan argued. "Uncle Danny's a policeman and he's not scary. He isn't big."

"Well daddy is," Kallison said. "But mommy is small and she whips daddy into shape."

Lindsay laughed at that. "Who told you that?" she asked.

"That's what grandpa Flack said," Kallison replied. "He said that mommy is so small but she knows how to handle daddy when he gets too big for his bitches."

Lindsay laughed even harder. "It's britches, babe. And your grandpa is right. Your mommy does know how to handle your daddy when he needs to be handled."

"'Cause daddy is bad sometimes," Kellan said. "Like when he had that girlfriend and mommy found out. That was really, really bad daddy."

"How did you know about that?" Lindsay asked. Knowing that a brief, extra marital affair wouldn't have exactly been dinner conversation in the Flack house. It had happened several months ago, and she was surprised that the girls would even remember hearing about something like that.

"We hear things," Kallison told her. "Mommy and daddy were fighting and they were talking about it. Mommy was really mad and yelling at daddy about it. And she told daddy to get out of the house but he wouldn't do and then mommy told him that she was going to take us and go and stay somewhere and he got really mad at her and told her she wasn't allowed to go anywhere."

"And mommy told daddy to leave her alone and said that he was hurting her," Kellan added.

"And mommy had bruises on her arms in the morning," her sister said, pointing to the tops of her own arms.

"We just stayed in our room," Kellan said, clutching Holly Hobby to her chest. "It was scary."

"Are mommy and daddy going to get a diborce?" Kallison inquired.

"Your mommy and daddy love each other," Lindsay assured the twins. "They were just going through some really hard times back then and your daddy made a bad mistake. And he made up for that. He loves your mommy and he loves you guys. He'd never do anything to hurt either of you, or your mom. You know that right?"

They nodded.

"It's hard when mommies and daddies fight, isn't it," Lindsay said sadly.

"It makes me sad," Kellan told her, tears threatening,

"Me too," Kallison said with a heavy sigh. "I don't want daddy to go live somewhere else."

"Daddy's fun," her sister chirped. "He makes me laugh all the time. Especially when he burps really loud and makes farting noises with his armpits and tells us to pull his finger."

"And he makes really good grilled cheese and saghetti and meatballs," Kallison added. "And really, really good chocolate cupcakes."

"Daddy makes the best cupcakes EVER!" Kellan cried.

Lindsay chuckled as she turned down the Flacks street. "Daddy bakes cupcakes?" she asked. There was a side of Don Flack Jr she didn't know about. And they'd been close friends for more then a decade.

Kellan nodded. "Cupcakes and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies!"

"And pancakes!" Kallison exclaimed. "Daddy makes the best pancakes in the WORLD!"

"But not as good as the cupcakes," Kellan said. "And he wears an apron too. Mommy's Hello Kitty Apron."

Both girls giggled at that.

"Does he let you guys help?" Lindsay asked.

Kallison nodded. "He lets us pour stuff into the bowl. And helps us mix stuff, too!"

"And let's us lick the bowl and the spoons after," Kellan added.

"Shhh!!!!" her sister placed a finger over her lips. "Daddy said that was a secret! 'Cause mommy would be mad he let us do that!"

"I promise I won't tell," Lindsay assured them. A smiling spreading from ear to ear as she approached the row of red brick and stone townhouses and spotted the familiar black SUV parked in the small lot across the street. One downfall of living in the townhouses was that there were no driveways and residents had to park across the street in the designated lot.

"Hey girls," she said. "One more game of eye spy, okay?"

"Okay," Kellan chirped.

"Alright. I spy with my little eye, something that is black."

"Auntie M's coat!" Kallison cried.

"Nope."

"The seats!" Kellan tried.

"One more try for each of you," Lindsay said.

The girls thought long and hard.

"Auntie M's boots!" offered Kallison.

Her aunt shook her head.

"Mine and Kallison's hair!" her sister exclaimed.

"Nope. Wrong. All wrong," Lindsay told them, as she pulled up in front of unit 16. Visitors were allowed to park out front for short stays only. Anything over an hour and you were begging for a ticket.

"Well what is it, auntie M?" Kellan asked.

"Look to your left. At the only black thing parked over there," she told the twins, as she killed the ignition and leaned over to pop open the glove compartment. She snagged the NYPD placard and tossed it on the dash.

The girls glanced in the direction Lindsay told them and their aunt prepared for the shrieking she knew would soon ensue.

"Daddy's truck!" Kellan squealed.

"Daddy's home!" her sister cried ecstatically. "Daddy's home!"

* * *

Lindsay couldn't help but break into a huge smile. Flack worked long and hard hours and didn't get to spend nearly enough time with his family as he would have liked. And likewise, the girls didn't get to spend near the time they wanted to with him. And whatever time they did have, their father was bound and determined to make special. Flack was a huge proponent of family time. Quality family time at that. He wasn't one to coup himself and his kids up in the house. And when Sam was well and the weather behaved, it was rare to find the Flack family at home.

Skating and sledding in the winter and long walks and bike rides and trips to the park in the summer. Not to mention any activity that those girls showed even the remotest interest in. Swimming, soccer, t-ball, figure skating and gymnastics to name a few. And now both were expressing interest in hockey. And the entire family loved camping. Even when Sam wasn't up to it, Flack and Danny would pack all their kids up and head out for a weekend. Nothing but sleeping bags and tents and enough food to get by.

Lindsay climbed out of the SUV and got the girls unbuckled one at a time. She had just placed Kellan on the small patch of snowy front lawn and was reaching in to get Kallison undone when she heard the screen door to the townhouse directly behind her opening.

"Daddy!!!" Kellan squealed and raced towards him, arms outstretched. "You stayed home from work today!"

"I did," he said and scooped her tiny body up.

"Are you sick?" she asked, worry in her blue eyes as she laid her hand, palm down, on his forehead. Even if he did have a fever, she never would have been able to feel it through her thick pink wool mitten.

"Nope," Flack replied, kissing his daughter's rosy cheeks and settling her on his hip. "Why would you think I was sick, baby sweets?"

"'Cause you didn't go to work to catch the bad guys like you were 'spose to," she told him.

"My boss just called earlier and said that I didn't have to go to work today," he said. "That I could stay home and do things with you and Kallison and mommy."

"Are you happy, daddy?" Kellan asked. "That you don't have to go and catch bad guys today?"

"Yep. Very happy. And you know why?"

She shook her head.

"Because I get to spend the entire day with you and your sister and your mommy. And there's nothing that I like more then getting to spend lots and lots of time with you guys. Know what we're going to do today?"

"Can we play Barbies?" Kellan asked hopefully. "Have a tea party?"

"Maybe. But I thought of something even better. I'm going to take you and your sister and mommy to Central Park. And we're going to go and see the polar bears and the penguins at the zoo."

"Can we go skating too?" Kallison asked, as she bounded across the snow towards him.

"We can do whatever we want," Flack replied and scooped her up with his free arm.

"Sounds like you guys are going to have a great time," Lindsay said, as she carried their small wheelie suitcases.

"Were they good?" Flack asked, kissing the tiny woman's cheek in greeting.

Lindsay took in the innocent faces of Kellan and Kallison Flack. Those rosy cheeks and those long dark eyelashes framing their big blue eyes. So innocent and so pure that she couldn't possibly do anything to hurt them or get them into trouble.

"They were angels," she replied. "No trouble at all. I have their Christmas gifts loaded in the back. I'd stay for a visit, but Danny's alone with the kids and he's a little hung over and not as patient and understanding as he usually is."

"Go home and tell him I said he's a loser," Flack said and set the girls on the snow. "Go on inside and mommy will help you guys get undressed, okay?"

"Is Wiener home, too?" Kellan asked.

"Grandma brought him home a little while ago," Flack confirmed. "Say thank you to Auntie M for all the Christmas presents and for putting up with you guys and letting you stay over night."

The girls said their thank you's and gave and received hugs and kisses and then stomped off through the snow and up the stairs and onto the front porch. Where their mother was waiting for them behind the screen door.

"Enjoy your mommy and daddy time?" Lindsay called to her best friend,

"More then I could ever possibly tell you," Sam responded, giving a girlish giggle as she opened the screen door and motioned for the girls to step inside. Listening to them ramble excitedly about having French toast for breakfast and getting to watch cartoons with Uncle Danny and DJ and play with Amanda's special dollies and Auntie M letting them up with the baby. Their stories were long winded and repetitive, but their mother listened intently and offered up the right comments when the need arose.

"Well didn't you miss me and daddy?" Sam asked, feigning hurt.

"Of course we did!" Kallison exclaimed, stomping off her boots before stepping into the house.

"I missed Wiener the most!" Kellan declared.

Sam laughed and gave Lindsay a wave. "Call me later!" she called. "After supper. By then I'll have talked to Mari and I'll know what time we're heading to The Pottery Barn at tomorrow!"

"I'll be armed and ready with Danny's credit card!" Lindsay assured her. "Talk later!"

Sam gave a final wave before closing the screen door and then the heavy wooden one.

"So," Lindsay said, as she handed Flack the girls' wheelie suitcases and headed for the back of the SUV. "I take it you and your lovely wife had some nice quiet time."

"Don't know how quiet it was," he laughed as he followed her. "But it was nice. Far from nice, actually. It was just what we needed. Being alone."

"I am glad to have been of some service," Lindsay said as she opened the rear door.

"You're a godsend for taking the girls overnight," Flack declared. "I haven't had moments like that with my wife for a long time. So you agreeing to let them stay over? I can never thank you enough."

"You and Sam have done it for me and Dan many a time," Lindsay reminded him, as she pulled out two large green garbage bags. "We were just returning the favour. And the girls were amazing. We love having them."

"Don't say that too loud," Flack laughed, moving one of the small suitcases to his other hand, enabling him to have a free hand to take the garbage bags. "Sam and I may just ship them off to your place more."

"Well we wouldn't mind," she assured him and shut the door. "We had a lot of fun. Everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You seemed a little off yesterday. Not yourself. Things are okay?"

"I've just got a lot on my mind, Linds. Work related stuff. For once, things are going damn good at home. No complaints there. Just a lot of NYPD, bureaucratic bullshit."

"What else is knew," she snorted. "I heard Mac was going to start lowering the boom around the lab. I guess the commissioner's released the budget and it's not good for a lot of departments."

"People are getting hit all over the place," Flack said. "No department is safe. Detective bureau alone got hit with twenty-five lay offs."

She shook her head. "Guess you're glad you climbed the ranks as quick as you did."

"My ass is safe," he said. "Other people aren't so lucky. Where'd you hear this? About the lab?"

"Just talk that's been going around. Same talk that goes around every few years when the brass starts getting their panties in a twist about spending."

Flack grinned. "Panties in a twist. You sounded so much like Danny just then."

"He rubs off of me," she said with a smile. "Try not to get so stressed, Don. It's only going to make your ulcers flare up. And that is the last thing you need. Especially over this stuff with the adoption agencies."

He snorted and waved it off. "Sam and I have come to a conclusion about that. About the whole adoption thing. We're not going to try anymore. Not even private."

"But you guys want another baby so bad," Lindsay said. "And private is a great option for the two of you and I'm sure if you ask around you'd be able to find someone who wants to give their baby a great home."

"Maybe. But we've had our hearts broken one too many time with the system. And we were talking about half an hour ago, saying that we've decided to go in another direction. Because we really, really, really want a baby. And this direction seems the perfect one for us."

"And that is?"

"Sam and I agreed to take you and Danny up on that whole surrogate thing," Flack told her.

Lindsay blinked and recoiled slightly.

"Surprised?"

"More then a little. I thought for sure that after last night there'd be no chance you'd ever change your mind."

"Well I have. I mean, if the offer is still on the table."

"Of course it is!" she exclaimed. "It was never off the table. I just knew that you guys had some serious reservations about the whole thing."

"We did. We still do. Sam's got some things she's worried about. She's a bit concerned about you getting attached to the baby while you're pregnant and not wanting to give it up in the end."

"I already told her that I will sign whatever legal document I have to do ensure that the baby is belongs to the two of you. I just want to help you guys out. I don't want the child for myself."

"I know. You're on the same page as me. That it's strictly a business thing. But Sam…" he sighed. "Sammie's really sensitive. You know that. And it would seriously kill her if something backfired. And she's a little worried that you being pregnant with my baby? That I'll develop some sort of bond with you because of it."

"Don, we both know that isn't going to happen. You'll be bonding with your baby. Not with me. We're friends. That's all we're ever going to be. I'm in love with my husband and you're in love with your wife. Like you said, this is a business thing."

He nodded. "I just…I don't want her to get hurt, Lindsay. I've hurt her enough with things I've done in the past. I don't want things getting blown out of proportion or misconstrued."

"Well it's up to us to make sure that doesn't happen," she said. "We're adults, Don. And we'll handle this like adults."

"It's just a little freaky, you know? The whole thought of having a baby with my wife's best friend."

"It will take some getting used to," Lindsay agreed. "But we'll all manage. I'll call my OB in the new year. She'll be able to set us on the right path with a fertility specialist and what not. She probably can give me some names and numbers of family lawyers. So we can get every possible paper drawn up. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," he said.

"It will all work out," she assured him, rubbing his arm softly. "I promise."

"Daddy!" Kallison bellowed from the front door. "Mommy says to tell you that the washing machine is broken again!"

Flack sighed and shook his head. "Never a dull moment," he said. "I better get in there. Calm the troops."

"I better get home to mine," Lindsay laughed. "Before daddy has a mental breakdown."

"Him and me both," Flack said as he headed across the snow towards the house. "I've fixed that damn washing machine three times in the past six months. And it's less then a year old."

"Time to call in the professionals," Lindsay told him.

He snorted. "Never."

"Stubborn bastard," she laughed. "You'll never change Flack."

"And you don't want me too," he said, grinning at her over his shoulder as he climbed the front steps, where Kallison was holding open the screen door for him. Standing on the front porch, in the snow, in her socks. "Are you insane, child?" he asked.

"I'm holding the door for you, daddy!" she announced proudly.

"I realise that. And I appreciate it, pumpkin eater. But now your socks are soaking wet. Go inside and take them off. Then ask mommy to dry your feet off for you."

"And get new socks?" his daughter asked.

"And get new socks," he confirmed, shaking his head as she dashed into the house.

"Good luck!" Lindsay called to him as he stepped through the front door.

"DADDEEEE!" Kellan shrieked. "Wiener ate my whole Gingerbread man and mommy says he's probably going to puke everywhere!"

"Save me!" he pleaded, then chuckled heartily and disappeared inside, closing the doors behind him.

Lindsay grinned and climbed behind the wheel of the SUV. Excited, and nervous, about the future.

* * *

The day had been a busy one. After quickly fixing a minor issue with the washing machine -one of the girls had left a jelly bracelet in their jean pocket and once mommy put said jeans in the washer, the damn thing became entangled on the underside of the agitator- the girls had had a quick snack and the entire family bundled themselves up and out they went for the afternoon.

Their first stop had been the Central Park Zoo. Both girls were enamoured with penguins. Happy Feet was one of their favourite movies and it was a miracle that their DVD hadn't worn out by the amount of times they had watched it. It was the only time that Kellan and Kallison actually got along. When they were hunkered down together in family room, cuddled up, side by side under a warm blanket as they watched their Disney movies.

They'd spent nearly an hour and a half at the penguin exhibit alone. Standing underground as the penguins dove into the water and frolicked in the tank for all of the observers to see. The girls were in complete and utter awe of the things. Their tiny faces and hands pressed up against the glass as their parents held them up high enough to get a good view of everything. It was the most well behaved and quiet that either Flack or Sam had ever seen their usually high spirited, often out of control twins. They listened carefully and intently to the zoo worker that gave a short, and interesting, lecture on the penguins. The girls even had some questions of their own. Much to the delight of the other people observing the exhibit. Their musical giggles and often silly questions bringing smiles to everyone around them.

Of course, no trip to the exhibit was complete without purchases stuffed penguins and two t-shirts for the girls from the gift shop. And when Sam had commented how cute the stuffed animals were, Flack had went back in and bought her one too. And she'd laughed and given that smile that crinkled her nose and eyes and made his heart skip a beat even after eight years together.

They had paid the polar bears a visit and then headed to the north end of the park to skate on Lasker rink. It was smaller and not as crowded as the more popular Woolman rink on the east side. It gave the girls a chance to 'skate' without the worry of being bowled over by hockey players out to prove they were the next miracle on ice when in fact, they were far from it. To the girls, skating was actually no more then trying to run across the ice and falling numerous times in the process. In their snowsuits and helmets they were protected from injury and enjoyed every moment out on the ice. Especially when daddy, with his excellent skating skills, would hold their hands or let them grab onto his coat and let him pull them behind him.

They had giggled and squealed the entire time. But had been so tired out by the fresh air and the exercise, that they were fast asleep before their father, who carried them from the rink, could even get them back to the car.

The twins were awake and raring to go by the time the family got home. And after everyone had had warm baths and changed into comfortable clothes, plans for dinner were made -the girls had requested cheese pizza and their dad couldn't refuse them- and while Sam caught up on the house work and the laundry, Flack and his girls assembled in the kitchen. To make cupcakes. One girl on either side of him at the kitchen island, standing on chairs in their Dora the Explorer sweatsuits and their bare feet, their long, black hair slightly damp and put up in high ponytails.

"Daddy?" Kellan asked, as she peered into the bowl as he cracked an egg into the cupcake mix. Her ever present Holly Hobby doll sitting on the counter next to her.

"What, baby?" he inquired, beating the mix and the egg together.

"Can we get a cat?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "We can't."

"But Uncle Shelly and Auntie Mari have a cat," Kallison said. "I love Buttons. He's cute. He sleeps on Jasmine's bed and he got into Elijah's knapsack once and Elijah almost took him to school. Why can't we have a cat? How come they can have a cat and we can't, daddy?"

"Because no one over there is allergic to cats," Flack told her. "And I'm allergic to them and so are you two. So no cats in this house."

"What does 'lergic mean?" Kellan asked.

"You know how every time you go near Buttons your eyes water and you start sneezing and you get itchy?" Flack asked.

She nodded.

"That means you're allergic," he said. "Which means we can't have a cat."

"Mommy's not 'lergic," Kallison told him. "So mommy can have a cat."

"She can," Flack agreed. "If she lives in a different house."

"I don't want mommy to live in a different house," Kallison said. "I'd miss her."

"So would I," her dad told her. "Which is why mommy can't have a cat either. Because I'd be sad if she wasn't around anymore. So it's best we keep her exactly where she is. Right?"

Both girls nodded.

"We wouldn't want you to be sad, daddy," Kellan chirped. "That would make us sad. And if you were sad you wouldn't want to play Barbies and have tea parties with us."

"And you wouldn't want to bake cupcakes," Kallison added.

"Well then all the more reason why mommy can't have a cat," he said.

"Can we get a dog?" Kellan asked.

"You already have a dog," he replied.

"But we want another one," Kallison told him.

"There's enough animals in this house," he said, reaching for the cupcake pans that the girls had happily slicked up with cooking spray and prepared with baking cups. "We have Wiener and Gracie and George. That's enough."

"What about a hamster?" Kellan tried. "Can we have a hamster?"

"Or a fish?" her sister suggested.

"No more pets," Flack said. "We have enough. And mommy hates anything that looks like a mouse and she says fish stink."

"Wiener stinks," Kellan complained. "He smells like farts."

"That's 'cause he's a boy," Kallison told her. "All boys smell like farts."

Flack couldn't help but laugh at that. "But I'm a boy," he said. "Do I smell like farts?"

"You're different daddy," Kellan told him.

"Yeah," Kallison agreed. "You're daddy."

"Daddies do gross stuff to," he said. "Lots of gross stuff."

"Like what?" Kellan asked, sticking her finger in the bowl and scooping out some mix. "Like fart and pick your nose?"

"And eat it?" her sister added.

"Nothing like that," he said. "Ask your mom what an Indian Furnace is when she gets up here."

"Ask me what a what is?" Sam asked curiously, catching the tail end of the conversation as she came up the stairs from the basement and into the kitchen, hauling a load of clean laundry on her hip.

"Mommy?" Kellan asked. "What's an Indian…what's the word, daddy?"

"An Indian Furnace," he told her, unable to keep a straight face.

"Oh my God, Donald!" his wife shrieked. "Don't teach them stuff like that!"

"It's perfectly innocent, babe. We got onto how Wiener smells like farts and how all boys smell like farts and that was the natural progression of the conversation."

"What kind of conversations are you three having?" she asked, setting the basket on the floor and blowing her bangs out of her eyes before scooping up some clothes and dropping them on the table.

"Apparently very gross ones that involve toilet humour," Flack replied. "Go on, babe, Tell them what an Indian Furnace is."

"I will not," she said. "It's gross."

"What is it?" Kellan asked.

"It's something your Uncle Danny and your daddy do to Aunt Linds and me all the time," Sam told her. "Something gross that they find very, very funny."

"Tell them, Sammie," her husband encouraged. "Tell them."

"You find it so funny, you tell them," she said. "Your problem is you can't talk about farting without laughing your butt off. You and your sophomoric toilet humour. You're such a guy, Donnie."

"Are you going to tell them or not?" he asked.

"It's when someone farts and then pins you under the covers so you nearly die from the smell!" Sam snapped. "There! You happy!"

Flack tried to keep the laughter in, but it was all in vain. He was more amused by the disgust in his wife's voice and on her face then the actual meaning of an Indian Furnace. And the more he laughed the more his ears and his face turned bright red and his eyes watered. And the more that happened, the louder and longer both he and the girls laughed.

"You're so mature," Sam grumbled. "Now they're going to be doing that to each other all the time."

"Just because of this conversation, I am forcing you to make a big old pot of wieners and beans tomorrow for supper," her husband told her, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"You wish! Explain to me why I married you?"

"Because you love me," he told her. "With every fibre of your being. You love me and adore me and can't live without me."

"And because daddy is a cutie-patutie," Kallison informed her mother.

"We're cute like daddy and smart like mommy," Kellan said.

"Okay, enough from the peanut gallery," Sam laughed. "You three just make your cupcakes and get your laughs at someone elses expense. And Donnie, could you be a dear after supper and please look at the dryer. It's making that rumbling noise again."

"It's suppose to make a rumbling noise," he told her.

"It's not suppose to sound like it's going to explode, babe. And I think the central vac thing is plugged again."

"You need a handyman to solve all your problems," he teased.

"And I think the sink in the utility room needs snaking," she added.

"I should have been a plumber," he declared.

"Why's that?" Sam asked, folding a sweater of Kallison's.

"Because you like the way I lay my pipe."

"Donald!" Sam cried. "What is wrong with you?!"

"It's the chocolate," he laughed. "It messes with my brain. Good thing it's not that special chocolate from that case way back when. You know the one that got you so hot and bothered that you did a little something something for me in my car when I drove you home after work."

"Can you not talk like that in front of your daughters?" she asked. "Please? Honestly. There's something wrong with you."

"Sorry…" he said, chuckling. "I'll be a good boy. And yes I will take care of all the things on my Honey-Do list."

"It's a big one," Sam told him, nodding towards the fridge, where said list was tacked up with a magnet.

"I'm up for the challenge," he said and cracked his knuckles. "Okay…who wants to pour the first batch of mix?"

"I do!" both girls cried out excitedly.

"Who got to go first last time?" he asked.

His daughters pointed at each other.

Flack sighed. "Okay…it's a number between one and ten. Pick a number. Kellan?"

"Six!"

"Kallison."

"Fifteen."

"Between one and ten," he told her, tugging playfully on her ponytail.

"Uh…three."

"It was seven. Kellan gets to go first. And no pouting Kallison. Take turns."

Sam grinned as she watched the three of them at the island. Her tiny daughters standing on those chairs, looking at their father with the utmost love and adoration and respect. This big, tall and strong cop that seemed so abrasive and rough around the edges to outsides, but to his tiny family was a gentle giant. And she realized, as she sat there folding laundry and watching as her husband, with incredible patience and tenderness, helped their daughter pour cupcake mix into baking cups, that she had lucked out the day she'd married him and began planning to have a family with him.

Because while he may have been devastatingly handsome and possess a wicked sense of humour that had her laughing on even the darkest days, what made him incredibly sexy was the way he was with his children. The way he jumped into every activity with a youthful exuberance and treated each girl fairly and lovingly. He showed no favourites and tolerated no crap. Strict was one way to describe him. He liked order in the house and liked his children well behaved. He had no patience for tempter tantrums and fighting and was quick to discipline.

But he was also quick with the praise and the hugs and the kisses. Quick to tell the girls he loved them and show affection. Unlike his own father in every possible way.

She was lucky. So very, very lucky. Because no matter how bad things got, no matter how serious their problems, her husband loved her and their children. And she had no doubt in her mind that he was in their lives to stay. Through thick and thin. For better or for worse.

"Hey, Don," she called to him, as she finished folding another sweater and laid it on the table.

"Yeah, babe?" he asked, casting a glance in her direction.

"I love you," she told him.

He smiled brightly.

"I just wanted you to know that," she said. "You know, in case you ever think otherwise."

"I never have," he assured her. "And I love you too."

"We love you too mommy!" Kallison exclaimed.

"Lots and lots and lots!" Kellan added.

"I love you guys, too," Sam said.

Husband and wife smiled at each other.

Life wasn't perfect. But they had each other.

And they had love.

And that was the greatest thing of all.

* * *

At quarter to nine that evening, Samantha, in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt she'd pilfered from her husband's pile of clean laundry, found herself sitting at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea and a cupcake amongst a sea of paperwork she was desperate to finish before the New Year. Cases that needed to closed before she moved to her new position at Stella's lab, employee documents the New Jersey Crime Lab needed before she stepped through their doors on her first day. Medical information and insurance documents. The list went on and on.

She sipped her tea and glanced up as her husband wandered into the kitchen, carrying Holly Hobby in one hand, and a bottle of children's Tylenol in the other.

"Are they asleep?" she asked.

Flack nodded. "They're in Kallison's bed. Kellan says it will make her throat feel all better."

"Did you check her temperature?"

"It was high. Just over a hundred. But I think the Tylenol will bring it down. Amazing how quick that kid can catch something."

"It's her compromised immune system," Sam sighed. "We knew they'd have problems from being preemies, but who knew it would be Kellan that would get everything wrong with her. Did you read them a story?"

"I read them The Giving Tree twice," he said, putting the Tylenol back in the cupboard by the fridge.

"I do not know how you get through that story. I cry like a baby every time I read it."

"That's because you're overly sensitive," he informed her. "And your daughter is just like you. I managed to snag Holly once Kellan got to sleep. This thing stinks, babe."

"She takes it everywhere with her," Sam reasoned. "Chews on Holly's hand when she's trying to fall asleep. And only the left hand. Not the right. Because the left hand is closest to Holly's heart she says."

"Well whatever she's doing to this doll, it reeks," Flack told his wife. "It needs a good wash. Do I just toss it in or…"

"Put it in a pillowcase and toss it in the washer. There's a load down there waiting to go in."

"Christ you're demanding," he complained and headed for the basement. Returning a couple of minutes later with a two Polar Ice Cream bars from the big freezer in the utility room. "What are you doing?" he asked, pausing to drop a kiss on the top of his wife's head before sitting down in the chair diagonally across from her.

"Just some stuff that needs to be finished up," she sighed. "Nothing too major."

"I called the agent that sold us this place," Flack told her, peeling the wrapper from the first ice cream bar. "Left a message. And Sinclair left a message on my cell. I go and talk to him tomorrow afternoon at two. He sounds worried."

"How do you think he'll take it?"

Flack shrugged. "Probably shit himself like most people will."

Sam scoured the papers on the table before picking up two sheets and holding them out to him. "I went on the 'net and looked up real estate in Hackensack," she said. "These are all houses in the same price range as what we paid for this one. Single family homes, three bedroom, most have two baths. One has a really nice backyard with a pool."

"We'll definitely have to get down there and check things out," he said, taking the papers and setting them down in front of him. Eyes scanning the pictures and information on the top sheet as he munched on the ice cream bar.

Sam went back to her paperwork. "Donnie…can I ask you something?"

"What kind of something?"

"A personal something."

"We're married, babe. You should be able to ask me anything."

She sighed and set her pen down on her papers and clasped her hands together. "Do you think I'm a bad person?" she asked.

"What? Why would you ask me that?"

"Do you?"

He shook his head.

"I realize that I haven't always been the best wife to you. I've asked a lot and expected a lot and I haven't given anything in return."

"Samantha, you haven't asked for anything, okay? Everything I do is because I want to. I don't do it for gratitude or praise or anything like that. I do it because you're my wife and the mother of my kids and I love you. Plain and simple."

"But you do so much and I…"

He held a hand up to silence her. "Look, I know my mom's put all this shit in your head that you take me for granted and you don't appreciate me. But you know what? I've never seen that or experienced it so I don't want you even paying attention to her. She's just a meddling old bitch that needs to mind her own goddamn business. No one is perfect. And no one has the right to judge you or me or the way we take care of our kids."

"I just…I don't know if I've always been the best person for you."

"You have been. You're my everything, Sammie. And don't care about what other people say about you or who likes you. Hell, a lot of people hate me. We can't be universally loved unfortunately."

"I know…" she said and sipped her tea. "Are you ever bored?" she asked. "With your life? Your life with me?"

He frowned. "Don't ever ask me that again," he replied.

"It's just you do so much and I…"

"Samantha, I am not here, in this marriage, because I feel obligated to be. I'm here because I love you and our kids. That's all there is to it. And whoever is putting this crap in your head? About you taking me for granted? They need to seriously fuck off. And you can tell them I said that too."

She grinned. "I love it when you go all cop on me."

He smirked.

"I just needed you to know that I appreciate you," she said. "I appreciate you and everything you do. And I love you beyond words and if anything was to ever happen to you…"

He leaned across the table and silenced her with a kiss.

"No more talking," he said, and reaching across the table, took her hand in his own and held on tightly.

She smiled and went back to the work in front of her

No other word was spoken. They simply sat there in companionable silence. Comfortable with one another.

And with the life they shared.

* * *

**Thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and everyone of you. Even the lurkers. But please, please, please leave a review folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

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**CavalierQueen**


	24. Life Changes

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS.**

**I ALSO DO NOT OWN MARI. SHE IS A BRILLIANT CREATION OF MY VERY DEAR FRIEND, HOPE4SALL. WHO IS A FANTASTIC WRITER! PLEASE CHECK OUT HER STUFF! YOU WON'T REGRET IT.**

**FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO WERE HOPING TO GET SOME KIND OF INTRO INTO HAWKES' LIFE, THE WAIT IS OVER!**

**AND I WILL EVENTUALLY GO BACK TO PRESENT CHAPTERS. WHEN THE MUSE LETS ME!**

* * *

**Life changes**

"This time, I wonder what it feels like  
To find the one in this life, the one we all dream of  
But dreams just aren't enough  
So I'll be waiting for the real thing, I'll know it by the feeling  
The moment when we're meeting, will play out like a scene  
Straight off the silver screen  
So I'll be holding my own breath, right up 'til the end  
Until that moment when, I find the one that I'll spend forever with  
'Cause nobody wants to be the last one there  
'Cause everyone wants to feel like someone cares  
Someone to love with my life in their hands  
There's gotta be somebody for me like that  
'Cause nobody wants to do it on their own  
And everyone wants to know they're not alone  
There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere  
There's gotta be somebody for me out there."  
-Gotta be Somebody, Nickelback

* * *

"But I don't want oatmeal!" Kallison argued as her mother attempted to place a bowl of the apple and cinnamon flavoured concoction in front of her. "I want Pop Tarts!"

"And I told you that we don't have any left," Sam reminded her, fighting to keep her patience and temper in check.

It was the same battle most mornings. Both twins would request two entirely different things for breakfast, and then five minutes later, when the food was nearly ready to be served to them, change their minds and ask for something else. And if she dared to argue or insist that they ate what they were given, all hell would break loose. Screaming and crying and ferocious temper tantrums in the middle of the kitchen floor. They tossed things around the kitchen and stomped away and slammed the doors if they were banished to their rooms. As adorable and sweet and well behaved as the twins usually were, they certainly had their days when they were simply the spawns of Satan.

And at quarter after eight that morning, it was already shaping up to be one of those days. Both girls had done nothing but complain and cause problems from the time they'd pulled themselves out of bed at seven thirty. It had been Flack, heading downstairs shortly after his alarm sounded, still blurry eyed and fuzzy headed and desperate for a strong coffee, who'd found his daughters, cross legged in front of the television, watching Sponge Bob Square Pants in their pyjamas, an opened box of Honey Nut Cheerios between them and a massive amount of the tiny circles of oats scattered everywhere. Along with two glasses of orange juice filled dangerously close to the brim, some of the beverage trickling down the sides of the cups and onto the hardwood floor.

Still exhausted and somewhat achy from the busy day before -the arthritis in his knees, a by product of years of playing hockey and chasing perps, was always a bitch first thing in the morning, especially in the cold weather - he had stood there for several minutes as his brain processed the sight in front of them. Ever since they were old enough to get out of their beds, the girls had always made it a habit to go straight into mommy and daddy's room the moment they woke up. Where they'd cuddle in the bed with one or both parents and watch some cartoons and sometimes, by sheer chance, fall back asleep for half an hour to forty five minutes. But that morning, Kellan and Kallison had decided to shake up the routine. Exercise a little independence.

"Hi, daddy!" Kellan had chirped, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on it that house.

"Who poured the juice?" he'd asked. It was the only words his tired brain could conjure up. And he'd been deathly afraid of the answer.

"I did," Kallison had proudly replied.

He knew full well that while it was easy for the girls to get the fridge open, the orange juice container had been full because he'd seen his wife bring it up from the freezer in the basement, open it and leave it on the top shelf of the fridge to thaw out. And he also knew that neither of his girls were capable of pouring said juice without making a hideous mess. That lesson had been learned when they'd asked ione morning if they could fix up their own breakfast and he'd been dumb enough to say yes and then had been a witness to what a mess a litre of milk could make on the kitchen floor.

Flack had gone into the kitchen expecting the worst and hadn't been disappointed. He had been a little surprised that the girls had obviously taken the initiative to hide their crime, even if they'd left the evidence right out in the open. A chair had been pushed over to the sink and hadn't been returned to its normal spot. A clear sign that one of them had climbed up onto it and then the counter, to snag the roll of paper towels on the holder above the sink. A holder that was now perfectly empty. And while they'd 'cleaned' the floor, it was sticky as hell and some juice still dotted the bottom of the stainless steel fridge.

To make matters worse, not only was Wiener walking across the tacky linoleum, he was licking the damn floor as well.

It had taken all the will power Flack had had not to lose it on his daughters. Instead he'd grumbled and muttered a litany of profanities as he grabbed a hold of the dog and locked him in the small bathroom and then arranged the chairs across the doorway of the kitchen to let the kids know that the room was off limits. Then he'd gotten the Swiffer Wet Jet that his wife coveted from the broom closet near the sliding door and set to work cleaning up the mess his kids had made.

All that and the clock hadn't even hit eight. But at least the kitchen was sparkling clean by the time his wife made her way down to make breakfast for the family. Although he hadn't been swift enough, or smart enough, to order the girls to clean their mess in the living room up and haul ass into the kitchen so they were spared a freak out from their mother.

And now the breakfast battle was heating up. Nothing Sam offered to make was good enough and naturally, the only thing the girls did want was the one thing they'd run out of and no one had remembered to pick up.

Such was life, unfortunately.

"Well can you go to the store and get some?" Kellan asked, clutching Holly Hobby to her chest as she sat across from her sister at the Dora the Explorer table. Holly had been successfully 'bathed' and returned under Kellan's arm during the night.

"No," Sam replied. "I can't. I offered to make scrambled eggs and you both said yes to that. Then you both changed your mind and said you wanted oatmeal and banana. And that's what I made."

"But we don't want that," Kallison retorted.

"And what you want we don't have," her mother fought back. "So it's either banana and oatmeal or it's toast and jam and cereal. Take your pick."

"Peanut butter and 'nana," Kellan requested. The fever had dissipated, but her throat sounded raw and scratchy.

"Is that what you want too?" Sam asked her other daughter.

Kallison nodded enthusiastically.

"This is it you two," their mother warned, as she went to the sink and used a spoon to scrap the oatmeal out of the bowls and into the garbage. "I make them and you don't eat them, you eat nothing. Plain and simple. Got it?"

"Daddy will make us something if we don't like the peanut butter and 'nana," Kellan told her.

"Your daddy knows better then that," Sam said, shutting the cupboard under the sink and going to the island and snagging two bananas from the white serving dish the bunch of fruit sat in. "I am telling you both right now," she said to her daughters as she gathered up the bread and peanut butter, two plastic Dora plates and a butter knife. "You eat this or you get nothing."

"But we're hungry," Kallison said.

"Starving," her sister chimed in. "Is daddy going to work today?" she asked as an after thought. "To catch the bad guys?"

"He is," Sam confirmed and set to making the sandwiches.

"Why can't daddy stay home?" Kellan asked, sipping a plastic cup of apple juice. "It's fun when daddy stays home from catching the bad guys."

"Because daddy needs to go to work to make money," Sam replied. "So you guys have food to eat and toys to play with and a nice house to live in. And he makes more money then mommy so that's why I get to stay home at Christmas with you guys."

"But why can't you both stay home?" Kallison inquired. "It's fun with both of you are home. Daddy does fun stuff with us and takes us places."

"And I don't?" Sam asked, feeling slightly hurt by the insinuation that her daughters preferred their father over her.

"Of course you do, mommy," Kellan said. "Just daddy isn't home that much and we miss him."

"Daddy works a lot," her sister commented. "Catching the bad guys. He's a good policeman, right mommy?"

"One of the best," Sam said with a smile. "Do you two remember what kind of policeman daddy is?"

"A defective," Kallison answered.

"Detective," her mother corrected with a laugh. "A detective helps solve things. They help a group of people put the pieces of a puzzle together in order to catch the bad guys."

"To help the good people?" Kellan asked.

Sam nodded.

"Is daddy an angel?" Kallison inquired. "Angels help the good people, too."

"I guess he is," Sam told her. "Because he helps catch the bad people that hurt the good people. And he puts the bad people away for a long time so they don't hurt any more good people."

"Where does he put them?" Kellan asked, immensely intrigued by the conversation.

"Does he send them away?" inquired Kallison. "To a dessert island with all the rest of the bad people?"

"It's a deserted island," Sam told her. "And no. He sends them to jail with the rest of the bad people."

"What's jail?" Kellan asked.

"It's where I'm going to send the two of you if you don't start behaving," Flack answered for his wife, as he wandered into the kitchen, in the dress pants and shirt he'd been ready to wear to work the day before, suit jacket in his hands and tie hanging loose around his neck.

"You wouldn't send us away, daddy," Kallison laughed. "You'd miss us."

"I might send you both to boarding school until you're eighteen," he said, laying his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs.

"What's jail, daddy?" Kellan asked.

"Jail is where I take the bad guys when I catch them," he answered, pausing at the island to press a kiss to the back of his wife's head as she prepared the girls' breakfast. "When I catch them for hurting the good people, I put my handcuffs on them and I take them to jail and they stay there for a really, really long time."

"Do they die there?" inquired Kallison.

"Some of them," he replied.

"What do they die from?" Kellan asked. "From being bad?"

"They get sick and old and that's that," her father told her.

"Will we get sent to jail for not cleaning our messes and not eating our peas?" Kallison wondered.

"You might get sent to your rooms, but not to jail," he assured her, grabbing a mug from the drain board and pouring himself some of the fresh coffee from the pot his wife had made while he was in the shower.

"How come you get to have a gun, daddy?" Kellan asked. "Guns are bad."

"Because I'm a policeman and policemen are allowed to have guns," he replied, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee.

"Do you get to shoot people?" inquired Kallison.

"Is it fun?" her sister tossed out. "Is it fun to shoot bad guys?"

"You two ask a lot of questions," Flack said.

"Is it?" Kellan pressed.

"I've only had to shoot bad guys a few times," he told his daughters. "And it's not fun to have to do it."

"But they deserve it, right?" Kallison sipped her juice. "If they're bad they deserve it."

"They might deserve it but it's not fun," her father said.

"Does it make you sad?" asked Kellan. "When you shoot bad guys?"

"A little," he admitted.

"Don't be sad, daddy," Kallison said. "If it makes you sad to be a policeman you could always get a different job."

"Yeah…" her sister enthused. "You could work at McDonalds and we could eat hamburger Happy Meals every day!"

"Or at Baskin Robbins," Kallison said excitedly. "And we can have all the ice cream we want!"

"Daddy likes being a policeman," Sam told her daughters, as she carried the sandwiches to the table. Made exactly the way the girls liked them to be made. Cut diagonally. No crust. "And you two need to eat your breakfast."

"Thank you, mommy!" Kellan chirped and picked up her sandwich and bit into it. "It's just what I wanted!"

* * *

"You know," Flack said, as his wife joined him where he stood, leaning back against the counter beside him. "I have been in thousands upon thousands of interrogations. I have sat across the table from mass murderers, child molesters, gang bangers. You name it. But I have never, ever, ever come across an interrogation as tough as what these two rug rats can dish out."

Sam grinned. "They're curious about everything and anything when it comes to you, you know that. Soon they're going to ask you to lock them up with your cuffs just for fun. So they can see what it feels like."

"Think so?"

His wife nodded.

"I'll just tell them that the cuffs are off limits. Only one allowed to have fun with those is their mommy."

Sam rolled her eyes and giggled and elbowed him in the side playfully. "Perv," she mumbled.

He grinned and wrapped his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. "So?" he asked, rubbing her shoulder softly. "What's on the schedule for today?"

"Jasmine is bring Elijah over and watching the girls while I go shopping with Mari and Lindsay."

"Whose watching the Messer monsters?"

"Danny's mom, apparently."

"All of them? At the same time?" Flack asked.

Sam nodded.

He laughed. "Good luck with that. They're going to drive that poor old woman insane within an hour. Guaranteed. Where are you going shopping?"

"Upper East Side."

He arched an eyebrow. "Why? What's in the Upper East Side we could possibly afford?"

"The Pottery Barn is having a massive sale. And both Danny and Lindsay and Mari and Sheldon gave me gift certificates there."

"That place is expensive, babe," he complained. "Even with their massive sale, you take a hundred dollar gift certificate but have to spend five hundred to get what you want. And what could we possibly need there anyway?"

"I was thinking I could pick us up some new pillows. A couple of sheet sets. Maybe a new duvet cover, a quilt for the nicer weather."

"You can't get all that stuff at Target?" he asked.

She stared at him, eyebrows arched.

"I'm just saying," Flack defended himself. "I'm sure Target or Walmart has perfectly good pillows and sheets and what not."

"This is the Pottery Barn," she said. "Nothing compares to that."

"I know. But we're Target and Walmart people walking into a store on the Upper East Side. Without Upper East Side money to spend."

"I promise you I will use the gift certificates and charge very little to the credit cards," she said.

Somehow he slightly doubted that would happen, but instead of criticizing or even suggesting for her not to go, Flack simply bit his tongue and gave her the benefit of the doubt.

"Just nothing pink," he requested. "I can't sleep in a bedroom with anything pink in it."

"No pink," she promised.

"Or anything with flowers or polka dots," he added. "I can't take anything flowery or with polka dots."

"What about that fugly tie you wore that one day during the whole Suspect X thing?" she asked.

"What fugly tie? You'll have to narrow it down, babe."

"The one you wore when Stella and Danny had Johnny O'Dell in the box. When Mac told you about Peyton staying in New York. I can't recall the actual colour. I think it was either light blue or light green. But it had polka dots on it."

Flack smirked. "How in the hell do you remember stuff like that all these years later?" he asked.

"Because I always would look at you and think here's this totally hot guy whose so yummy in his suits and smells so good," she replied. "And then I'd think, how does a guy like that possibly pick such ugly friggin' ties?"

He chuckled. "You're such a witch to me," he teased. "You know why I wore such ugly ties back then?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't have you dressing me yet."

"Hey, at least you've matched for eight years now," she said. "And speaking of suits and ties," she stepped in front of him, and standing on her tip toes, proceeded to do up the top two buttons on his shirt and attend to his tie. "You look very, very handsome today."

"I have to look good for my throngs of female admirers," he teased.

She smirked.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose and watched as her tiny hands quickly and effortlessly did up with his tie. It had been a near daily occurrence for the past eight years now, and even though all that time had passed and their relationship had matured and gone far beyond those days of dating and living together, Flack was struck by how the simple acts of her doing up his tie for him, or buttoning or tucking in his shirt, still seemed so affectionate and loving. It made him feel warm inside. Cared for and cherished. Until Sam, he had never had a woman do anything like that before. And it had shocked him that morning eight years ago, after their first night sleeping in the same bed together, she'd gotten up well before she had to for work, joined him at the side of the bed where he stood getting dressed, and laid her hands over his. And then without a word, buttoned his shirt and tucked it in and did up his belt. And then his tie. It had touched something deep inside of him. The gentleness of her hands, the softness in her eyes.

It was something he had never forgotten, and even now, those brief moments where she did something so simple for him, he treasured more then he could ever tell her.

"There," she said, tightening his tie and straightening it to perfecting before turning the collar of his shirt down. "Now my incredibly sexy man is ready to start his day."

He smiled and took her petite face in his hands and kissed her softly. Much to the delight of their daughters.

"Mommy and daddy are kissing," Kellan giggled.

"That's where babies come from," her sister informed her. "Now we might get a baby brother or sister after all."

Sam laughed at that. "I hate to break it to you, girls," she said, as she stepped to her husband's side. "It takes a little more then that to get a baby brother or sister."

"Like what?" Kallison asked.

"Lots of luck," her father told her. "And we're out of that so the two of you are stuck being the only kids in this house."

They weren't about to tell their daughters that hopes were high that their surrogacy plans with Lindsay and Danny would all fall into place. That the artificial insemination, once it was planned, would be successful and the pregnancy would go smoothly. And that in less then a year, if God was on their side, Kellan and Kallison would be big sisters. There was no sense getting their little hopes up if things didn't pan out.

"Daddy?" Kallison asked. "Do you like seafood?"

"I'm not falling for that trick," he told her. "And don't even think about…"

"I like seafood!" Kellan chirped.

"Look Kellan!" her sister cried excitedly. "See-food!" And with that she opened her mouth wide to show the chewed up bite of peanut butter and banana sandwich inside.

"That's gross!" Kellan shrieked, but laughed hysterically. Until she was hiccuping and whining about her juice going up her nose and burning.

"That's not nice, Kallison," Sam scolded her daughter, as she snagged a Kleenex from the box on the top of the fridge and went to the table. "Don't be doing stuff like that," she said and wiped Kellan's nose for her. "Where did you learn that?"

"I heard it somewhere," Kallison said.

Sam looked at her husband.

Flack held his hands up in self defence. "That is one thing she did not get from me. That's an old joke, babe. I knew she was going to do it ahead of time. That's why I warned her not to."

"You're a bad influence," Sam informed him.

"Why do I always get blamed for the bad stuff?" he asked. "All the bad stuff that goes on is not always my fault, you know."

"Daddy's the funny one," Kellan said. "Mommy's more serious."

"Excuse me?" Sam asked.

"That's what daddy always says," her daughter told her.

"And what else does your daddy say?" Sam inquired.

"Tell mommy what I told you guys," Flack encouraged. "What does daddy do for a living?"

"A police man!" Kallison cried.

"And what does mommy do?" he asked.

"Lab geek!' Kellan replied.

"You're mean teaching them stuff like that," Sam scolded her husband, pouting dramatically as she slapped his stomach lightly.

"All in good fun, babe," he said with a chuckle, grabbing her by the belt on her bathrobe and pulling her into him. "You may be a lab geek, but you're my lab geek."

"You're a sappy SOB," she declared.

"Sometimes," he agreed and kissed her softly.

"Daddy? Kellan asked.

"What baby sweets?" he inquired, turning Sam around and circling her waist with his arms and holding her tightly to him.

"Is it true that you and mommy are going to hell?" his daughter asked.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Mrs Johnson said that because you and mommy lived together before you got married that God was really, really, really mad at you guys and that he was going to send you to hell."

Mrs Johnson. The dreaded Sunday school teacher at St. Patrick's, their parish.

"Who told Mrs Johnson that your mommy and I lived together before we got married?" he asked.

"Grandma," Kallison squealed easily on her grandmother.

"Well I'll tell you two things I am sure of," Flack said. "One, you're mommy and I are not going to hell. And two, your grandmother is a crazy old bat."

"Don," Sam directed an elbow at his stomach. "Don't say things like that. They repeat everything you say. Like the time you called Mrs Johnson a lazy, fat cow and they went back and said it to her? And then you wouldn't tell them to say sorry?"

"Why say sorry? What are they going to say? I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're a lazy, fat cow?"

His wife snorted and shook her head and attempted to wriggle out of his embrace.

"Where you think you're going, huh?" he asked, tightening his grip on her and nuzzling her ear and neck until she was giggling. "You can't leave. Not when we're having our cuddle time. I tell you when you can get out of cuddle time."

"I gotta go pee!" she cried, laughing. "Don't be such an a-s-s."

"I guess that's a good enough reason," he said and kissed her cheek noisily.

"Unless you plan on cleaning my mess up off the kitchen floor," she told him, escaping from his grasp once he loosened his arms.

"That reminds me," he called to her as she left the kitchen. "Wiener peed on our bed. I didn't let him out in time and well…let's just say it's a good thing you're going to get a comforter today."

"And the mattress?" she asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Didn't get through."

"Damn mutt," she grumbled and headed for the washroom. "Please let the dog out in time next time, Donald."

"Yes, dear," he said, and snapped of a sharp salute. Causing both of his daughters to laugh hysterically. "You two didn't see that," he told them, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.

"See what, daddy?" Kallison asked innocently.

He grinned. "That's my girl," he praised. "You two done?"

They both nodded.

He grabbed a face cloth that Sam always kept hanging off the handle of the stove for cleaning the girls faces and wet it with warm water and wrung it out. Snagging a clean tea towel off the counter, he walked over to the Dora table and crouched down alongside of Kellan first. Holding her firmly with a hand on the top of her head as he thoroughly washed and dried her face and then her hands, before moving on and repeating the actions with her sister.

"Put your plates and your cups on the counter by the sink," he instructed as he stood up, his knees screaming in protest. "Then I want you both to go upstairs and clean up your rooms and bring down some clothes."

"Then can we play with our Christmas toys?" Kellan asked, as she and Kallison slid off their chairs and carried their dirty dishes to the sink.

"After you get your mommy to watch you guys brush your teeth you can do whatever you want. Just no chocolate from your stockings? Understand me?"

"We're good to go!" Kallison responded, giving a huge thumbs up before she scurried from the kitchen, her sister following close behind.

Flack grinned and shook his head and set to rinsing off their plates and cups and setting them in the empty dishwasher.

"Are you going all domestic diva on me again?" Sam asked, as she wandered back into the kitchen, rubbing her stomach and grimacing slightly.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"Just those stupid phantom period cramps I get," she complained. "Sometimes they're worse then the real thing. Where's the girls?"

"Upstairs cleaning their rooms and bringing some clothes down to get dressed."

"God I love it when you're home," she sighed happily. "Things run so smoothly when the law and the order is in the house."

"Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Flack said as he closed the dishwasher. "But I gotta get going. I've got that anti-terrorism meeting in an hour and I have to actually show up and look like I care."

"You know," she stood in front of him and rubbed his sides softly. "Maybe you should talk to Doctor Ryerson and see if you can get something for these moods you've been in lately."

He smirked. "What? You think I'm crazy or something?"

"No. I think you've just been really done about some things and maybe you need a little picker upper."

"What I need is to get out of the city," he told her and kissed her long and soft. "Once we're out of here, I'll be fine."

"I'm just worried about you," Sam said.

"I know," he pecked her forehead. "But I'm fine. Okay?"

She nodded.

"I'll call you if I'm going to be really late," he told her, kissing her a final time before stepping away from her and heading to the table. "I don't think I will be. But you never know."

"I shouldn't be out to long," she said, watching as he pulled on his suit jacket. "Maybe I'll stop by and we can have a coffee together?"

He smiled. "Sounds good."

Sam followed him to the front door. Waiting for him to slip into his shoes and his winter jacket before calling the girls downstairs to say goodbye.

"You two be good," Flack said, giving both his daughters hugs and kisses. "I don't want any phonecalls about fighting. Okay? You listen to your mommy and to Jasmine when she's babysitting you."

"Will you bring us a treat home, daddy?" Kellan asked. "Some ice cream? It would make my scratchy throat all better."

"Tell you what. If your mom tells me you guys were good all day when I call later, I will definitely bring something special home. Okay?"

His daughters nodded excitedly.

"I'll see you two later," he said, kissing both on the top of their heads.

"You'll be home to tuck us in and read us stories?" Kallison asked.

"I'll try my best," he promised. "I love you, guys."

"We love you, too, daddy," Kellan told him, as her sister nodded in agreement.

"I'll call you later, babe," Flack said to his wife, embracing her tightly and kissing her. "Have fun with the doctor's wife on the upper east side."

"Be safe, okay?" she patted his cheek softly before opening the door for him.

"Always," he said with a wink before stepping out of the house.

"Catch lots of bad guys, daddy!" Kellan called to him, as she and her mother and sister stood at the screen door watching him head down the steps.

"And put them in jail!" Kallison added.

He turned and gave them a smile and a wave before heading across the snow covered front lawn and sidewalk before heading across the street towards his SUV.

Sam sighed heavily and ushered her girls away from the door before closing it up tightly.

She paused in the foyer as the twins rushed into the living room to finish getting dressed, talking excitedly about all the toys they were going to play with that day.

_Please God, just keep him safe,_ she prayed silently, before heading into the next room to start her day.

* * *

Mari Hawkes, stylishly dressed in a pair of skinny jeans tucked into knee high brown leather boots and a brown suede jacket with lambskin trim on the hood and cuffs, waited outside of The Pottery Barn on East 59th street. Sipping a grande café mocha with the works. Three shots of espresso, whipped cream topping, a sprinkle of cinnamon and a drizzle of chocolate sauce.

A light snow was falling, but the sun was high and bright in the vibrant blue sky and the temperatures were unseasonably mild. She was filled with a sense of calm and relief now that the initial craziness of the Christmas holidays were over. No more family members flooding the house, no more long hours of preparing endless buffets of food, no more buying and wrapping and unwrapping present after present. And never mind the massive cleanup afterwards. Mari, who loved the holidays and everything that came with it - the family times, the good food and the decorating - was insanely happy that the insanity was over and done with. For another year at least.

The madness of Christmas aside, Mari loved her life.

She had met, and married, the man of her dreams seven years ago. Something that had she had long before convinced herself just wasn't in her cards. After a disastrous ending to a brief marriage to her high school sweetheart, Miquel, the then twenty-one year old Mari had been left with not only a broken heart and a beautiful two year old daughter, Jasmine, but what she thought was a permanent sour taste for men in her mouth. Instead of diving back into the dating pool, she'd concentrated on raising her little girl -with the help of her mother- and continuing her education. She had completed two years of college before leaving to play housewife and mother, but with Miquel out of the picture, she'd been able to final get her nursing degree. And secure herself a steady and good paying job in the pediatrics department of Angel of Mercy.

It was there that she had met Samantha Ross and Doctor Sheldon Hawkes. Two people that would transform her life beyond measure. They had been at the hospital that fateful late February day, to question the surviving sibling of a child that had been mauled to death by the family dog. The older brother had attempted to pull the dog off of his sibling and had been attacked as well.

Dog attacks weren't usually matters the crime lab dealt with, but inconsistent findings on the autopsy had shown that the child had been dead before the mauling had taken place. It had been a dark and disturbing case with an even worse ending, and everyone that had been involved had been scarred emotionally in some way.

Mari had contacted Samantha Ross, days after the case had been solved, and asked the pretty, tiny detective if she'd like to have a drink sometime. Mari didn't have a lot of friends. She had lost most when she got married and had a child so young, and then had no time for a social life once she went back to school. But she'd liked Samantha. The Brooklyn born girl was smart and witty and no doubt a hell of a lot of fun once that badge and gun had come off.

A friendship had been born over Mexican food and beer. Through Sam, Mari had become friends with the other members of the tightly knit team. Including Sam's then boyfriend, Detective Don Flack. Someone Mari had known, and crushed over, many years ago in high school. And it had been Samantha and Don, that had pressed Sheldon Hawkes into asking Mari out on a date. Both knew the ME turned CSI was interested in the pretty nurse. And who wouldn't be? She was five foot six with a willowy body and a beautiful complexion. Her mother of Puerto Rican decent, and her father African American. Her hair was full and textured and she reminded everyone around her of Halle Berry. It was no wonder Hawkes was enamoured.

When things finally got under way, it hadn't taken long for both Mari, and Hawkes, to realize what they had found together was something special. They were engaged three months later, and married two months after that. Hawkes accepted and loved Jasmine as her own -and she adored him to pieces- and only a year into marriage they were blessed with their own child, a son they named Elijah.

Life and love couldn't get any better as far as Mari was concerned.

It was amazing, she thought, as she stood waiting for her friends and contemplating how far they'd all come over the years, that something so horrific as a senseless, violent crime could be the beginning of so many wonderful things.

She spotted the familiar gun metal grey Mercury Milan pulling into the public parking lot across the street, easily recognizing the two faces inside. Within a couple of minutes, she was smiling and waving to her friends as they crossed the street, talking and giggling excitedly.

"I'm glad both of you could come," Mari said, as she greeted each woman with a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Not often we get girls days out anymore. I was at Mac and Kelli's yesterday but she wasn't able to make it for our shopping excursion. I guess she's got a full line up of people she's teaching sign language too."

"About four families a day," Lindsay told the other women as the three of them headed into the busy store. "She's got Amanda and DJ going tomorrow."

"And she comes to our place to teach Kellan and Kallison. Just object based stuff at the moment. Neither of them can sit still long enough to learn anything more then that."

"That's because they're like their father," Mari laughed. "Always on the go. Did he actually manage to keep himself in the house over the holidays?"

"Are you kidding?" Sam asked. "We didn't stay home one day. Don is incapable of being inside. You know that. He has to be doing something. Preferably, I wish he was doing that something inside and finishing up the massive list of manly things that need to be done, but beggars can't be choosers. We had an amazing Christmas and I got to spend a lot of time with him. And that doesn't happen often."

"Take it where you can get it," Lindsay said with an understanding nod.

"These are for you," Sam held a Christmas gift bag out to Mari.

The other woman accepted the brightly coloured bag and peered inside. "What's in the Tupperware container?" she asked.

"Cupcakes," Sam replied. "Chocolate ones with vanilla icing and candy sprinkles."

"They're amazing," Linday declared.

"Don made them," Sam added quickly.

Mari grinned "Is that a warning?" she inquired.

Sam laughed. "No. Not all all. They're awesome cupcakes. I just didn't want to be taking credit for the fruits of his labour. He made them last night. With the girls."

Mari stared at her friend. "You're not kidding," she stated.

The petite brunette shook her head. "Don's actually a really, really, really good baker. He just never knew how good until he got married and had kids and they opened his mind to all of the stuff they liked to do with him. Kellan and Kallison love nothing more then baking something with him. Mostly cupcakes and chocolate chip peanut butter cookies."

"And trust me," Lindsay said. "Those cookies are heaven. Flack made some for the kids' little bake sale at Valentines Day last year and the things sold out in like five minutes. They're awesome. Better then sex."

"Well I wouldn't go that far," Sam laughed. "Nothing is better then sex. Well, at least not the sex I've been getting for eight years."

"Does he cook too?" Mari asked.

"Occasionally. When he's home early enough to do it," her friend replied. "He's a great cook."

Mari shook her head. "I am having such a hard time grasping the concept of big, bad Don Flack Jr being a secret chef and baker."

"Believe it," Sam said, and reaching into her purse, pulled out her cell phone. Flicking through the various pictures she had stored on it, she held the pink flip phone out to her friend. "Check this pic out. This is three days before Christmas. Donnie and the girls launching Operation Gingerbread House."

Mari took the cell phone and looked down at the photo. Smiling at the image of Flack, in an impossibly small Hello Kitty apron and his two pretty little girls , both wearing kids size chef hats, at the kitchen table. Kellan and Kallison were kneeling on chairs, beaming for the camera, the beginnings of a gingerbread house scattered in front of them, pink icing on theirs, and their father's, cheeks.

"All these years and I never knew that side of him," Mari said, handing the phone back. "Adorable. Does he know you took that?"

"He does. And he has begged me to never show anyone. And well…let's keep this between us, girls."

Lindsay laughed. "You've got yourself a good one, Samantha Flack."

"He's something," Sam chirped, smiling at the picture before tucking her phone into her purse. "I think I'll keep him."

"Even if you didn't want to, you'd never be able to get rid of him," Mari told her. "He's permanently cemented in your life, girl."

"I'm not complaining," Sam said, as she grabbed a shopping cart and sat her purse in the seat before unzipping and shrugging out of her coat, laying it over her purse. "He's a pretty damn good husband. And an amazing father. I've made it my New Years resolution to appreciate him more. Not take his presence for granted. Tell him and show him I love him more than I do."

"I think we're all guilty of treating the men in our lives that way sometimes," Lindsay sighed as she grabbed her own cart. "I think it's just a human thing to do. We don't mean it. We just do it."

"It goes both ways though," Mari said. "I mean, I'm sure we all feel unappreciated and taken for granted sometimes. Especially with the crazy hours our men work. I think we'd all love for them to say I love you and shower us with affection more. Well, maybe not Sam. Whose husband is always all over her like a horny high schooler."

"I think we all could make some resolutions," Sam agreed. "Even the guys. Donnie's saying he's going to quit smoking. Right. I will believe it when I see it."

Mari frowned. "I thought he quit."

"He's quit six times since I met him," her friend said. "And he's gone back each time. Longest he ever quit for was when I found out I was pregnant until the girls were born. Then the stress of them being preemies and my hysterectomy just knocked him for six and he took up the habit again. He's good about it. He goes outside even in the winter and he doesn't smoke when he's out with the twins. Mostly he does it at work."

"Danny says he's quitting too," Lindsay told her friends. "As if. It's been his New Years resolution since the first holiday we spent together."

"What's Sheldon going to give up?" Sam asked Mari, as her friend picked her own shopping cart.

"As if he has any faults," Lindsay laughed. "We all know Doctor Sheldon Hawkes is perfect."

"Well he's pretty damn close," Mari said. "But he's got a couple things he needs to work on. Mostly his insane jealousy over my Flack crush."

"I think your husbands are more alike then they realize," Lindsay commented. "Flack's the same way over Sam's Hawkes crush."

"Never let my husband hear you say that he and Sheldon Hawkes are alike," Sam warned. "And don't ever let Hawkes hear it for that matter. They're just so…I don't know…what's the best way to put it?"

"Polar extremes?" Mari offered. "I don't see the huge deal. Can't they just put an effort into being friends?"

Sam shrugged. "It's just hard for Don and Sheldon to find common ground," she reasoned. "I mean, work wise, they have each others backs no matter what. But friendship wise? I don't ever see them being buddies. Don't feel too bad about it. A lot of people have a hard time taking to Don. It's just his personality scares people off. Adam was terrified of him for the longest time. Still is, actually."

"I just wish they'd both suck it up and give it a shot," Mari told her. "Be as close as we are."

"Well miracles do happen once in a while." Sam said. "So you never know."

"Is everything still on for New Years? It's okay that Jas and Elijah are spending the night at your place and watching the girls?" Mari asked.

"Well it's okay with me," her friend replied. "I just haven't told my husband yet. I'll tell him an hour before we're suppose to be at your house."

Lindsay laughed. "You're an evil woman, Disney on Ice and a New Years party all in one day?"

"He'll live," Sam said. "He'll be pissed for a bit, but he'll live. As long as the place is stocked with Guiness, he'll be fine."

"I'll stock up just for him," Mari promised. "So? Are you girls ready?"

"To spend my husband's money?" Lindsay asked. "When am I not ready for that."

All three women laughed.

"You know," Mari said, almost sadly as they journeyed into the main body of the store. "Until you guys, I never had people to do this kind of stuff with."

Lindsay smiled. "And now you can't get rid of us."

Mari smiled and watched as her two best friends walked ahead of her. Pointing things out, giggling and teasing each other good-naturedly. And she realized Lindsay Messer was right. She couldn't get rid of them.

And she didn't want to.

* * *

Flack arrived at One Police Plaza at quarter to one. The anti-terrorism meeting had been long winded and for the most part, completely useless and utter bullshit. All the training in the world couldn't stop a bunch pf psychos from flying planes into skyscrapers again or dropping dirty bombs on the city. DHS, as usual it seemed, had their heads up their respective asses and were once again looking to deflect work and responsibility onto the NYPD. And in typical Fed fashion, they'd dump all their work on the department, but then stake claim over a crime scene or assign blame to the NYPD if there was any type of screw up.

Call wise, the shift was going relatively slow and extremely smooth. Only one crime scene. A straight up robbery gone bad at a gas station in Long Island. The perp had panicked when the clerk hit the alarm under the counter and had shot the elderly attendant and took off. The offender was caught on surveillance tape and once his photo was put through the computers at the crime lab, Danny had gotten them an ID and a legit address. Guy turned out to be on parole for armed robbery and assault. They'd picked him up, without incident at his apartment, and now he was going away for life.

Flack was slightly nervous as he took the elevator to the twentieth floor. Through his entire career, he'd only had one 'visit' with the Chief of Detectives. Although there had been several dressing downs in the precinct in front of his colleagues over the years. Not to mention the incident in the courthouse when Sinclair and Gerrard had wanted him to flip on Mac was no way Flack was going to screw Mac over. Log book or no log book bullshit. And then the time Sinclair had all but ordered him to Chicago to track Mac down and bring him back to New York City during the whole 333 stalker craziness.

But this was a rare moment in Flack's years within the department. An actual sit down meeting with the Chief. The first had come more then a decade ago. When Sinclair had felt compelled to have a chat with the young detective over his handling of the Truby incident. Flack had been able to tell right off the hop as he sat in that office, that Sinclair was less then impressed with him. The disappointment was evident in the older man's eyes and practically written all over his face. It was quite clear, without it actually being said, that Sinclair thought he was a rat.

So be it. A lot of the guys at the station had had the same opinion after that incident. And all were pretty vocal about it. It had been tough dealing with it, but it Flack had learned right quick just who his friends were. Scagnetti, Angell and the members of the lab. Including Mac. None of them said a bad word about him and all expressed their support for him on more then one occasion.

And now this. A meeting requested by Flack himself. He was both anxious and interested in seeing and hearing Sinclair's reaction to the news that the NYPD's golden boy wanted out. He imagined Sinclair would be shocked. Probably offer him incentives to stay. A promotion even.

But, as he announced his presence to Sinclair's secretary before shedding his winter coat and taking a seat in the small waiting area, Flack knew there was nothing the other man could say to change his mind. He was doing what he had to do.

It was a done deal.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Please, please, please review folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**Forest Angel**

**TwinkeyRocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**Samantha778**

**Bluehaven4220**

**wolfeylady**

**Delko'sGirl88**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**bels81172**


	25. Drop the bombs

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! **

* * *

**Drop the bombs**

"I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly  
I'll do what it takes 'til I touch the sky  
And I'll make a wish  
Take a chance  
Make a change  
And breakaway  
Out of the darkness and into the sun  
But I won't forget all the ones that I love  
I'll take a risk  
Take a chance  
Make a change  
And breakaway."  
-Breakaway, Kelly Clarkson

* * *

"Lieutenant Flack," Sinclair greeted as he stood up from his chair and walked around his large mahogany desk. A hand outstretched in welcoming.

"Chief," Flack said in return, shaking the older man's hand as Sinclair's secretary began to close the office door behind him.

"Hold all my calls, would you Nadine?" the Chief of Detectives asked. "Unless there's a life or death emergency, this is a closed meeting."

"Yes, sir," she said with a graceful nod and shut the door.

"Welcome back after your holidays," Sinclair said to the younger man in front of him. "I know three days off hardly seems like a vacation."

"Better then nothing, sir," Flack told him. "Any chance I get to spend with my girls and my wife is welcome."

Sinclair gave an uncharacteristically warm smile. "I imagine Christmas went well. That Santa Claus made his scheduled delivery to your house."

"He spoiled them rotten," Flack chuckled. "Same thing every year. We all had a great time. Spent it with family and friends. I certainly can't complain. How were your holidays, sir?"

"Nice and quiet. No little ones around my house to wake me up at a Godforsaken hour. All my kids are long grown out of that stage. Or out of the house completely," he responded, motioning for Flack to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.

"Always nice when they just come to visit and leave at the end of things," Flack commented as he took a seat.

"Exactly. You know, I was somewhat surprised when I received the message that you wanted to meet with me," Sinclair said, as he went behind his desk once again and slipped into his chair. "It's unlike you to be spending time in the proverbial principal's office."

"There's some things I wanted to talk to you about, sir. About my future. My family's futures, actually."

Sinclair nodded. "There are some promotions coming up within the next couple of months," he said. "And while I could put your name on the grid for a Captain's position, I doubt the Commissioner will okay it. You simply haven't been Lieutenant long enough. You're still at least a couple of dozen solved cases away from making your quota for the year as it is."

"This goes a little deeper then promotions," Flack told him.

Sinclair stared long and hard at the younger man. "Then how about you tell me what this IS about, Lieutenant."

"My wife was let go from the crime lab."

"I know. I also know it was an extremely hard decision for Deputy Inspector Whitmore to have to make. It certainly wasn't made lightly, or out of spite."

"I understand that. But my wife found herself a new job. She's starting in the New Year. As a lead hand at the New Jersey Crime Lab."

"Under Stella Bonsera's watch?" Sinclair asked.

Flack nodded.

"Well I wish your wife all the luck in the world. I'm sure she'll have a great career within their department. But what does that have to do with you being here today?"

"I'm moving my family to New Jersey," Flack responded. "I've already made plans with a realtor to put our house on the market and my wife and I are taking next weekend to go down and look at houses in Hackensack."

"So you're here to ask for some time off," Sinclair concluded. "So you can get your family's affairs in order. Last time I took a peek at your jacket, you had at least three weeks of vacation time stored up. There shouldn't be an issue if you submit a time off request form to your duty captain. Why did you come to me?"

"I came to you because this isn't about vacation time. I came to you to tell you that I'm leaving the department. I'm here to give you my two weeks notice verbally and in writing."

Sinclair blinked as the force of the announcement hit him head on. It was something that he had never imagined he'd hear coming from Don Flack Jr. The NYPD's golden boy. That he was leaving the department and the city, that had made him a star. The Wilder bust, and his handling of the hostage situation at the warehouse and then the apprehension of the suspects that overtook the lab, had made him not just a state wide name, but a national one. It certainly had erased the past fuck ups that Flack had had under his belt. Most notably the Truby fiasco. Sure, he'd somewhat tarnished his image when he'd engaged in a high speed pursuit in a commandeered yellow taxi, but Flack was the one cop that you could always rely on to bring the goods. To get his man at all costs. He'd given blood, sweat and tears to the NYPD and to his city. And someone that dedicated was damn hard to find.

"I have this," Flack said, as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a business size white envelope. "It's my letter of resignation," he told his superior officer as he held the item out.

Sinclair sighed and reached across the desk to take the letter. "You're serious about this, Lieutenant?" he asked, tapping the corner of the envelope on his desk.

"This is something I need to do," Flack replied. "For my family. My wife was more then willing to commute back and forth every day, but with the unpredictability of her illness, I don't really like the thought of her being in New Jersey, away from me and the kids if something happens to her. And if she has a flare up and can't drive home…"

"Certainly understandable. Commuting is always a hassle. Especially when the weather doesn't want to cooperate. But the thought of you giving up your career with the NYPD, when you've come so far in so little of time…I have to admit that this news doesn't sit well with me. It leaves a very foul taste in my mouth in fact."

"I know it's pretty surprising," Flack said. "And I want you to know that I appreciate everything that this department and you yourself and Inspector Whitmore and Inspector Gerrard before her, has done for not just me, but my family. When I needed the time off to take care of my girls when my wife was sick, you were all willing to accommodate us and you've been good to all of us."

"If I talk to the budget committee and get your wife's job back at the crime lab, would that make a difference? Or is it far past that?" Sinclair asked, desperate to keep the department's shining light exactly where he was.

"Honestly, sir, I think that this has happened for a reason. I think that my wife losing her job, being forced to find something else and finding that something else in New Jersey? I think that it was supposed to happen. Because I haven't been happy here, in this city, for a long time. And I'm just fooling myself, and doing this department and the people of New York City, a great injustice by pretending I'm happy when in reality, I'm barely keeping my head above water."

Sinclair nodded slowly as he considered the words coming from the younger man. "I'm sorry to hear that you've been feeling that way. Has there been problems with subordinates or…"

"It's nothing like that," Flack assured his boss. "It has nothing to do with the people I work with or the people I work for. It has everything to do with things that have gone done, personal things, that have made me unhappy here. And me being unhappy? That's not doing the department any good if I'm not on my A game."

"We certainly want you to be productive," Sinclair said. "And quite obviously, by your less then impressive number of solved cases and arrests, your being productive goes hand in hand with you being dissatisfied with where you are."

"It's time for me to go, sir," Flack told him. "It's just time."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the Chief of Detectives said with a heavy sigh. "Very sad. And there's nothing that we can do to make this all go away? To make you reconsider?"

Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry," he said. "But there isn't."

"This is a done deal?"

Flack nodded.

"Well I honestly thought I'd never see the day when something like this would be happening," Sinclair admitted.

"Neither did I," Flack said. "If someone had have told me ten years ago, hell, even five years ago, that I'd be doing this? I'd have told them they were insane. But in my heart, I know that this is the right thing to do. For my sanity and for my family. I wouldn't be willing to uproot them and move to an entirely different state and toss away my career if I wasn't a hundred percent sure that this was what needed to be done."

* * *

Sinclair nodded slowly and bit his lip pensively as he tapped the corner of the envelope in his hand against his desk over and over again. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. Given both men a lot of time to sit and think. Flack about all the great years he had in the NYPD, and how, despite being a major thorn in his side, for the most part Sinclair had been nothing but fair and respectful of him. All Sinclair had ever expected from him was the best. To live up to, and surpass, the old man's name. And Flack had busted his ass to try and give his boss that. There'd been times he'd succeeded and times he'd failed miserably. But the memories and experiences he had behind him would always be a treasured part of his past.

Sinclair thought about all those times that maybe he was just too hard on a young Don Flack Jr. That maybe he shouldn't have been so hell bent on seeing the kid surpass his old man. It should have been enough when Flack broke the record of the youngest officer to become detective and he slaughtered his father's arrest records. When he handled himself so professionally and admirably on the stand during countless trials and the IAB investigation into Mac Taylor. Flack had been nothing but loyal and respectful to everyone around him. Yet still Sinclair had pushed. He'd expected the kid to turn water into wine and part the Red Sea nearly. He hadn't learned when to lay off of Flack. To just let the kid succeed in in own way and his own time.

And maybe all of that was coming into play now. All these years later. Sinclair didn't know if his past behaviour had anything to do with Flack Jr jumping ship. But what he did know, was that the department, and the city, was suffering a very significant loss if he accepted that letter in his hand.

But the man had a family. A wife and two beautiful kids that relied on him to come home every night. And a less then focused Flack was a dangerous Flack. Sinclair knew, that if that young man wasn't on his A game as he'd said, then Flack was in serious danger. And there was no way that the Chief of Detectives could live with himself if something happened to Flack and he had to deliver the bad news or stand at his grave site and hand a folded American flag to his grieving young widow. Or to look into the eyes of those little girls and have to explain to them why their daddy wasn't coming home.

And it was for Samantha Flack and those beautiful twins that Sinclair did what he had to do. He sat the envelope on his desk and stood up and walked around his desk yet again.

"It was a pleasure being your commanding officer for these many years," Sinclair said.

Flack stood and shook the hand that was offered to him.

"You could have been something great within the NYPD," the Chief of Detectives told him. "I know for a fact that you would have been sitting behind that very desk one day. Nothing would have stood in your way of climbing the ladder all the way to the top. You had many great, great years here. You've done nothing but consistently give your all to this department and this city."

"It was a pleasure serving this city, sir," Flack said, touched by the older man's words. "I wish that things could have turned out differently."

"You were the one great thing that this department had going for it," Sinclair told him. "And I know that whatever city you choose to go to now, you will prosper and grow and achieve amazing things with them."

"Thank you, Chief."

"You've made me proud, Don. So proud. As if you were my own son. And I'm not just talking about the kind of cop you are. I'm talking about what you've achieved in your life outside of the badge. You've become a husband and a father. You've got a beautiful family. And in the end of it all, when your time is up, you won't be judge by your arrest records or the high profile cases you solved. You'll be judged by the kind of man you are and the people that you touched and the people that you loved and loved you in return."

Flack swallowed back the lump of emotion that sat in his throat that Sinclair's words brought on.

"I'm sad to see you go," the older man said sincerely. "And while I wish things could have been different, I know that your family means the world to you. And they deserve to have you around more then this department does. And I hope they realize the sacrifice you're making for them."

"They do," Flack assured him. "They do."

"I tell you what. I know the Chief of Police in Hackensack. He's an old college buddy of mine. I can call him, put in a good word, send down your employee file and have him call you."

"Sir, you don't have to…"

"I want to," Sinclair told him. "Let me help you get your foot in the door."

Flack nodded, accepting the offer. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

"You'll do great things, Don," Sinclair told him. "Never doubt yourself."

Flack opened his mouth to respond, but all words were halted as a knock came to the office door and Sinclair called out to whoever it was to enter.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Chief Sinclair," a visibly flustered Nadine said. "But there's a call waiting for Lieutenant Flack out front."

"What kind of call?" Sinclair asked.

"From his daughter. Kellan, I believe she said her name was? It turns out that before she was put through to us by central, she called nine one one looking to speak to her daddy."

Flack's eyes widened.

Sinclair smirked.

"Everything is fine," Nadine said quickly. "There's no emergency. But she told the nine one one operator that she was told, by her parents, that if she wanted to get a hold of the police, that she was to call nine one one. And well, she took that literally I guess and seeing as her father is a police man, she called them hoping to talk to him."

Flack sighed heavily and closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger.

"Once they managed to get her name, the operator put the last name through the system and then they found out the Lieutenant was stationed at the twelfth precinct and the duty captain there told them Lieutenant Flack was here. And well…now there's a very distraught and persistent five year old that is demanding to speak to her father."

"But there's no emergency?" Sinclair asked.

"Well not that I can gather. All I can understand is that something happened with a can of Coke to someone named Holly."

Flack couldn't help but let out a laugh.

Sinclair looked at him.

"Holly is her doll," Flack told his superior officer. "She carries it everywhere. Sleeps with it, chews on it. You name it."

"Well whatever happened to Holly, your daughter is very upset," Nadine said.

"Do you need a few minutes, Lieutenant?" Sinclair asked. "You can see what happened to your daughter's playmate and that will give me some time to make a call and get your file ready to be sent down to Hackensack."

Flack nodded and mumbled his thanks and followed the secretary out of the office and down the short expanse of hallway that led to her desk. He wasn't so much embarrassed that his daughter had called nine one one without there being an emergency. Kids did things like that and it was easy to se how she became confused and assumed, from what her parents had told her, that it was the number to call if she wanted to speak to her daddy. What was embarrassing was what had been going down at the time of the call. A meeting with the Chief of Detectives. And the fact that Kellan's 'emergency' revolved around a stuffed toy.

Nadine picked up the receiver of the phone that sat on her desk and pressed a flashing red button as she held the receiver out to the detective standing before her.

Flack smiled his appreciation and put the phone to his ear. And was greeted by the sound of his daughter sniffling noisily. "Kellan," he said simply.

"Daddy…" she sobbed. "There's been an accident! With Holly!"

"What kind of accident?" he asked, attempting to keep calm.

"It's Jasmine's fault!" Kellan cried. "Holly was on the couch and she fell on the floor and Jasmine spilled pop all over her! Now she's all sticky and ugly!"

"How did Jas spill pop on Holly?" he asked. "Why weren't you with Holly?"

"Jasmine made us go upstairs to play! I forgot Holly!"

"Why did she make you go upstairs?"

"'Cause her and Michael wanted to play kissey face on the couch!"

Flack sighed heavily and shook his head. It wasn't the first time that Kellan or Kallison had let it slip to their parents that when Jasmine was supposed to be babysitting them, she sent them to her room so she could 'entertain' her boyfriend. Or play kissey face, as the girls called it. Michael was Mac and Kelli's son. They'd adopted him eight years ago as a then nine year old, along with his six year old brother Jeremy. Both seized by CPS from a crack head mother. Jeremy was a nice kid. Respectful, polite, good in school. Michael on the other hand was a shit head. A wannabe gangster is his jeans with the crotch hanging to his knees and his backwards ball caps and 'ghetto' speak. The kid was a royal pain in the ass with a massive chip on his shoulder. How in the hell he ended up that way with Mac as his father. Flack would never know. But Jasmine had been told, by both him and Sam, that Michael was not allowed in their home when she babysitting. And Jas had agreed to abide by their rules.

Apparently, she was full of shit.

"Where's your sister and Elijah?" he asked his daughter.

"They're here. In my room with me."

"Well I want you to go downstairs and tells Jasmine that you called your daddy and he's on his way home and when he gets there, both her and Michael are in for a world of hurt. Can you tell her that?"

"Yeah," Kellan sniffled. "Are you going to send her to jail daddy? For hurting Holly?"

"Holly is going to be fine," he assured his daughter. "Mommy will put her in the wash later tonight and Holly will be as good as new again. Okay?"

"Okay," Kellan agreed reluctantly.

"Now I need to tell you something and I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?"

"Okay, daddy."

"I don't want you to call nine one one ever again, Kellan. Do you understand me?"

"But I needed to talk to you!" she argued.

"I realize that baby sweets, but you don't call nine one one to get a hold of me. You go into mommy and daddy's room and you pick up the phone in there and you press the number one. That will call daddy's cell phone. You know this Kellan."

"I forgot," she admitted.

"Well the next time you need to call me, you don't forget. You only call nine one one if it's an emergency."

"But it was an emergency!" she cried. "Jas hurt Holly!"

"I mean if there's something wrong with your mommy. If mommy can't get to the phone and you need to get help for her. Not for your doll. Understand me, Kellan?"

"Yeah…are you mad at me, daddy?"

"A little," he admitted.

"I'm sorry," she wailed. "I'm sorry, daddy! Don't be mad!"

"I'm only a little mad," Flack told her. "Not a whole lot. Now I need to let you go and I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?"

"And you'll fix Holly?" she asked.

"I will try to fix her," he promised. "But mommy is a lot better at fixing dollies then I am. I'll call mommy on her phone and tell her to come home too and fix Holly for you. Alright?"

"Alright, daddy," she sniffled.

"I'll see you in a little bit," he told her. "I love you."

"I love you, too, daddy," she said, and disconnected the call.

Flack sighed and turned and held the phone out to Nadine.

"Never a dull moment with kids around," she commented, as she took the object from him and placed it in its cradle.

"Not with those two kids at least," he said.

"My son called nine one one once too," the secretary told him. "When he was six. Because he'd flushed GI Joe down the toilet and the damn thing was drowning."

Flack laughed at that.

"Try not to get too upset," Nadine said, as Flack headed back towards Sinclair's office. "She's going to do a lot of silly things in her life. But she'll do a lot of amazing things too."

He smiled. "She's already done some amazing things," he told the secretary. "Starting with the day she was born."

And with that, he disappeared into Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair's office for what would be the very last time.

* * *

After two hours spent in The Pottery Barn and two buggies a piece full of purchases -and way too much money spent over the budget they'd walked in the store with - the three friends loaded their numerous bags into their respective vehicles and then walked three blocks to the widely acclaimed Cabana Restaurant. A little slice of heaven in the way of Latin, Cuban and Caribbean food that Mari had long ago introduced her two friends too. She often joked -or was it serious?- as they sat in the quaint and tastefully decorated restaurant that the only good thing that came out of her marriage to Miquel, was him introducing her to Cuban food. She was an accomplished cook and often prepared fabulous Cuban and Puerto Rican dishes for her husband and children. And was known to whip up enough to feed an army and show up on her friends door steps with various dishes packed with loving care for them.

The three women shed their coats and tossed them onto the cream and rust coloured striped cushions before pouring themselves into the booth. They each ordered a Mojito and appetizers of empanadas and plantain chips to share while they chatted and browsed the menu. The menus, as always, turned out to be completely useless to them. They always ordered the same thing each time they stopped in for lunch together. Lindsay went with the Coco Cabana Vegetables -caribbean root veggies simmered in coconut milk, haberno pepers and curry- while Sam stuck with the tilapia and black beans and rice and Mari picked the chicken paella.

"So Sheldon was telling me about all the cut backs going on within the department," Mari commented, after their entrees arrived and they were going back and forth between them and what was left of the appetizers.

"Same thing happens every couple of years," Lindsay said, biting into an empanada. "Eight years ago, Adam was on the top of their shit list. That was one disaster that was averted thank God. I don't think that place could possibly function properly without him."

"Hard to believe he went from being Adam the lab tech to Adam the CSI," Mari declared, sipping her drink. "He's definitely come a long way from when I first met him. And from what Sheldon says, he's doing a hell of a job."

"He's making his mark," Sam said. "Everyone loves him. Especially witnesses and victims families. He's just got that huge heart and all that empathy."

"That must be a Ross trait," Mari smiled. "You're both like that."

"I think Adam's a little gentler then I am," Sam commented. "I lost a little bit of that after eight years working in this city. He's only been doing it for a few. I hope that this place doesn't mess him up like it did me."

"Please," Lindsay laughed. "You're the most sensitive and empathetic person I know. You've toughened up a bit emotionally, but not to the point I'd call you cold or anything."

"Exactly," Mari said. "No one is going to call you the female version of Mac Taylor."

The three laughed at that.

"Is there any news of how the cuts are going to affect you guys?" Mari asked.

"We probably won't even get hit," replied Lindsay. "They threaten the lab every time this budget crap goes down and nothing ever comes of it. I think they're just trying to scare Mac into spending less money. Less money but more results. Go figure."

Sam cleared her throat noisily and took a sip of her Mojito.

"You don't think that we're all safe?" Lindsay asked her best friend. "Have you heard something I haven't?"

Samantha sighed. She had wanted to wait until the last possible moment to break the news to her friends. Especially to Lindsay. They'd worked together and solved many a case side by side for almost nine years. They had shared the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs. Both personally and professionally, and she knew that her departure would hit Lindsay hard. First Stella and now her best friend. And Sam was having a hard enough time herself accepting the fact that that part of her life, as Lindsay's colleague, was coming to an end. The only saving grace was the fact that they were so close outside of the job.

"You do know something," Lindsay said. "What have you heard? Is someone on the chopping block? More than one person? What's going on?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she laid her fork and knife on her plate, pushing the half eaten dish away from her. "I was fired," she said simply.

Lindsay's cutlery fell to her plate with a clutter. "Excuse me?" she asked in a weak voice.

"You're joking," Mari said, a forkful of rise poised near her lips. "Tell me you're joking."

"No joke," Sam told them both. "The thirty-first is my last day."

"The thirty-first of December?" Lindsay exclaimed.

Her best friend nodded.

"What the hell…" Mari dropped her fork onto her plate. "When the hell did this happen?"

"About a month ago now," Sam said, twirling her engagement ring around her finger absentmindedly. "Mac called me into the office and told me that the department was cutting back and my name was first on the list."

"But that makes no sense!" Lindsay cried. "There's a lot of people with less seniority! We're unionized! Have you gone to the union and filed a grievance? Because there is no way in hell the department can let you go when there's shit loads of people below you!"

"I talked to a union steward," Sam said. "And he told me it was a fair decision based on my history."

"History?" Mari arched an eyebrow. "What history?"

"The department considers me a liability because of my illness. The union finds it a legit reason that they'd rather be paying another detective to be there doing work, then having to pay me while I'm off sick. And in all fairness, I can see the point."

"That's fucking bullshit!" Lindsay snapped. "Are they going to give you come kind of severance package?"

"I'll be getting a pay out on my pension. It's not much mind you, but it will come in handy. And I get all my vacation pay and what not."

"There's got to be something that we can do!" Lindsay said. "There's got to be someone we can talk to about this! There is no way we can just sit back and let you loose your job because Mac's a…a…a fucking cold hearted asshole!"

"It wasn't Mac's fault," Sam told her. "He was just acting under direct orders from the brass. They just made him do the dirty work. And there's nothing you can do. I appreciate you wanting too, but this is it. It's final. I've accepted it. Don's accepted it. And I actually have another job lined up."

"You do?" Mari asked.

Sam nodded. "Stella's hired me as her lead hand in New Jersey."

Her friends' eyes widened.

"I start on January third," she told them. "I'm going to commute for the time being."

"For the time being?" asked Lindsay. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"We're putting the house on the market," her best friend replied. "We're hoping that it sells quickly. Don's parents are going to take out a second mortgage on their house and help us out with a down payment on something in Hackensack. And once our house here sells, we can pay them back and concentrate on our bills."

"You're moving?" Lindsay looked, and sounded, horrified at the suggestion.

"Don doesn't want me commuting. I told him it wasn't a problem, but you know how protective he gets. So we sat down and talked long and hard about it and we decided it was for the best. For us and for the girls. They'll be going into grade one in September and by then they'll be situated in whatever school is in our new area."

"You're moving?" her best friend asked again, unable to comprehend the news, tears welling in her eyes.

"It's less then fifteen miles each way from midtown to Hackensack," Sam told her. "It's not that far. An easy drive. Just don't do it in rush hour."

"Then if it's so easy why don't you just do the commute?" Lindsay asked.

"Because Don doesn't want me to. I just told you that. And besides, he's leaving the department too."

"He's what?!!" Lindsay shrieked, causing diners at other tables and booths to turn and stare at the three women.

"He's talking to Sinclair today," Sam told her. "Handing in his resignation. He's going to get a job somewhere in New Jersey. Apparently Sinclair has connections so he's hoping the Chief will call in some favours, help him get his foot in the door."

Lindsay set her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands. "No…no…no…this isn't happening…none of this is happening…"

Sam sighed heavily and exchanged a sad smile with Mari.

"Real life sucks," Mari declared.

The petite brunette nodded in agreement.

Mari reached across the table and laid her hand over Sam's, squeezing it lightly. "We're part of each other's lives no matter what," she said. "And you know that whatever happens and wherever you go, you and Don and those girls are my family. You know that, right?"

Sam smiled and nodded and fought back tears.

"It's been an amazing eight years," Mari said. "The things that happened to all of us? Those are things we'll always take with us. No one can take those memories away. And you'll go to New Jersey and make memories there, too."

"It's the best thing for my family," Sam said in a small voice. "Things haven't been the same here for a long time. And Don…he's changed. A lot. As far as the job goes. And I'm afraid if he doesn't get out, something will happen to him. And I couldn't bear that. I just couldn't."

"We do what we have to do for our families," Mari told her. "We do what we have to do for love. Because when everything else falls apart, the two of you will always have that. Love. That and those two amazingly beautiful little girls."

Sam smiled.

"And those girls need both their parents. So you do what you have to do, Sammie. I'm behind you all the way."

"Thank you," Sam said and sniffled noisily. "It's just…it's hard…saying goodbye is so hard…"

"Then don't say it," Mari told her. "Say goodnight but not goodbye. Okay?"

The brunette nodded.

"You know what this calls for?" Mari asked, trying to brighten the mood. "Another drink."

Lindsay sniffled and removed her face from her hands and wiped tears off of her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. "I'm all for that," she said.

Sam wrapped her arm around her best friend's shoulder and kissed Lindsay's cheek. "I can't drink anymore. But I do feel like doing something wild and crazy."

"Like what?" Mari asked. "Massive shopping spree at Bloomingdales or Macy's? Hit up Fifth Avenue? Go to the strippers or AC?"

"They all sound good," Sam replied. "But I was thinking something different. Something that signifies a change in my life. Like alter my look some way."

"Shave your head," Lindsay told her. "Get a ring from one nostril to the other."

"Well not that extreme," Sam laughed. "But…I don't know…does your stylist take walk ins Mari?"

"She will for me," the other woman declared.

"Time for a change," Sam announced. "A big one."

* * *

It was shortly before six thirty when Flack found himself trudging up the snow covered front steps of his home. Mentally making plans to shovel them, and the front walk and his portion of the sidewalk, before heading to bed.

He had left the precinct at a quarter to five, but nasty traffic on the Queensboro bridge -thanks to the heavy snow and blustery winds that had descended on the city in the late afternoon - had turned his normally forty five minute drive into a unbelievably long trip. He had called his wife while stuck in what was honestly the worst traffic jam on the bridge he'd ever experienced in his life, and had told her to go ahead without him for supper. That he'd grab something when, and if, he ever managed to get home. She sounded cheerful as she told him about her afternoon out with her friends and about the thing she'd purchased during her shopping excursion. In the background he'd been able to hear the radio in the kitchen playing and the girls laughing and chatting. It brought a smile to his face to hear his family. To know that everyone was at home, safe and sound, enjoying each other's company. The disasters with Holly Hobby -who, Sam said, was slightly discoloured from the pop even after two cycles in the wash- and Kellan calling nine one one -Sinclair had said not to worry about the fine that was usually levied for public mischief. He'd take care of it- were put behind them and life returned to somewhat normal.

He hadn't gone home to put the fear of God into Jasmine and Michael. Instead, he'd called his father and asked him to head over and check on things. The threat Kellan had repeated had obviously worked. According to grandpa Flack, Michael had long hit the road and Jasmine was kissing Kellan's ass big time trying to make things up to her.

Something was going to have to be done about Michael Taylor. What Flack didn't exactly know. The kid had a massive attitude problem and thought he was big and bad. What Flack really wanted to do was beat the shit out of the little prick. He'd had more then one run in with the shit and knew there'd be more.

But he was too damn tired and too damn sore to worry about it that evening. And as he stomped the snow off of his shoes and put his key in the door, all he really wanted to do was get inside. Into the warmth and love of his family.

He let himself into the house and locked the door behind him. Toeing off his shoes and setting them on the rubber mat next to the door, he hung his winter coat up in the hall closet and slipped out of his suit jacket, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as he headed through the empty living room. He could hear the radio in the kitchen and his wife singing along to the song that was playing. Along with the television in the family room and his daughters chatting as they watched their favourite shows and played with their Christmas toys.

Loosening his tie, he undid the top two buttons on his shirt before un-tucking it from his pants and undoing the sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows. The smell of frying onions permeated his senses as he stepped into the kitchen, and was just about to ask what was for dinner when all words escaped him at the sight that greeted him. His wife at the stove, her back towards him, in a pair of jeans that hugged her ass and showed off the womanly curve of her hips and a simple white t-shirt and her bare feet.

And all of her hair gone. Right up to the base of her skull. It was extremely short and choppy at the back, and from what he could see, gradually became longer as it neared the front. The final pieces of the bob just grazing her chin. And mixed in with her usual dark brown, was chunks of blond highlights.

What in the hell…he thought.

"It's awful nice of you to make me dinner lady," he said. "But you're in the wrong house. Can I have my wife back?"

She smirked at him over her shoulder. "Very funny," she said in response. "I stopped by that awesome Polish deli and bakery on Broadway on the way home," she told him, turning back to her cooking. "Picked up a whole bunch of the homemade potato and onion perogies you love so much."

"Was that to make up for your new hairdo or all the money you spent while you were out today?" Flack asked, heading over the fridge. Opening it, he snagged a bottle of Bud and twisted off the cap.

"Don't be so nasty," she replied.

"Nothing nasty about it," he said, taking a swig of the beer and tossing the cap in the garbage under the sink. "Just asking a simple question. Did the girls eat already?"

She nodded. "I made them mac and cheese with chopped up wieners in it. You know how that's one of their favourites. They're just downstairs playing. Dressing the dog up in doll clothes."

"Poor thing is going to be so traumatized," Flack declared, as he pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek before leaning against the counter alongside of the stove. "We're going to have to take him to a doggie shrink."

"I don't know. He doesn't seem to be complaining too much. Maybe he likes wearing girls clothes."

"Reminds me of this case I had once. Did I ever tell you the one about the drag queen that made a move on some guy and he found out she was a he and snapped and drowned her in a public toilet?" he asked.

"About fifteen times," Sam replied with a smile.

"I'm getting as bad as my old man. Telling the same damn stories over and over again."

"Don't worry, honey. When you're old and grey and completely senile, I'll still love you."

"And still be spending my money," he teased and sipped his beer. "You didn't go too overboard did you?"

She shook her head. "We won't be living on the street any time soon if that's what you're asking. How did it go? With Sinclair?"

"A lot better then what I had imagined it would. He took it good. Wish me well. All of that stuff. Thought he was going to kill me when his secretary came in and announced my daughter called nine one one looking for me."

Sam sighed and shook her head. "I don't know why she did that. Both girls know better then that."

"She panicked when something happened to Holly. She told me she forgot about just having to go into our room and press one on the phone to get a hold of me. It happens. Disaster averted. Now we just have to figure out what to do with that little shit Michael. But how about we figure it out tomorrow? My brain just can't take any more crap tonight. Did Lindsay recuperate from you telling her about moving to Jersey?"

"She called about an hour ago. She doesn't sound too happy, but she's dealing with it. She wanted us to know that she called her OB and her OB is going to give her some names and numbers of some fertility specialists that will be able to help us get the ball rolling."

"Sounds good," he said, and took a large swig of beer. "We can back out you know. If you're not sure about it."

"I'm sure about it," she told him. "I'm just…" she sighed. "You know the things I'm worried about."

"Never going to happen, babe. I'm not just going to stop loving you and fall head over heels with Lindsay 'cause she's having my baby. Our baby. I told you. This is a business deal as far as I'm concerned. I don't have any kinds of feelings for her and I'm never going to have them."

"It's just a little…weird," she said, and turned the heat down on the burner under the frying pan.

"It is," he agreed. "But just think about. Sooner it's done, sooner we're going to have another baby. And you got to admit, it's amazing to think about having another baby."

"It's going to be weird going back to middle of the night feedings and changing diapers and all of that. We haven't had to deal with that in five years."

"It's like riding a bike. And think about how excited the girls will be to find out their getting a baby brother or sister. They're going to freak out over that. And you're going to be a mommy again. And you're a great mommy."

She smiled.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Everything's going to work out, Sammie. I promise."

"I know. I'm just a little nervous. I'll be okay once we start moving ahead with things. Now that we've started telling people were leaving, things should start falling into place right? The Realtor left a message and said she could come tomorrow afternoon and look at the house and see what she can list it for and there was a message for you from the Chief of Police in Hackensack."

"Already? What did he say?"

"His name's Robert Milligan. He sounds very nice. He wants you to call him some time tomorrow and make an appointment to come and see him. He was very personable, Donnie. He was asking me about our family and our jobs and all of that."

"Sinclair works quick," Flack said.

"Well maybe he feels he owes you a little something after dumping on you for so many years," his wife reasoned. "I mean you've spent how long at the top of his shit list?"

"Too long," he sighed.

"And you won't believe who else called today."

"I'm almost scared to ask."

"Natalie."

"Gerrard?"

Sam nodded. "It's Natalie Garrett now, remember? It has been for four years.

"I still can't believe she met Reid and married him and they live in San Fran now. What did she say? She and the star reporter are getting along okay?"

Sam nodded. "She called to say that they're coming to town to visit Mac and Kelli and Natalie's mom. Bringing the kids with them."

"It would be nice to see them. They're doing alright?"

"She sounds unbelievably happy. And madly in love."

"Well she deserves a happy ever after. Especially after what she went through. Raped by those two pieces of shit. Her father kills the guy and ends up in prison for the rest of his life? And then she finds out she's pregnant by one of them assholes? I tell you, after I saw her that day with that baby in the lab? If Gerrard hadn't have killed that sonofabitch, I would have went to Sing Sing and sprung him loose just to shoot him between the eyes."

"You've always been sensitive when it comes to women and children. And you've gotten worse since Kellan and Kallison were born."

"I am telling you right now, Sammie. If anyone ever did anything to them. Hurt them in any way?" he shook his head. "So help me God, they'd never know what hit them."

"You're very protective of your girls," she said with a smile and reached out to rub his stomach softly. "You're a great father, Donnie. And they love their daddy. They've been coming up here non stop asking me when you're going to get home. And if you were bringing them anything for a treat."

He closed his eyes. "Shit…I knew I forgot something."

"Lucky for you, I stopped at the store and bought them some popsicles and ice cream. They didn't see them, so you can take them out and tell them they're from you."

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "You're a life saver, babe."

"I just merely keep you in line," she said.

He finished off his beer. "I should go down there and make my presence known," he told her. "But, first thing's first…"

"What's that?"

He reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"I'm cooking here…" she protested.

"Just give me some time here, baby," he said, tightening his hold on her. "Just a little bit of time. Just put your arms around me and give me five minutes. Can you do that?"

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. For several minutes they stood there. Just holding each other. No words exchanged as she listened to his heart beat steadily in his chest.

At last he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and ran his hand over her hair. "You look cute," he told her as he broke away from their embrace.

"You hate it," she said, and moved back to the stove.

"It's not that I hate it," he chose his words carefully. "It's just…different. For eight years you had hair down to your ass nearly. You had beautiful hair. This is a pretty big change is all. But you do look cute, babe."

"I was hoping for something more along the lines of sexy," she sighed.

"You're always sexy," he assured her, running his hand over her hair once more. "I'll get used to it. Just a shock seeing you like that is all. You know how I feel about long hair. What did the girls think?"

"They loved it. Kellan wants her hair cut just like that."

"Never gonna happen. Her hair is staying exactly the way it is. Those girls got amazing hair."

"Unlike mine that now looks like shit," his wife grumbled.

"I never said that. I just said it looks different. You're beautiful no matter what, babe."

She smiled.

Laying a hand on her cheek, Flack turned her face towards him and covered her lips in a long, languid kiss.

"You should go and see your children," she said, after the kiss had ended, her golden eyes sparkling up at him. "They've been dying to see you."

"Everything is going to work out, Sammie," he promised, combing his fingers through her hair. "The move, the new jobs, the new baby. It's all going to work out. You trust me, don't you?"

"When have I haven't trusted you?"

"I can think of a couple times," he said with a heavy sigh.

"That's months ago, Donnie. Let' not talk about that, okay? We got past that and dealt with it. Let's not…"

He silenced her with a kiss. "I fucked up, Sammie. Huge."

"We've both made mistakes," she told him.

"You've never made mistakes that nearly cost you your family."

"Everything worked out," she said. "You're still here and I'm still here and the girls are still here. And things are better then ever now. So please, baby. Let's not talk about this stuff."

He nodded in agreement and pecked her forehead. "Sooner we're out of this city, the sooner all of that can be put behind us for good," he said, as he headed for the basement door.

"It's a new start," she reasoned. "It will be good for all of us."

"Still doesn't permanently erase things," he reminded her, pausing at the top of the steps.

"It will make getting over them a whole lot easier though," she said.

"You know I love you, right? That there was never a time I didn't?"

"Don, why….?"

"Tell me you know that, Sammie."

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "I know that," she said.

He gave a small smile and nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

Sam sighed and went back to her cooking. Grinning at the sound of the girls greeting their father in their usual exuberance. Their shrieks of happiness and their incessant giggling and talking filling the entire house. Her husband's deep voice barely audible over the twins' noise.

Sam blinked back tears. It hurt to think about leaving the city that had brought them together. That had given them so many great memories and a few not so great ones. But it had played such a huge part in their lives. They had met there. Two lost souls, not knowing exactly who or what they were looking for, but both knowing that there was something, or someone, out there somewhere for them.

And it may have taken a year to get feelings out and admit what they'd both known all along. That what they had went far beyond friendship. That there was something amazing just dying to get out. And once they had allowed it to, it had been passionate and overwhelming and damn scary at times.

But neither would have changed it for the world.

* * *

**Thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you!! Even the lurkers. But please R and R folks. I love hearing from you guys!**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Hope4sall**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**wolfeylady**

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**HighQueenReicheru**

**DelkosGirl88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	26. Countdown to 2017: The morning

**DISLCAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK**

* * *

**Countdown to 2017: The morning**

"If I quit my job for the simple life  
Honey would you stand by me  
If I bought a little cabin on a mountainside  
Honey would you stand by me  
Would you be my one true friend  
Stick with me through thick and thin  
If the roof was old and the rain came in  
Honey would you stand by me

If I tried my luck in Hollywood  
Honey would you stand by me  
If my break never came like I thought it would  
Honey would you stand by me  
Would you be my heart of gold  
And never complain when the money was low  
If your coat was thin and your shoes were old  
Honey would you stand by me."  
-Honey Would You Stand by Me, Kenny Chesney

* * *

Two things were responsible for disturbing Flack from a well deserved, peaceful slumber. The first was the winter sunshine spilling through the sheer white curtains on the window. The warm rays tumbling into the room and over the bed, riding the bedroom of some of the chill that had fallen on it over the night time hours. The second guilty party for robbing him of slumber was the sounds of every day life taking place downstairs. A radio was tuned in to the local Top 40 station. The dog was barking and his tiny paw were scampering across the hardwood flooring. The girls were giggling and talking noisily, despite the persistent pleading of their mother to please keep things down.

Judging by the level of noise and activity, the girls, in those tiny, almost squeaky little voices, were the epitome of hyperactive that morning. Not that there was anything new about that. Hyper was commonly on the top of the list of personality traits for both of them. But that morning, there were only two things that they were revved up about. Amanda was coming to spend two days with them while Auntie M and Uncle Danny went away, and they were all going to see Disney on Ice. And it was the Disney Princesses at that.

The mere thought of taking the subway into midtown Manhattan with three little kids made Flack groan aloud in both horror and protest. It was nothing short of sheer insanity however to drive into the city when there was a huge event going on. Not unless leaving for an event to you meant leaving at least three hours ahead of schedule, still being stuck in horrific traffic, and searching aimlessly for a parking spot once you arrived at your destination.

And the thought of sitting through an entire hour and a half or more of Disney music combined with figure skating - not exactly his cup of tea - and an arena full of shrieking children, well that elicited an even louder moan.

Rolling over onto his left hand side, he reached out and scooped his watch from its resting place on the nightstand and checked the time. Ten minutes to eight. Normally he didn't grumble about getting up that early. Hell, he was all but accustomed to getting up two hours or more before that in order to get ready for work or have time to sit and have a coffee with his wife and chat with the twins while they ate breakfast. And he'd been a pro at feedings and diaper changes on little or no sleep. But having not climbed into bed until three in the morning following a triple shift made the idea of getting up before at least noon hour a torturous thought. All Flack really wanted to do was shove some ear plugs into his ears or cover his head with a pillow to block out the noise and go back to sleep.

Yet at the same time, he didn't want to disappoint his girls. They didn't spend enough time with their daddy. And as aggravating as all of that noise was, those sounds all signified important aspects, and people, in his life. And he'd be damn miserable and heart broken if those noises weren't around anymore.

Few more minutes, he thought, dropping his watch onto the nightstand and rolling over onto his back. He placed a forearm over his eyes an attempted to drift off to sleep once more despite the escalation of noise coming from below.

"Mommy!" Kellan called - she had the highest pitched voice out of the twins- "When is daddy getting up? Can I go and get him? Can I? Can I go and wake him up?"

"Not until breakfast is nearly done," her mother replied. "Come and help Kallison and I."

"But I haven't seen daddy in forever!" Kellan cried in protest. In reality, the last time she'd seen him was eight am the morning before. But to kids, twenty four hours may as well been a lifetime.

"Daddy needs to get some sleep," Sam told her. "He didn't get to bed until really, really late. Give him a little longer, okay?"

"But I miss him!" Kellan argued. "I want to see him! Can't I go upstairs, mommy?"

"Kellan, stop. He's sleeping. Let daddy sleep."

"I just want to see him! I can lie beside him, mommy! 'Til he wakes up!"

"You are getting on my last nerve child," her mother warned.

"Please mommy?" the little girl begged. "PLEEEEEESE!"

"Fine!" Sam finally snapped. "Go! Just go! But don't you dare wake him up!"

Flack sighed heavily. He was tempted to yell out that it was a little too late for that. Because how in the hell could anyone sleep with all that goddamn racket?

He kept silent as he heard tiny footsteps climbing the stairs. The master bedroom was located at a dead straight away from the top of the stairs, a mere couple of feet from the landing, and he expected, and waited, for the door to swing open and his daughter to come strolling in. Instead, he heard the creaking of floor boards as Kellan took a sharp left at the top of the stairs and padded down the hallway.

Lifting his arm from over his eyes. Flack looked over at the door as he heard a slight ruckus in the bathroom down the hall. He was ready to get out of bed and check what his daughter was up to. In case she was getting into some kind of hellish mess. But no sooner did that though cross his mind, he heard her coming back down the hall, followed by the slight rattle of the doorknob to the master bedroom as Kellan prepared to make her entrance. He placed his arm back over his eyes once more. Leaving just enough space to see what his daughter was up to, without giving Kellan any indication that she was being watched.

The door swung open and Kellan quietly entered. Her dark hair framing her tiny face and tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Clad in a light green nights gown with a huge picture of Tinkerbell gracing the front of it. Holly was tucked securely under her arms as she carried her small white plastic step stool that she used to reach the sink while brushing her teeth and cleaning herself up. She gently laid her doll on the bed and sat the stool on the floor. Then climbed up onto it and scrambled onto the bed.

_This kid is damn smart,_ he thought, trying his best not to grin and give away the fact he wasn't actually asleep.

He clamped his eyes shut and remained completely motionless as his daughter scooped up her beloved doll and then proceeded to lie down beside him, a tiny arm resting across his stomach, her head on his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from her body. Smell the sweet scent of the kids shampoo that still lingered in her hair from her bath the night before. He could feel her soft breath on his chest through the thin fabric of the wife beater he'd worn to bed. He'd been so tired when he'd gotten home, that he'd stripped down to his undershirt and his boxers and climbed into bed. And promptly fell asleep.

Flack had just begun to doze off once again when he felt Kellan shift alongside of him. Followed by little fingers combing through his hair. Then rubbing and pulling gently at his ears. And then finally removing the chain and cross from under his wife beater. Fighting back a smile at the sound of Kellan whispering to Holly about how pretty daddy's necklace was.

Less then five minutes later, her tiny hand was on his chest, attempting to shake him awake. It was then that he abandoned all hope and thought of sleep and lifted his arm from his eyes and looked at his daughter.

"You were faking, daddy!" she cried, and gave that musical giggle that reminded him of her mother.

He smiled and reached up to run a hand over her head and down her hair. "Good morning, baby sweets," he said, as she leaned down to kiss him in greeting. "You have a good sleep?"

Kellan nodded. Then giggled again as she touched his cheek. "Your face is prickly, daddy!"

"That's 'cause I need to shave before we go out today. So my face doesn't scratch you and Kallison and mommy."

"Did you catch a lot of bad guys at work?" she asked curiously.

"A few," Flack replied.

"Are they in jail now?" Kellan asked.

He nodded and yawned noisily.

"You know what it means when someone yawns daddy?" she inquired. "It means that your brain isn't getting enough oxgen."

"It's oxygen," he corrected her with a grin. "And where did you hear that?"

"Uncle Sid told me," she said. "Long time ago. Is it true, daddy?"

"Probably. But you know why I'm yawning? Because my brain needs sleep."

"But today is New Years Eve, daddy!" she reminded him excitedly. "You can't sleep on New Years Eve!"

He sighed heavily and rubbed his weary eyes. "Were you a good girl all day yesterday?"

Kellan nodded. "All day," she assured him.

"I'm not going to hear something different from your mommy am I?"

She shook her head.

"Are you excited about going to see Disney on Ice today?"

"I am!" Kellan cried. "Do you think that we can get some glow in the dark necklaces, daddy? And some sparkly magic wands? Do you think we could get some hot dogs and some popcorn and some…"

"Whoa…whoa. Slow down. We're not even there yet. Let's wait until we get there and see what they have, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed. "This is pretty, daddy," she said, as she touched the comforter below her.

The one her mother had purchased along with matching throw pillows and shams and a bedskirt along with a couple of sheet sets. It was black, with raised white embroidery throughout in intricate swirl patterns. He'd been highly impressed when she'd shown it to him. But not as impressed when, with a sheepish grin, she'd brought out the new quilt she'd also purchased. It was hand sewn and the patches and satin trim were in bright, cheerful colours. It was the colours themselves that bothered him. Or colour, to be more precise. It wasn't the light blue or green or yellow that irritated him. It was all the damn pink. And all the bloody flowers.

"Mommy bought it a few days ago," he told his daughter.

"It's pretty. I like it. Can I get a new blanket and pillows for my room?"

"I thought you liked your Disney princess stuff. You all but begged us to get it for your birthday. You wanted to be exactly like Kallison."

"I want something different now," his daughter told him. "It's too boring. I want to be different. Can I get something new, daddy? Something like your blanket?"

"I'll talk to mommy about it," he told her, combing his fingers through her silky hair.

"I got invited to a birthday party, daddy!" Kellan excitedly announced. "The intation came yesterday. The mailman brought it! It had my name on it and everything! Kallison got one too!"

"The invitation," he corrected gently.

"That's what I said! The intation!"

He grinned and continued to stroke her hair. "Who was it from? Whose party is it?"

"It's from my friend Alicia. You 'member Alicia, right daddy? She sits with me during craft time and her cubby is right next to mine. You 'member her? She comes here with her mommy and daddy? Do you 'member?"

"I remember her," Flack confirmed.

Alicia was one of three special needs kids in the twins' class. One had cystic fibrosis, the other suffered from a seizure disorder. And Alicia, a tiny thing with a head full of blond curls and huge green eyes and thick glasses and a hearing aid in one ear and the face of an angel, had Down Syndrome. The girls had taken to their friend easily. They didn't seen anything different about her, other then the fact that Alicia didn't talk much and she wasn't as fast at doing things as the other kids and she had to have a special teacher come in and work with her.

But none of that mattered to Kellan or Kallison. Alicia was their friend and had been since pre-school. She came to the girls birthday parties and they went to hers. They exchanged Christmas cards and presents and Valentines cards. Alicia's parents brought their daughter over for play dates and spent time, as a family, with the Flacks during the warmer weather. Her father Jason was a member of the FDNY and her mother, Kayla, a school teacher who'd had to leave work to care for their special child. They were younger, by several years, then the Flacks. But they were good people who loved their only child and would do anything for her.

"She turns six in two weeks," Kellan told him. "Mommy says we can go to her party. Alicia is my special friend, daddy."

"She is? What makes her special? Do you know?"

Kellan nodded.

"Tell me what makes her special," Flack encouraged his daughter, interested in hearing her take on her friend's disability.

Kellan leaned forward, and as if she was sharing some top secret information, laid her hand on her father's chest and whispered, "She has glasses."

Flack smiled and pressed a kiss to his daughter's forehead.

"Some people make fun of her," Kellan told him. "That makes me feel sad. They call her names and stuff. The older kids at school. It makes me cry, daddy. Why do they call her names?"

"Because people are mean," Flack said. "They're scared of anyone or anything that is different. And when they're scared of stuff, they say things to protect themselves. But you know not to call her names, right? Not to repeat what the older kids are saying? That it's not nice to call people names and make them sad?"

Kellan nodded. "I stick up for her all the time. And then I get picked on too. And that's when Amanda beats them up. I want to beat them up too, but I'm too tiny."

"No fighting," Flack told her. "Mommy and daddy have told you that lots of times. No fighting. No punching or kicking or pulling hair. And especially no biting. And that goes for when you're with your sister, too. I don't want you guys laying smack downs on each other, okay?"

"But Kallison beats me up first!" Kellan argued.

"I know that she picks on you a lot. And I'm going to tell her about it. But no fighting. Under any circumstances. Alright?"

"But what if someone pushes me or hits me first?" she asked. "Then what?"

"Then and only then, I want you to push them or hit them back. And then I want you to either tell your teacher or come home and tell me or your mommy. But all this fighting with your sister? It's got to stop, okay? I don't like the way you two are always at each other over things. Understand?"

"Don't be mad at me, daddy."

"I'm not mad at you, baby sweets," he assured her, smoothing her hair down. "I love you. I just don't want you and your sister fighting all the time. That's all. Can you do that for me? Not fight so much?"

Kellan nodded.

"Good girl," he said, and sitting up, pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Daddy?" the little girl asked, as she scooted across the bed on her rear end.

"What, baby?" he inquired.

"Were Kallison and I in mommy's tummy in this picture?" she asked curiously, picking up the wooden photo cube that sat on Sam's nightstand and pointing the photo of her parents, taken on the beach in Turks and Caicos, just after they were pronounced husband and wife.

It was almost seven years since that day. When they'd abandoned their plans of a massive formal wedding in favour of something smaller and more intimate. Much smaller, in fact. Instead of over a hundred guests, they had four. Five if you counted Amanda who was only five months old at the time. Instead of a church ceremony, they went with a gazebo on a bluff over looking the beach at sunset. Instead of a Cinderella type dress with a cathedral veil and flowing train, Samantha had chosen a simple yet stunning cream coloured slip style dress with spaghetti straps and a dangerously low cut back embellished with seashells and fresh water pearls.

She'd worn her hair up in a loose sweep and adorned with an orange Hibiscus flower. A fingertip length veil tucked into the bottom of the sweep with a simple seashell studded comb. And instead of his dress blues, Flack had gone in a pair of linen navy blue pants and an un-tucked white dress shirt. It had been a short and simple ceremony preformed by a Catholic priest native to Turks and Caicos. But the scenery of the island and the presence of those they loved the most had made that wedding absolutely incredible. While their guests had gone home after four days -two before the wedding, two after- the bride and groom had stayed for another week and a half. Enjoying their time in paradise.

And enjoying each other.

"Nope," Flack answered his daughter's question. "You guys didn't get into mommy's tummy until almost a year later."

"What took so long?" she asked. "Didn't you want babies right away?"

"We did. But things didn't work out the way we wanted to and we had to wait longer."

"Why?"

Flack wasn't about to tell a five year about struggling with a massively low sperm count -something he didn't even realize he had until eight months into a marriage and no use of birth control and still no pregnancy had sent them looking for answers- caused by medication he took after the bombing. The important thing was that things were straightened around and in the end, he received two beautiful, amazing little girls.

"It just didn't happen quickly," he told her. "I guess God wanted us to wait. So we could have you and Kallison. If it had have happened sooner, we would have had a different baby. And mommy and I love you and your sister. So things turned out great, don't you think?"

"I guess…but how come mommy got to have two babies and some mommies only get to have one?" Kellan asked, her big blue eyes filled with curiosity.

"I guess that God thought mommy should have two at once. Make things extra special for her."

"And how did Kallison and I get into mommy's tummy?"

Flack groaned inwardly. He had gotten used to the fact that ever since his girls were old enough to string words together, they'd always enjoyed playing twenty questions with him and their mother. Mostly with him, though. But he hadn't been expecting THAT kind of question for at least another few years.

"Well…" he chose his words carefully. "You see…mommies and daddies love each other and when they want to show each other how much, they do things. And sometimes when they do things, babies come along nine months later."

"Why nine months?" she inquired.

"That's just how long it takes to make sure things are working properly in a baby," he told her.

"What kinds of things do mommy and you do?" Kellan asked. "'Cause maybe you can do them again so I can have a baby brother or sister."

"There's more to it then that, baby sweets. Sometimes even though mommies and daddies do things, they still can't have babies."

"Why?"

"Because it just happens that way."

"What kind of things do you do?" she pressed.

"Things that you are way too young to know about," he told her and tousled her hair. "When you're a few years older, come back and ask me then. Okay?"

"Do babies come from sex?" she asked innocently.

Flack blinked.

"Amanda says that babies come from sex," Kellan told him. "And that's when mommies and daddies go to night nights together but don't sleep. They do stuff. What kind of stuff do they do, daddy? What does sex mean?"

"Kellan, you are way too young to asking stuff like that. Five year olds don't talk about that kind of thing, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because they just don't. When you're a bit older, come back to me and ask about that stuff, okay?"

"Is it because you don't know what sex is and you need to go ask mommy?" she asked.

Flack bit his lip to keep from laughing. "How about we watch some Sponge Bob Square Pants until mommy comes and gets us for breakfast?" he asked, hoping she'd take the bait.

"Sponge Bob isn't on now," Kellan told him. "Dora is on."

"Then how about we watch some Dora?" he asked, grabbing the remote control off the night stand and flicking on the television.

"Do you like Dora, daddy?" Kellan inquired, as she moved closer to him.

"She's alright," he replied, finding the local children's channel before setting the remote on his stomach and wrapping an arm around his daughter's tiny body.

"Daddy?"

"What, baby?"

"What does that thing on the front lawn say?"

"What thing, Kellan?"

"That thing. The sign. What does it say?"

"It says for sale," he told her.

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're going to be moving. Remember? Mommy and I told you and Kallison about this a couple of days ago."

"Oh yeah…" she said, playing with the large cross that dangled from his chain. Her eyes riveted on the television where Dora and Boots were well into an adventure Flack was sure his daughter had seen at least a dozen times already. "We won't have to leave all our stuff here when we move will we? Like all our toys and our clothes and Wiener?"

"I already told you this. Everything we own comes with us. Everything." In fact, he'd spent over an hour explaining things to a distraught Kellan just two nights before.

She had assumed, because they were leaving their house and going to a different one, that all of their possessions and their pets stayed behind for the new people moving in. And the mere thought of that had devastated her. So her father had sat in the middle of her princess bed, his tiny daughter in his lap, rocking her back and forth as he assured her, and promised her, that nothing was being left behind.

"But what if the new people want all of our stuff?" she asked.

"They won't. And if they do, they can't have it. Okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise. Don't worry about stuff like that. Nothing like that is going to happen. When we go, all of our stuff goes too."

"Will we have to go to a new school?"

Flack nodded.

"And make new friends?"

"You can still have all your old friends," he told her. "You just won't see them every day at school. You'll make new friends."

"What if no one likes me, daddy?"

He gave her a gentle, reassuring smile and laid a hand on the top of her head. "Everyone will love you, Kellan. What's not to love?"

She smiled brightly and laid her head on his chest. "Your heart is talking to me, daddy," she announced.

"Yeah? What's it telling you?"

"It's saying that it loves me lots and lots and lots."

He grinned and tightened his hold on her. "That's because it's true," he said.

* * *

"Is daddy still going to be a policeman when we move, mommy?" Kallison asked, in her bare feet and Care Bear pyjamas as she stood on a kitchen chair pushed up against the island.

"He's going to talk to someone on Monday about that," Sam replied, as she stood behind her daughter, holding Kallison firmly by the hand as she helped the little girl shred half a block of cheddar cheese.

"Does he want to be a policeman still?"

"Yep. He just has to go and ask if it's okay for him to work there. To see if they want him to work for them."

"And you're going to work for Auntie Stel?"

Sam nodded. "You'll get to see more of her now that we're going to be moving closer to her."

"But I have to go to a different school. So I won't get to see Amanda and DJ all the time. Or Uncle Danny an Aunt M."

"We're not going that far, Kallison. It's not the other side of the world. We'll be able to come and visit them here in New York City and they'll be able to come and visit us in New Jersey."

"Are we going to like it in New Jersey?"

"I hope so," Sam said. "I think it's exciting. Moving to a different city, moving into a new house. Meeting all kinds of new friends. Don't you find that exciting?"

"I guess," Kallison sighed. "But it makes me sad that we have to leave this house and all of our friends."

"I know," her mother said, and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. "But the important thing is that we're all together. That mommy and daddy and you and Kellan are all together. We're still a family no matter where we live."

"And Wiener and Gracie and George, too," Kallison reminded her.

"Yep. Them too. We can't forget about them."

Their task finished, Sam set the full container of grated cheese to the side along with the other toppings they'd prepared for their breakfast burritos and rinsed the grater before dropping it into the open dishwasher. She had already cracked open a dozen eggs and whisked them up in a bowl that sat on the counter by the stove, and as she went to prepare them, Kallison grabbed her plastic cup of juice that sat on the island, and took a seat on the chair.

"Mommy?" she asked, sipping her juice and kicking her legs back and forth as she watch her mom make scramble eggs.

"What, sweetie?"

"How did you and daddy meet?" she asked curiously.

"Daddy and I met at work," Sam replied, pushing the sleeves of her ruby red satin pyjamas up to her elbows. "A long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"Nine years ago. We met at the crime lab. Daddy was working on a case and he needed my help to figure some things out."

"What kind of case?"

"Just some scuba divers that got into trouble. Auntie M and I had to do some tests on star fish."

"That must have been so cool!" Kallison gushed. "Was daddy nice to you when you met him?"

"Actually, he was kind of mean," Sam admitted.

The little girl's eyes went wide. "He was? How come?"

"He was in a bad mood that day, I guess. He needed more sleep or some coffee. Or both."

Kallison giggled at that. "Were you boyfriend and girlfriend right away?"

"Nope. Not for a long time. We were friends."

"Why weren't you boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Well, daddy had another girlfriend back then. And mommy wasn't looking for a boyfriend. So we just decided to be friends instead of anything else."

"But didn't you find daddy cute?"

"Of course I did. As soon as I met him I thought he was really, really, really cute. And when he wasn't so mean anymore, he was smart and funny and he made me laugh a lot. So we just hung out together and did things and had a good time with one another."

"What kind of things?" Kallison asked.

"We went out to dinner and to hockey games and to the movies. Stuff like that."

"That's stuff boyfriends and girlfriends do," Kallison informed her. "Did you guys kiss?"

"Not until we were boyfriend and girlfriend," her mother said. It was a slight lie, but her daughter didn't need to know that. "And that didn't happen for a year."

"That's a long time!" Kallison cried. "Why so long?"

Sam shrugged. "Your daddy wasn't ready to have me as his girlfriend. He was with someone else and he wasn't sure what he wanted to do."

"Well I'm glad he picked you, mommy. 'Cause if he didn't, Kellan and I wouldn't even be here!"

"I'm glad that he picked me, too. Because I can't imagine what my life would be like if I didn't have you or Kellan. Or your daddy. He's a pretty great guy."

"Daddy's funny," Kallison said. "He tells fart jokes and talks in funny voices when he reads us stories. I'd miss daddy if he wasn't here anymore."

"So would I," Sam told her daughter. "He's a pretty good guy to have around. Who else would we get to get things off of the high shelves and carry stuff that's really heavy?"

"Good to know I'm appreciated," Flack commented, as he entered the kitchen, carrying Kellan on his back. Her arms wrapped securely around his leg and her legs around his torso. Holly Hobby in one of his hands.

"Hi, daddy!" Kallison greeted cheerfully, as she scrambled into a standing position on the chair.

"Hey pumpkin," he said, bending down to kiss her good morning. "You sleep good?"

She nodded, her ponytail bobbing up and down. "We're making breakfast burritos!" she told him proudly.

"You're helping mommy?"

"Yep. She let me grate the cheese and put the salsa in a bowl and set the table!"

"Sounds good. You behaved yourself yesterday? You and your sister were good?" Flack asked his daughter, while looking towards his wife for the answer.

"They were great," Sam confirmed, as she turned the temperature down on the burner below the frying pan the scrambled eggs were sizzling in. "No violence or blood shed. A couple of little arguments over someone touching the other's food or staring at them funny, but nothing major."

"We went to McDonalds, daddy!" Kellan exclaimed. "We ate Chicken McNuggets and fries and some ice cream and then we played in the balls and then we came home and played outside in the snow and made snow men and snow angels and Kallison and I had a snow ball fight with mommy! Then we came in and had hot chocolate!"

"With marsh mellows!" Kallison added.

"Sounds like you guys had a great time," Flack said, as he bent over at the waist, and with a firm hold on Kellan's sides, allowed her to slide off of his shoulders and over his head, until she was dangling upside down and laughing hysterically, her face going bright red. Then he quickly and effortlessly flipped her over and settled her down onto her feet.

"That was fun, daddy!" she squealed. "Can I have some juice, please?"

"Get up there on the chair with your sister," he instructed. "And I'll get you something to drink."

"I don't want to share a chair with her!" Kallison protested. "She smells!"

"I do not," Kellan argued. "You smell! You smell like poop!"

"Girls…" Sam said in a strict warning tone. "Enough."

"I want my own chair!" Kellan cried.

"Why do you two always have to be so difficult?" Flack asked, grabbing a chair from the table and placing it at the island. Across from Kallison. So that the counter space was acting like a barrier. "You girls get that from your mother," he said, helping Kellan onto the chair and setting Holly Hobby down on the island.

Sam snorted.

"Don't deny it, babe," her husband said, as he walked over to fridge, opened it and pulled out a container of orange, strawberry and banana flavoured juice. Shutting the fridge, he went to the sink and snagged a bright pink plastic cup and a glass from the drain board and filled both with the light orange coloured liquid.

"I am not difficult," Sam informed him.

"Right…everyone knows you're just the biggest pain in my…"

"Daddy?" Kallison called, interrupting him before he could get the last word out. "What was your girlfriend like when you met mommy?"

"What girlfriend?" he asked, setting a drink down in front of Kellan.

"Mommy said that you had a girlfriend when you met. What was she like?"

"Annoying," Flack told her. "Very annoying."

"Was she pretty?"

"She was," he admitted. "She had light red wavy hair and blue eyes."

"And no brain," Sam mumbled.

"She wasn't as pretty as mommy though," Flack said to his daughter.

His wife laughed. "Good save, Lieutenant. You just saved yourself a lot of lonely nights parked on the couch. You should tell them all about the fancy party we went to. To try and catch the bad guys. And how this girlfriend of yours caught us together."

"She didn't catch us. It's not like we were doing anything. She just thought that were going to do something. And who knows…if she never had of walked out onto that patio when she did…"

"It was a kiss, Don. Don't get ahead of yourself. I wasn't about to go home with you after work. We'd only known each other a month. I'm not THAT easy."

"It was a fancy party?" Kallison asked. "Did you look pretty? What did you wear?"

"Your mommy looked beautiful," Flack told her. "She had on this sparkly gold dress that tied around her neck and had this little train and she had on gold shoes and her hair was up. She was amazingly beautiful."

Sam smiled as she felt her husband's arm circle her waist from behind and his lips press a kiss to the back of her head. "I can't believe you'd actually remember that," she said.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked. "You looked incredible that night. I mean, not that you don't look incredible all the time. Just…you know," he kissed her cheek and nuzzled her ear.

"Daddy was very handsome that night," Sam told her daughters. "He was wearing a tuxedo."

"Like when Uncle Danny and Auntie M got married?" Kellan inquired. "Those were pretty pictures Auntie M showed us."

"Daddy looked just like he did at that wedding," Sam said.

"You must have been real cute daddy!" Kallison exclaimed. "No wonder mommy kissed you even though you had a girlfriend!"

Sam laughed. "Well…he actually kissed me. He took advantage of a weak moment."

"Weak moment? What weak moment? Only weak moment you were having was because you were all flustered at my James Bond hotness."

She rolled her eyes. "We were arguing over the case and you kissed me to shut me up," she argued.

"Well…sort of. I mean, yeah, I wanted you to shut up. But I really kissed you because I wanted to and shutting you up was my excuse to do it. And don't act all innocent. You kissed me back."

"I was flustered," Sam defended herself. "You're lucky I kissed you back and didn't smack you across the face or kick you in the…"

"On that happy thought," Flack said. "Don't be teaching our daughters things like that."

She grinned and moved the scrambled eggs around the frying pan. "Did you sleep okay?" she asked, reaching for a mug that sat on the counter next to the stove and taking a sip of now lukewarm tea. "I felt you come into bed and I knew it was really late."

"I didn't get in until just after three," Flack told her. "I took a shower in the girls' bathroom so I wouldn't wake you up. Then I checked on them and fixed their blankets and went to bed. I think I was out the second my head hit the pillow. Good sleep, just not long enough. What about you?"

"We had a busy day yesterday," Sam said. "I was in bed by ten."

"Explains why I got no answer when I phoned around eleven to check on things."

"Sorry babe, I just wasn't in the mood for phone s-e-x last night."

"Wouldn't have been able to get away with it anyway. The dragon lady was wandering around. I wouldn't have been able to lock myself in the bathroom for very long without her getting suspicious."

Sam laughed. "You are so disturbed. Do you know that? Seriously mentally disturbed."

"Wouldn't be the first time we did something like that," he reminded her. "So you guys had a busy day and you were in bed early…"

"And now I'm a little achy and crampy this morning," she said with a sigh.

"You been taking your meds properly?"

"Religiously," she vowed. "I think it's just from stress and lack of proper sleep over the holidays. I'll be fine."

"What about the headaches?" he asked, kissing the top of the head.

"They're coming and going," she replied. "I woke up this morning with a horrific one. Right at the back of my head," she laid her hand over the spot. "It felt like someone was squeezing my brain over and over again. But I took some Tylenol and it went away. And my eyes were a little messed this morning," she emphasized the last point by gesturing to the deep purple, rectangular framed glasses perched on her face.

"Any weird shit going on with your balance or your coordination or anything?" he inquired, keeping his voice down so the girls wouldn't hear their conversation. "Last time you had those issues."

"I haven't noticed anything like that," she said. "No tingling in my face and no numbness with my tongue either. Like I said, it's probably just stress. Once things get settled and we've got things under control, I'll start to feel better."

"You start getting any of that weird stuff happening, you call that neurologist right away? Understand me?"

"Yes, daddy," she answered, as she grabbed a plate resting on the counter and set to work dumping scrambled eggs onto it.

"Don't be smart, Sammie. This isn't something to joke about. You don't play around with stuff like this."

Switching the stove off and setting the frying pan on the back burner, she turned to him with a smile on her face and the plate held out to him. "Can you help the girls make their burritos please?" she asked.

He sighed heavily and took the plate from her. "I'm not messing around," he told her. "Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Kellan doesn't like sour cream on hers," Sam said, brushing the question off as she moved towards the drain board and removed two plastic Sesame Street plates. She carried them to the island and sat them in front of the girls, then went back to the sink and got two dinner plates from the cupboard.

"You know, you're damn lucky I love you as much as I do," Flack told her, and went over to the girls, who were already squabbling over who got the bigger sized soft shell tacos. "Because if I didn't…"

"You'd have committed me a long time ago," she finished for him. And immediately regretted it.

"Oh I'm sorry," he said, anger creeping into his voice. "Did you mean to confuse me with Zack?"

"I didn't mean that the way it came out," Sam defended herself. "I meant it as a joke."

"Yeah? Well it wasn't funny," he told her, waiting for the girls to assemble the shells on their plate before spooning eggs onto them.

"Well is it my fault you don't have a sense of humour?" she asked.

"Don't start, Samantha…just don't start. Be quiet. Stop while you're ahead, okay?"

"Maybe you need to go back to bed and try waking up on the right side of it," she suggested.

"Maybe you need to…"

"Don't be mad, daddy," Kellan pleaded. "Don't be mad at mommy."

"I'm not mad at her," he assured her daughter. "She's just being a little mean right now."

"Well stop it!" Kallison implored. "No one should be mean!"

"You're right," Flack told her, and setting the plate of eggs down on the counter, supervised while they got their toppings for their burritos. Things started out calm with the twins, but even something as simple as reaching for grated cheese at the same time could potentially turn into a volatile situation.

"Do you want me to make yours for you?" Sam asked her husband, as she brought the plates to the island.

"I know how to make my own food," he replied.

"I realize that," she said. "I just…I don't know…wanted to do something for you, maybe."

"You've done enough for me," he told her.

"Fine…" she said, setting a plate down in front of him before attending to her own breakfast. "I was just trying to be nice. You don't have to be so nasty."

"I'm not being nasty," he said. "I just said that…"

"Please don't fight," Kellan begged. "I don't like it when you and mommy fight, daddy."

"No one is fighting," he assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"This has got to stop," Sam said, as she finished preparing her breakfast and walking past him. "We can't be doing this in front of them. You know that."

He nodded in agreement, and catching her by the wrist as she stepped past him, pulled her into him and covered her lips in a long, soft kiss. "Just promise me you'll tell me if things get bad," he said.

"I promise," she told him, reaching up to touch his face softly.

He gave a small smile and watched as she headed to the table and sat down.

"I wouldn't keep something like that from you," she said.

He sighed. _Somehow I doubt that,_ he thought.

* * *

Danny and Lindsay were looking forward to getting out of the city. It was only for two days, and it was just too a small ranch style bed and breakfast in Lake Placid, but after the insanity that was the holidays and the life altering news their best friends had dumped upon them, two days were going to seem like a lifetime. DJ and Makenna had already been dropped off at their grandparents and Amanda was excited about getting to spend some time with her Uncle Donnie and Auntie B and the girls. Especially when spending time with them included getting to take the subway to see Disney on Ice.

Danny glanced over at his wife as she sat in the front passenger seat of their SUV, her elbow resting on the door, the side of her head in her hand. And a permanent frown on her face. That damn frown had been there, along with many tears, for the past four days. It was starting to get on Danny's nerves. Once he'd gotten over the shock of his best friend announcing he was moving his family to New Jersey, and then calling Danny up to tell him two days later that he'd handed in his resignation, Danny had come to realize that the Flacks moving to a different state as not the end of the world. They were less then two hours away. It wasn't as if they were moving to a different coast and could only be visited via an airplane. Or a hell of a tedious drive. And while he'd miss seeing Flack at a crime scene, miss those smart ass comments and that Queens accent, Danny knew that Flack was doing what was in the best interest of his family. And any decent family man had to make difficult decision sometimes.

"You know," he said to his wife. "Keep frowning like that, it's gonna be a permanent look for you."

Lindsay glared at him.

"It's not like someone's died," Danny told her. "Not the end of the world that they're moving to New Jersey. You can visit whenever you want, call them whenever you want. It's just long distance. So what?"

"That is not the point, Danny," she said. "I know that it's not a far drive and we can still email and IM each other and talk on the phone. It's just that…I don't know…I just feel like I lost my best friend."

"You haven't lost her. She's just moving away. She's not dead. It's not like you're never going to see her again, Montana. It's just that you weren't be working together. And trust me, I'm going to miss that too. I always got a kick outta working with Brooklyn. The way she used to get all hot under the collar with suspects and her and Flack used to get into them disagreements about how they were each handling the case. And that accent?" he laughed. "I'm gonna miss that accent. How strong it gets when she's pissed. Mostly at Flack."

Lindsay managed a grin. "They do fight a lot," she said.

"They love each other, though. They fight 'cause they're so much alike and hate to admit it. They are like the proverbial match and gasoline. Get them together when they're both in a mood and BOOM."

"It's going to be weird nothing having them at work," Lindsay sighed. "Not having Flack around to make you laugh with all his sarcastic comments and that arrogant, kiss my ass smirk he gets from time to time. I will never forget that time when we had that cheerleader in interrogation. The one that made the poisonous pill and an antidote to get back at that guy for making fun of her when she was heavy. What was her name?"

"Eat a salad girl?" Danny laughed. "Paula Tolomeo. She was a strange one. Mind you, after she'd lost all that weight, she was pretty hot."

Lindsay frowned. "What I was trying to get at was that I will never forget the look on Flack's face when she started that chant in interrogation."

"I'll never forget the look on his face when that guy sunk that million dollar basket," Danny said. "Come to think of it, we bet fifty on that and he only had forty on him. And I never got my last ten bucks."

"That was like nearly ten years ago now," Lindsay pointed out.

"Ten bucks is ten bucks!" Danny exclaimed. "You know how much that is with interest now? He could pay for Amanda to take a year at some fancy private school."

"Not quite," Lindsay said. "But it would buy you a whole lot of beer."

"I think I'm going to buy him a farewell card and write in it, hey moron, where's my ten bucks?"

Lindsay smirked. "You love him, Danny. Admit it."

"I do," Danny said with a heavy sigh. "Like a brother. And as much as it's going to kill me to see him off, I know he's doing the right thing. He's doing it for his wife and his girls. His family means the world to him and there's nothing he wouldn't do for them. You should be thankful your best friend has a man that loves her and respects her as much as he does."

Lindsay smiled. "I'd never looked at Flack that way," she said. "You know, especially after…"

"He f-…screwed up. We all screw up from time to time. The man paid his dues, made amends. The important thing is that that family is still together and those two girls have two parents that love each other, and them. They're a happy family, Linds. And them being happy is important to me and should be important to you."

"Of course it is," she said.

"Then let them go gracefully and peacefully," her husband told her. "No more crying or holding grudges against them for doing what they go to do. It's their lives and their doing what they feel needs to be done. Just let them go."

Lindsay sighed heavily and as Danny pulled the SUV into the private lot across from the red brick and stone row houses, her eyes fell on the For Sale sign that graced the Flacks snowy front lawn.

Letting them go wasn't going to be as easy for his wife as Danny thought.

In fact, it was going to be the hardest thing Lindsay Messer ever had to do.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! But please R and R folks! It's greatly appreciated.**

**Special thanks to:**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**ForestAngel**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**TwinkeyRocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Bluehaven4220**


	27. Countdown to 2017: Afternoon

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI: NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK. AMANDA MESSER BELONGS TO THE FABULOUS LAURZZ**

* * *

**COUNTDOWN TO 2017: AFTERNOON/EARLY EVENING**

"You set my soul at ease  
Chased darkness out of view  
Left your desperate spell on me  
Say you feel it too  
I know you do  
I've got so much more to give  
This can't die, I yearn to live  
Pour yourself all over me  
And I'll cherish every drop here on my knees

I wanna love you forever  
And this is all I'm asking of you  
10,000 lifetimes together  
Is that so much for you to do?  
'Cause from the moment that I saw your face  
And felt the fire in your sweet embrace  
I swear I knew.  
I'm gonna love you forever."  
-I Wanna Love You Forever, Jessica Simpson

* * *

The afternoon had turned out to be less traumatic then Flack was expecting.

They'd left the house shortly afternoon hour, and after dropping the car off at Ridgewood's Main Street subway station, boarded a twelve thirty train into Manhattan. The train was empty when they first got on, but as the ride progressed and stops were made at platforms along the way, it was packed before the subway even reached lower Manhattan. Jammed mostly with parents and excited children, clad in Disney costumes in honour of their favourite characters. Both the twins and Amanda had insisted that they were their get ups from the previous Halloween to the show. Flack had rolled his eyes at the suggestion of getting his kids dressed in costumes, then stared in horror when he realized that the girls weren't joking. They were adamant about it, in fact. They'd gone into their closets and yanked those wrinkled and dusty costumes out from underneath piles of crap and begged and pleaded for him to help them get ready. And they just didn't stop with the outfits. They wanted their hair done and wanted to wear some of mommy's makeup. Be completely in character.

Thank God, his wife had taken over. Because he just couldn't bring himself to doll his kids up as Cinderella and Tinkerbell. Hallow-weird as he called it, came but once a year and that was fine with him. So he'd sat and had a beer while watching an afternoon Rangers came -playing out of town in Boston- while the women in his life, including Amanda, giggled at the kitchen table, while Sam painted their fingernails with sparkly polish of various colours and put a little blush and lip gloss and eye shadow on them. Nothing extreme. He'd made it very clear to her that under no circumstances was she to tart his kids up. He wasn't raising no Jon Benet style beauty pageant kids. They were normal five year olds and that's the way it was going to stay. He didn't want them looking like they were miniature teenagers.

Sam had abided by his wishes. The girls and Amanda looked adorable with their hair in curls and their eyelids glistening and their cheeks and lips slightly rosy and their nails done in an acceptable, classy shade of light pink. With a little bit of glitter. The girls had to have glitter. It was a must. And then with snowsuits pulled on over the costumes -Tinkerbell for Kellan, Cinderella for Kallison and Belle for Amanda- they'd finally been able to leave the house. Only to have all three girls announce, as soon as they were buckled in, that they had to go to the bathroom. It was a short ten minute drive to the Main Street station, followed by a frantic dash to the washroom for Sam and the three little ones she had in tow.

The Disney show itself had been somewhat pleasant. There'd be a short argument over who was going to sit on his lap. It was a common fight between the girls, but having Amanda there meant there was three young ladies vying for his attention. Amanda won out in the end. Much to the dismay of Kellan and Kallison, who'd both been near tears until Sam gently explained to them that they got to see daddy all the time. And Amanda's daddy was out of town and she wanted, and deserved, some attention from her Uncle Donnie. Once the skating got underway, the music was excessively loud and there was a little too much shrieking and squealing for Flack's liking, but just seeing the looks of awe and wonderment in his kids' faces made it all tolerable. The pure joy that radiated from them as they enjoyed not only the entertainment but their hot dogs and pop and popcorn, their glow in the dark bracelets and necklaces adorning their necks and wrists and light up Princess wands in their hands, was enough to bring a smile to his face.

The trip home however, was turning out to be harder then Flack had ever imagined it would be. They walked the two blocks to the appropriate station -Flack having to carry Kellan after she announced her legs were too sleepy to walk anymore- and then had to wait for four trains to go by before there was any room for them to get on. And even then, by the time it came time to board, there were only two seats available. So after getting Kallison and Amanda situated in the window seat , Sam took the remaining seat and her husband gently placed a sleeping Kellan in her lap.

"Thank you for taking me to Disney on Ice, Uncle Donnie," Amanda gushed, as she and Kallison shared Sam's Ipod. "And for buying me all kinds of stuff. I love my necklace and bracelets and my crown!"

"Did you have a good time?" he asked her, as he stood in front of his small family, a hand on the metal bar to the right side of his head.

Amanda nodded excitedly. "I had lots and lots of fun," she told him. "Daddy said he was glad it was you going and not him."

Flack laughed. "Why am I not surprised? You're dad is such a p…"

"Don't even say it," Sam said, slugging him playfully in the stomach.

"What?" he asked innocently. "What was I going to say? I was going to say anything raunchy. I was just going to say that you're dead is such a prude."

"That is not what you were going to say and you know it!" his wife laughed. "Watch your mouth around the girls, please."

"Yes, dear," he said, and leaning down, kissed her softly. "You're bossy, you know that?"

"I keep you in line," Sam told him. "And you love it."

He smiled and reached out to run his knuckles along her cheek and winked at her. "How does she sleep like that?" he asked, nodding down at Kellan. "She just falls asleep in the weirdest places and at the weirdest times. I don't get how she manages that."

"She tires out easily. The heaviness of her snowsuit and her boots," Sam reminded him, as she peeled the wool hat off of her daughter's head and pressed a kiss to Kellan's sweaty forehead. "She's so tiny, Donnie. A lot tinier than Kallison."

"She's getting bigger. God knows she eats a lot. Constantly. And you heard what the doctor said. She's gaining weight, getting taller. She's actually on the stupid growth chart now. I know she's in the bottom five percent, but it's the first time since she was born that she made it on the damn thing."

"But she's just so small," Sam sighed, smoothing hair away from Kellan's forehead. "And she gets sick so easily."

"It's just the way it is with her, babe. That whole compromised immune system thing. But she's doing a lot better. She's not missing as much school as she used to, she's getting into more activities, there's been less trips to the doctor and the ER. Ask me, she's doing awesome."

"I called the gymnastics club that we enrolled them in yesterday," she told him.

"And?"

"And they said that when we do move, it's no problem having their memberships transferred anywhere in New Jersey. Just that we'll have pay a transfer fee."

"That's fine," he said. "How much is it?"

"A hundred bucks. Per child."

Flack snorted and shook his head. "That's ridiculous. Why is it our kids can't have cheaper hobbies? Why is it always these things where you have to pay huge entrance and enrolment fees and buy them outfits and what not that cost a fortune? Why can't they do things that aren't so pricey?"

"Because they're kids," Sam said. "And kids are expensive."

"No. Girls are expensive," he corrected her. "Bodysuits for gymnastics and costumes and new skates for figure skating and tap shoes and clothes for dance. Cheapest thing they do is soccer."

"I want to play hockey, daddy," Kallison told him.

"Now see?" Flack asked his wife. "Now hockey is a real sport."

"Hockey is ten times more expensive then all of their things put together," Sam informed him. "You play for the department. You know how pricey equipment is. How often the stuff needs to be replaced. Especially the skates and the sticks. Look at how expensive the skates are you just bought."

"Yeah…but those are CCM Tacks, babe. Best of the best. We're talking little girls' skates. How expensive could they be?"

She arched her eyebrows.

"I say she wants to play hockey, let her play hockey. I'll gladly get up at seven in the mornings on my days off to run her to practices and to games. No problem. I will gladly sit in the stand and sip coffee while watching my baby girl kick everyone's butts. 'Cause you know she'd be awesome. She can already skate really well. She's destined to be a goal scorer. Like her old man."

"You're a power forward," Sam told him. "Because you crush people and punish them."

"Hey…who is and who has been the highest goal scorer in the department six years running? Yours truly. I'm the NYPD's Gretzky, baby. Admit it, you love coming and watching me play. Turns you on to see me in all the equipment and manhandling people."

"I have to admit, there is something quite sexy about hockey players," she said. "Especially when you've been having intimate relations with your favourite hockey player for close to nine years now."

He grinned and taped a fingertip against the end of her nose. "You're a dirty girl, Samantha."

She smiled up at him. "You know…I should have worn my Tinkerbell costume today, too."

"Which one? The naughty one or the family one?" he asked curiously.

"I only have the naughty one still."

"You still have that thing?" he asked. "Where?"

"Somewhere in our closet. Packed away."

"You know what? As soon as we get home, you are going upstairs and digging that thing out. Happy New Year to me later."

"Actually…" she said. "We kind of, sort of have plans for tonight."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to do a quiet New Years Eve. I wanted to do the whole Times Square thing and you said you wanted something calm."

"And I do. And this is going to be something calm. Not a lot of people and craziness. Just a small gathering of people. Nothing major. A little house party that we got invited to about a week ago."

"And you're just telling me now?"

She smiled.

"Why didn't you mention it sooner? Run it by me? It would have been nice to know that my wife made plans for us. And what about a sitter? I guess you have all that worked out too?"

"Jasmine and Elijah are coming to stay at your house while…"

Flack shook his head. "No…no, no, no, no. I told you about my issues with Jasmine. Every time she watches the girls, she sends them and Elijah upstairs to fend for themselves while she gets Mac's son over so the two of them can get busy on our couch."

"I already spoke to Jasmine yesterday," Sam assured him. "And she promised me that Michael will not come over to our house while she is babysitting."

"And you believe that crap? If you believe that crap, Sammie, you got serious problems."

"She swore to me that he was going to be at his own party tonight, in the city, and that he wasn't going to come anywhere near Queens. Come on, Donnie. Don't be like that. We never go anywhere, just the two of us. We never have dates anymore. Everywhere we go it always involves the kids. Wouldn't you like to go somewhere, just us?"

"We're going away to New Jersey next weekend," he reminded her. "That isn't enough?"

She shook her head and smiled sweetly at him. "It's not like we're going far or staying over night somewhere," she said. "We can always leave as soon as I get my New Years kiss."

"You can't get a New Years kiss at home?" he asked.

Sam pouted dramatically.

He sighed. "Fine…we'll go out for New Years Eve. It'll actually be nice to get out of the house without the kids. Do something adult. Whose party at we going to?"

"We're going to Mari's," she told him.

A frown crossed Flack's face. "Disney on Ice and Hawkes in one day? You're an evil woman."

"I know that the two of you aren't the best of buddies and you don't normally hang out. But would it kill you guys to play nice?"

"We always do, babe. It's not like we don't get along. We get along just fine. It's just…I don't know. It's just that we're so different. We don't like the same things. We don't share any interests. Even when we do get together, all we talk about is work. And Hawkes and I aren't exactly on the same page when it comes to the job. He's book smarts and I'm street smarts. We don't see eye to eye on how to handle things."

"It's a house party, Donnie. It's not like you have to sit in a room with him all night and find stuff to talk about."

"I know…I just…" Flack sighed. "Hawkes just makes me feel stupid. Not intentionally or anything. But when I'm around him, he's got this brainiac way of making me feel like an idiot. Like he thinks he's way up here…" he put his hand at eye level. "…and I'm way down here," he dropped his hand to his knee.

"He certainly doesn't think that way about you," Sam assured her husband. "And I don't see him actually treating you that way."

"It's just the way I feel when I'm around him, Sammie," Flack told her. "I've always felt that way around him. Like that time I told you about in that magic store when me and him were looking for that magic set when Mac was trying to nail whoever was killing people tied to Luke Blade. I told you about that. How I popped off some question about Houdini being proud that his name is mafia lingo and Hawkes looked at me like he thought I was both stupid and crazy."

"And you told me how you handled it. How you got a little snotty about the differences between RNA and DNA or whatever."

"It's not that I got snotty…"

Sam stared at him pointedly.

"Okay…so I may have gotten just a little snotty. But that Rupert guy so backed my theory up. And I bet you Houdini would be proud of the impact he's had."

Sam sighed.

"What? Don't look at me the same way Hawkes did."

"I'm not. And the difference between RNA and DNA is that RNA is…"

"Don't wanna hear it, babe. I didn't want to hear it then and I don't want to hear it now. I'm the detective, you're the scientist. For a good reason. You're the smart one, I'm the muscles. So keep your lab stuff to yourself, okay?"

She stuck out her tongue playfully.

He sighed and bit his lip and shook his head. "Have I told you lately how much I miss your tongue ring?" he asked.

"I haven't had it in five years."

"Doesn't mean I still don't miss it," he said. "That thing was like every dirty dream come true."

She frowned. "The children, Donnie. Seriously."

"Kellan's fast asleep. And do Amanda and Kallison even look like they're listening to us? They've got your music blaring into their brains. Hope you're not letting them listen to Gangsta rap."

"It's old Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson, actually," she said with a wink.

"Oh yeah…that's it. Get them hooked on Satan worshipping at a young age."

She reached under his jacket and yanked playfully on his belt buckle. "So you're good? About going to Mari and Sheldon's?"

"Do I have much of a choice?" he asked.

"Well," she said and proceeded to undo his belt.

"You're a bad girl," he told her with a grin. "Seriously. This isn't the A train on the way home at three in the morning. Now that was an adventure. I'll never forget that night as long as I live."

"That's what happens when you ply me with tequila all night," she said and did his belt back up. "But if you're a good boy tonight…."

"I'll be good," he vowed. "Very good. You plan on being good back?"

"It depends if you're okay with going to Mari and Sheldon's."

"You are damn good at blackmail and bribery. You know that?"

She smiled up at him and ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip.

"I'm good with going to Mari and Hawkes," he told her quickly. "Not just good. Excellent in fact."

She laughed and sat back in her seat. "You are so very easy to please," she declared.

"You know, I was thinking that when we go away next weekend we can…"

* * *

His words were cut off at the sound of a heated, intense argument between two young men taking place near the back doors of the subway car. Profanities and threats spewed out of their mouths as they shoved each other back and forth in the tight confines. Irritated passengers pushing them back when the two men bumped into them. Concerned and worried mothers trying their best to shelter their children from both the language, and the visible threat that the two combatants posed.

"Please do not get into it," Sam pleaded in a whisper to her husband, as he watched the young men with narrowed eyes. While they'd been waiting for the subway, those same two characters -obviously drunk judging by their slurred speech and stench you could smell from a mile away- had been warned by station security when their jostling began to intense it appeared as if one, or both, may tumble onto the tracks. They'd been told, in no uncertain words, that if they continued their behaviour, the cops would be called and they'd be both escorted off the premises and charged with public mischief.

Apparently, their behaviour that had been briefly halted, was now continued where it left off on that packed subway car.

"Donnie…" Sam tugged on the front of his jacket, trying to divert his attention from the assholes carrying on, and back onto his family.

"What, babe?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Please don't get involved," she replied. "Not with the girls and Amanda here. You'll get into something with those guys and the kids will get scared. They don't need to see that sort of thing."

"I'm not going to do anything," he assured her, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I know you," she said. "You always get involved when something goes down. Just please don't with the girls and Amanda here."

"Sammie, I already said I wouldn't do anything. Just relax, okay?"

She sighed and looked down at the still fast asleep Kellan and then at Amanda and Kallison, who although still listening to their music, had worry, and fright, etched on their tiny faces.

The arguing continued near the doors. Louder and angrier. Fellow passengers were starting to get involved. Telling the two men to shut up and watch their mouths around all the children. Which only caused the guys to swear and yell even louder. Frightened children began crying. Mothers, and fathers for that matter, became more and more nervous.

And Sam was one of those mothers. Not necessarily because her children and goddaughter were bearing witness to the stupidity and hearing the foul language, but because she knew full well that her husband wore his badge clipped to the waist of his jeans. It had become a force of habit during all his years on the job. Carry the shield wherever he went, even on his days off. Just in case anything ever happened -he witnessed an assault or an accident, had to render CPR or first aid- he liked to be prepared and able to take utter and complete charge of the scene. And the sight of that badge usually calmed people down, and put a stop to instances such as the one going on behind him. It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd had to step into something while he was with his wife. It had happened numerous times both during their dating and living together years and marriage. But they'd always been alone and never had children tagging along with them.

And those children were the reason why she wanted him to keep the badge where it was.

"Don…" she yanked at his jacket once again when his eyes, narrowed with concern, remained on the two jackasses a little too long. "Don…"

He looked down at her.

"Please," she said. "Don't do anything. Use the daddy and godfather part of your brain instead of the cop one. "

"I can't just sit by and let those two guys go at it, babe," he said. "What if they hurt someone?"

"I'd rather them not hurt you," she told them. "And I don't need you getting into some fight with your daughters and Amanda right here. So please…don't say anything or do anything. Don't even look over there anymore."

"I want to go home," Kallison whimpered, tears welling in her big blue eyes.

"We're on our way home," Flack assured her, giving her a calm, soft smile as he crouched down in front of her and Amanda. "Just listen to your music there and don't let those guys, bother you? Okay?"

"But I'm scared Uncle Donnie," Amanda whispered. "If daddy was here, he'd help you beat them up."

"No one is going to beat anyone up, okay sweet pea?" he touched Amanda's face softly and gave her a warm smile. "Those guys will get off soon. No one is going to get into a fight."

"They're bad people, daddy," Kallison said. "You're suppose to arrest bad people."

"I can't because I'm not a police officer right now, Kallie. I'm just daddy. So you and Amanda just listen to your music and don't worry about anything. Alright?"

Kallison nodded glumly and tried her best to concentrate on anything else besides the fighting a mere twenty feet away.

"Thank you," Sam said to her husband, as he stood back up.

"I'm not going to go and beat the crap out of someone when you and the kids are here," he told her.

"Wouldn't be the first time you put the beats on someone when I was around," she said.

"The guy grabbed your ass and asked you how much you cost," Flack smirked. "What was I going to do? Let him get a way with it?"

"I'd already kneed him in the you know where," she reminded him with a grin.

"I had to make sure he was down for the count," he reasoned. "Make sure he knew who he was messing with."

"You just have such a damsel in distress weakness," she giggled.

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her softly.

There was a sense of relief on the entire train when one of the drunk and disorderly men got off half an hour into the trip. Leaving his intoxicated companion to collapse into a seat behind Sam and the kids on the now half empty subway car. Flack sat on in a seat diagonally from them, keeping on eye on his kids and one on the drunken ass sitting behind his wife.

Sam looked behind her as she felt someone kick the back of the seats.

"Got a problem, bitch?" the young man slurred.

"Do you want one?" she countered.

He gave a bemused smirk and waved her off. "Go home and cook and clean like good women are suppose too," he told her. "Mind your business. Women should be seen and not heard."

"Funny, that's my opinion of most men," she said dryly and turned back around.

"Women are nothing but a bunch of useless bitches and hoes," the young man declared, and propped his feet up on the side of her seat.

Sam snorted and shoved them off.

"Smart ass bitch, huh?" he snorted and leaned forward, his drunken breath caressing her cheek. "How about I…."

"How about you nothing buddy," Flack said, as he got to his feet, crossed the short expanse of aisle, and pushed the guy back into his seat. "Just sit there and shut up."

"Who are you?" the young man asked. "Her bodyguard?"

"Her husband…and NYPD," Flack replied, lifting his jacket to show his badge. "So unless you want to find yourself cooling your heels in the drunk tank down in Central, I'd be a good boy and keep your mouth shut. Understand me?"

The kid held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, officer…sorry….I'll be good…."

Flack highly doubted it. He'd dealt with many a drunk asshole in his time on the force. Especially when he was a uniform. And if there was one thing he learned, it was that booze had a tendency to turn most people yappy, and nasty. And he didn't want, or need, his kids or Amanda to be witness to that. He stood beside Sam and motioned for her to pass him Kellan.

She gave a tiny whimper as she was handed over to her father. "Daddy…." she blinked in the bright light, her voice heavy with sleep as she curled her arms around his neck.

"It's okay, Kellan," he whispered to her, sitting back down in the seat he'd vacated and cuddling her tightly to him. "Just go to sleep baby."

"Are we home yet?" she asked.

"Not yet. Just close your eyes and take a nap, okay?"

She nodded and snuggled her head into his shoulder.

Sam waited until the train stopped to unload and pick up passengers before moving herself and Amanda and Kallison over to the seats behind her husband and snoozing daughter.

Several minutes of silence and peace passed by before Sam saw movement out of the corner of her eye, then smelled the booze as the same jack ass slipped into the seat behind her.

"Hey, officer," he slurred. "Officer…you think you'd can come to my place and get my cat out of a tree?" he asked, then cackled maniacally.

Sam rolled her eyes. "That's the FDNY moron," she said. "Now just shut up and leave us alone."

"I wasn't talking to you," he told her. "So you're the one that needs to shut up."

"Buddy, I am warning you right now," Flack shot the young man a stern glare over his shoulder. "One more word and someone is walking off this train with a busted face. And it won't be me."

The kid smirked. "So are these your kids?" he asked, waiting for Flack to turn around before not only asking the question, but run his fingers through Kallison's hair.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, and promptly burst into tears.

"Aww don't cry, sweetheart. You're a pretty little thing. A real pretty little thing. I wouldn't mind taking you and…"

All words ceased as Sam brought her elbow back into his face. Catching him square in the nose. Shattering it and causing him to bellow in pain and bring a hand up to attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

"Oh I'm sorry…" she gasped dramatically, laying a hand over her mouth as the young man fell off of his seat and onto the subway floor. "My elbow must have slipped."

To add insult to injury, every passenger on the train was clapping and cheering her on and congratulating her on being able to handle her own. Even Kallison and Amanda were smiling through their tears, obviously impressed with her.

"Nice one, babe," Flack commented, a huge smirk on her face. "Nice to see some of what you learned in the academy back there in Phoenix has stuck around for so long."

"Please…you've seen me take down bigger and better," she said. "Do we just leave him there writhing in pain?"

"We'll wait until the train stops, toss him out," Flack told her. "I'm seriously proud of you, babe."

She smiled and leaned over his seat to kiss his cheek.

"Never mess with a mommy," she declared.

* * *

His wife was in the kitchen of the Greenwich Village brownstone when Hawkes arrived home from the drive to and from Queens to drop Jasmine and Elijah off at the Flack house. He'd stayed for a few minutes, chatting in the front foyer with Samantha about her upcoming first day of work with Stella in New Jersey. He and Sam had always gotten along well. Since the first day she'd started at the lab and she'd asked him why in the hell a doctor would want to be a crime scene investigator. Hawkes had found himself easily opening up to that pretty young woman fresh from the Phoenix crime lab. He'd worked with Danny, both alongside of him, and as the ME, for years and it taken him a long time to ever tell the other man about the circumstances that saw him leaving the hospital in favour of the coroner's office. Samantha Ross was different. She had a warm, personable way about her. She slipped into your life quietly and unassumingly, and before long, you were spilling long concealed secrets and fears. Hawke s had found that they had a lot in common and shared similar interests. The conversations always flowed easily between them and they worked side by side solving cases as if they'd known each for years. Their opposites styles of dealing with perps and handling interrogations and their perceptions of the evidence making them a potent combination. He had considered, on numerous occasions, asking her out. But she had made it perfectly clear, in a conversation he'd over heard between Samantha and Danny, that she hadn't come to New York looking for a relationship, and had no intentions on falling into one.

Hawkes had kept his interest in her to himself after that. They'd become close, tight knit friends and it was a relationship that meant a hell of a lot to him. But when she'd hooked up with Flack a year into her new life in New York City, Hawkes had been both disappointed and somewhat surprised.

Samantha Ross and Don Flack Jr were total opposites. She was a tiny mouse of a thing -although she was more than capable of taking care of herself- and he was tall and strong and powerful looking. She was an ivy league graduate and he had a simple grade twelve. The only thing the two of them had in common were their excessively stubborn personalities and their sarcastic, dry wit.

Flack was a decent guy and a hell of a cop. Hawkes admired the other man for his determination and loyalty to not only the job, but his friends and his family. Flack was the guy you wanted covering your ass if you went in the door on a raid. Because despite conflicting opinions and personalities, Flack always had your back. No matter what. Hawkes trusted him with his life and the lives of his family.

But outside of work, things just didn't click between them. They were just too different. Their wives had been struggling for years to bring the two men closure, to make them friends. To no avail. Hawkes was as intimidated by the other man's size and strong, almost arrogant personality, as Flack was of Hawkes' intellect. And neither men knew what the other was thinking.

Hawkes had turned down the invitation offered by Flack to take off his coat and shoes for a while. To have a beer. Flack had sounded sincere, but had looked more then a little uncomfortable. As if his wife had put him up to asking.

"Jasmine and Elijah got settled okay at Sam's place?" Mari, in a simple ruby red sweater dress, asked her husband, as she stood at the kitchen counter, working intently on trays of Cuban, Latin and North American food she was planning on serving their guests.

"They made themselves right at home," Hawkes replied, and standing behind her, place a tender kiss to the nape of her neck as she circled her waist from behind.

"I'm glad that Sam and Don agreed to come," Mari enthused. "We haven't seen them in a while. Couple wise."

Hawkes nodded and peeked her cheek and moved to the fridge. Opening it, he took out a bottle of Stella Artois and twisted off the cap.

"Don't look too excited," Mari commented.

"About?" he asked, leaning against the counter across from him and taking a sip of his beer.

"Sam and Flack coming over."

"I don't have a problem with Samantha," Hawkes said.

Mari shot him a look over her shoulder.

"Or with Flack," he added quickly.

His wife sighed and went back to her food preparation. "Would it kill you to actually like the guy?" she asked.

"I like Flack," Hawkes told her. "He's a great guy. We just don't have anything in common. All he ever wants to talk about when we get together is hockey.'

"Well that's what he likes," Mari reasoned. "And I don't see you taking it upon yourself to change the conversation. He has a lot more interests then that. You just don't give him the chance to talk about them. He's not a stupid man, Sheldon."

"I never said he was. I just said we don't have a lot in common. I have no problem with Flack. I just find it hard to get friendly with him. Especially when he gets all those sarcastic comments rolling."

"That's a defensive mechanism," she said. "He turns that part of him on when he's trying to prevent himself from being hurt."

Hawkes laughed at that. "I doubt he's worried about something like that. Flack isn't the type to worry about what people think, or say, about him."

"You just might be surprised to find out how untrue that really is," Mari told her husband.

"I still find it hard to believe sometimes that those two are even together," Hawkes commented.

"Sam and Don?"

Hawkes nodded.

"Why?"

"Because they're just so different. She's this beautiful, compassionate yet feisty Ivy league educated woman and he's just…well…he's just Flack.'

Mari snorted. "I'll have you know, that Don Flack is an exceptionally good looking man."

Hawkes frowned.

"And that Sam and him are not that much different from each other. And even if they were, who cares? They met and they fell in love. Plain and simple. There's obviously a lot about him that she's attracted to and that she is. She adores him. To death. And he loves her to eternity."

"If he did, he wouldn't have cheated on her," Hawkes commented.

"That was months ago," Mari told him.

"It still happened. You love someone that much, you don't hurt them like that."

"We have not idea what was going on in their house and in their relationship at that point in time," Mari argued. "And it was none of our business. They've always handled their problems maturely and quietly. The important thing is that things got worked out and they're still together. And they have two beautiful little girls. They're just little dolls. You can't deny that, Sheldon."

"I'm just making observations, Mari," her husband said. "Things I see and hear. Just commenting on them. You can't tell me you don't find them an odd couple."

"I do," she admitted. "But they love one another. And a lot of people probably find us an odd couple. You were this child prodigy who graduated college at eighteen and was a board certified surgeon at twenty-four. And here you are, married to someone with a nursing degree who was married and had a baby at a young age and divorced not long after. I am sure a lot of people found it strange when you hooked up with a half Puerto Rican, half African American single mother."

"It didn't matter to me what people thought," Hawkes told her. "I love you."

"And Sam loves Don and he loves her. They're not the only couple in the world that are complete opposites. We just have to look in our own house to see that."

Hawkes grinned. "You just have this way of subtly shooting me down," he said.

"I just think you're too hard on Don," Mari told him.

"That's because you have a crush on him," Hawkes said.

His wife rolled her eyes. "Let's not get into that."

"It's not like it's a secret, Mari. Everyone knows. He's the one that got away."

"No…he's the one that never was," she corrected him. "There was never a me and Don. And there was never going to be. He didn't see me in that way."

Hawkes sipped his beer. "Does that bother you?" he asked.

"Not in the slightest," Mari replied. "But what does bother me is that it bothers you that Samantha never saw you that way."

Hawkes blinked.

"You're always talking about how beautiful she is. How smart she is. How she deserves so much better," Mari huffed.

"I do not…"

"You do!" she argued. "All the time. I know it burns your ass that she's with Don. You can't stand it. But I wonder if it's because you honestly don't like them together, or of it's because you wish it was you that was with her."

"I've never been interested in Samantha in that way," Hawkes argued.

Mari snorted and turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at him pointedly.

"Maybe at one point in time I was interested in her," Hawkes admitted. "But not now. And there hasn't been an interest in a long time."

"You just called her beautiful!"

"I find a lot of women beautiful, Mari. Just like you find a lot of men attractive. It doesn't mean that I'm interested in any of them."

His wife sighed heavily and turned her back on him. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

"No, I won't just forget about it," Hawkes said, and setting his bottle of beer down behind him, walked to his wife and laid his hands on her slender shoulders. "I love you, Mari. To the ends of the world and back again. You know that. We have two beautiful children together."

"One, " she corrected him.

"Two," he insisted. "Jasmine is my daughter. I raised her and love her as my own. And you gave me an amazing son who is the light of my life. You and our children are my entire existence. And for you to stand here and accuse me of having feelings for your best friend…"

"Well do you?" she asked.

"No. I don't. Samantha is a friend and a colleague. Or she was a colleague, I should say. I respect her and admire her. Simple as that. I love you and only you. You're my everything, Mari. You know that?'

She smiled and blinked back tears. "I'm sorry, Sheldon," she whispered. "I'm just so on edge lately. With Sam being fired from the lab and her and Don and the girls moving to New Jersey…"

"It's a shock," Hawkes said. "A big shock. But it's a bigger one for them, I can guarantee that. And they need our support, Mari. It's hard on them."

"I know," she sighed. "It just feels like this huge, important part of my life is coming to an end. And it's out of control and I can't stop it."

"You can't stop it," he told her. "They're doing this. Whether we like it or not. And we need to help them cope with it. You don't think leaving is going to be hard on them?"

"I know it will be."

"They're doing what's best for them, and their girls," Hawkes said, kissing her cheek and wrapping his arms around her slender body. "It's their lives. All we can do is sit back and watch things go down."

Mari nodded sadly. It was hard. Watching someone slip away from you. Someone that had meant so much in your life. That you had shared so much with. Letting go was hard, but not as hard as moving on.

* * *

Flack glanced up, pausing in dressing, as the bedroom door clicked open and his wife came wandering in. He could hear the girls and Amanda laughing and talking excitedly with Jasmine and Elijah in the basement. The dog barking out in the backyard as he frolicked in the snow. It was a twenty minutes after seven and Mari and Hawkes' party was scheduled to start at eight. Flack wondered how things were going to go if Mac was there. While he knew it wasn't Mac's fault that Sam had been fired, he was slightly pissed that Mac hadn't had a little more compassion in the way he had handled things. He'd dropped the news on her as if it was nothing more then telling her she couldn't have a requested day off.

But then again, Mac wasn't known for his empathy or his tact.

"You look hot," he told Sam, as she closed the door behind her. She had gotten dressed while he was still in the shower.

And she looked insanely attractive in an off the shoulder emerald green top that made her golden brown eyes pop and showed off her willowy figure and a sleek black skirt that skimmed the top of her knees. Black leotards and black leather boots that reached mid calf completed the look.

"You're prejudiced," she said, but there was a smile on her face as she took a seat on the edge of their bed. "I need to escape. All those kids in one place is driving me insane."

"It's a hell of a lot of yelling and freaking out," Flack agreed. "What's up with Kellan and Kallison? Too much ice cream?"

"Too much something apparently. They're bouncing off the walls down there. Did you check the messages when you got home?"

Flack nodded as he slipped into a pair of khaki coloured cargo style pants and zipped them up and buttoned them.

"Was there a message from Danny and Lindsay?"

"They had left one to tell us that they'd arrived safely and to leave us the number they could be contacted at. Why? You were worried?"

"A little," she admitted. "I know what kind of maniac driver Danny is. And with all that snow out there…"

"Well they're fine."

"I've already bathed the girls and put them in their pyjamas," Sam told him, watching as he pulled on a navy blue Tommy Hilfiger sweater with white, light blue and red stripes that ran horizontally around the torso. "But I told them they could stay up until midnight."

Flack arched an eyebrow.

"They wanted to watch the ball drop," Sam explained. "I said they could but had to go to bed and be asleep by the time we got home."

"Five bucks says they don't get past ten o'clock," Flack said.

"Make it twenty," Sam told him. "Don't be so cheap."

"I think I need to start giving you a bigger allowance," he teased.

"You look awful handsome tonight," Sam said. "Gotta look hot for your girlfriend, huh?"

"Naw…gotta look out for my wife. And so I don't look like a chump standing beside her. You're a hard thing to compete with, babe."

She grinned.

He leaned down and kissed her softly.

"You just always have the right thing to say," Sam said, as she stood up and smoothed her skirt down.

"Eight years of practice with you," Flack told her, closing the door as he followed her out the room. "It has been one hell of a learning experience being with you."

"Please. You'd die without me, Don. Or live the rest of your life alone and miserable. Or you'd…"

He grabbed a hold of her by the hips and pinned her up against the wall and covered her lips with his in a long, sizzling kiss. One hand sliding from her hip and over her ass, the other drifting up her body, grazing over her breasts and along her neck before his fingers tangled in her hair.

"Damn…" she said, when the need for air broke them apart. "What was that for?" she asked, as he pecked her forehead before pulling away from her and heading for the landing

"Just giving you a little preview," he told her, as he journeyed down the stairs. "Once that clock strikes midnight, babe…"

She blew her bangs off of her forehead and used her hand to fan herself off. Taking a couple of minutes to compose herself before following after her.

Ready to begin the New Year.

And afterwards, a new beginning.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! And I know there's lots of you. So please, please, please R and R folks! I appreciate it!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**TwinkeyRocks**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Forest Angel**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Soccer-bitch**

**marialisa**


	28. Countdown to 2017: Evening

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND ANY OTHER OC YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE. SAVE FOR MARI AND JASMINE WHO ARE OWNED BY HOPE4SALL.**

* * *

**Countdown to 2017: Evening**

"In a way, I need a change  
From this burnout scene  
Another time, another town, another everything  
But it's always back to you  
Stumble out in the night  
From the pouring rain  
Made the block, sat and thought  
There's more I need  
It's always back to you  
But I'm good without ya  
Yeah I'm good without you  
Yeah, yeah, yeah  
How many times can I break 'til I shatter?  
Over the line, can't define what I'm after  
I always turn the car around  
Give me a break; let me make my own pattern  
All that it takes is some time  
But I'm shattered  
I always turn the car around."  
-Shattered (Turn the Car Around) O.A.R

* * *

The happiest place on earth was anything but for Adam Ross.

At eight thirty in the evening, while his wife and children and his parents were out enjoying the nightly parade and fireworks show in the Magic Kingdom, Adam found himself alone and despondent. Sitting on the floor in the master bedroom of his family's tenth floor suite in Disney's All Star Resort. A nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, phone in the other, as he leaned back against the sliding glass door that led out onto the balcony. Oblivious to the laughing and cheerfulness of fellow tourists frolicking in and around the pool ten stories below. An indescribable, horrific ache in his chest and tears flowing free and easy down his cheeks.

What had begun as a family vacation had quickly turned into a personal nightmare. Five days into their vacation and two days before they were scheduled to return to New York City, his wife had announced over breakfast in bed that their marriage just wasn't working anymore. For her, at least. She had said that she wasn't feeling the same way for him as she had when they'd met and married six years before. That she hadn't felt that way in a long time. Since Sebastian had been born. But she had felt she had owed it to her children to stick around and try to make their lives as simple as possible. Even if it meant living with a man she no longer loved.

Adam had been shell shocked. Absolutely speechless as Paisley sat there, with absolutely no remorse or regret on her face as she laid things out as plain as day. He had been blindsided. Just the night before they'd had a romantic, adults only night just twelve hours before. His parents had watched the kids while the young couple had a quaint, candlelight dinner in a small Italian bistro in Disney World proper. Afterwards they strolled the park hand in hand. He'd bought her flowers from a street vendor and then they'd stopped on the small bridge facing Cinderella's castle and watched the fireworks display, their arms wrapped loving around each other. Not once had Paisley appeared or sounded unhappy. There'd be a musical tone to her laugh and her eyes had sparkled and danced. And the words I love you had passed her lips several times as they made love more then once upon their return to the hotel.

Her announcement had rendered Adam speechless. He had been able to do little more then sit and stare at her with his mouth agape and his heart hammering in his chest and the blood thundering in his cranium. Besieged by thoughts of what had gone so wrong so quick and what would happen to the children? The thought of not being under the same roof as his kids shattered his spirit. There was no way in hell he would ever get through the atrocities and nightmares of the job without his family. They were his shining lights. The beacons that saw him through the hardest of days and the darkest of nights. And a life without Octavia and Sebastian was a life that wasn't worth living.

And he'd wondered how in the hell, this normally compassionate and sensitive beauty sitting at the end of the bed could remain so cold and distant while single handily destroying his life. She showed no shred of emotion. In fact, she'd looked over at him and took in his shocked expression and gave a rueful snort and told him to snap out of it and stop acting like a damn baby.

He'd come this-close to physically striking her and knocking that smug, arrogant look off of her face. And Adam Ross was a lover, not a fighter. Always had been. Growing up he'd taken the beats at the hands of his father and never stood up for himself. He'd always turned the other cheek and cowered, let his sister defend him and come to his aid. Then watched helplessly as she was beaten twice as bad as he was simply because she stuck up for him. But hearing the words flowing out of Paisley's mouth and bearing witness to her indifference, nearly pushed him over the edge.

And he would have physically struck her had it not been for Octavia knocking on their bedroom door, and asking daddy in that little voice of hers if he wanted to go down to the swimming pool with her before breakfast. That innocent five year old had saved her father from doing something he would have regretted for the rest of his life. Something he knew, as he thought about it early, that Paisley could have easily used against him in court to keep his children away from him. And he said nothing to his wife as he simply slid out of bed and got dressed and joined his little girl in the next room.

Outwardly, he was a rock solid and loving dad to his children all day. Going on rides with them, treating them to candy and souvenirs, having a blast in the water parks and chasing down Mickey and Minnie Mouse so they could have their pictures taken with them. Yet inside, Adam Ross was a ticking time bomb. He put on a fake smile and offered up a fake laugh, but he was teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

Which was why he'd used the excuse of a head ache to get out of the New Years Eve festivities. He needed some time alone. To sit in a dark room and feel sorry for himself and drink himself into oblivion if he felt like it. Some time to rant and rave and curse the world and the dark cloud that seemed to follow him around all his life.

He needed someone to talk to. Someone who'd been through their fair share up highs and lows in their course of their marriage but who had somehow, even when all seemed lost, hold shit together. Someone that loved their better half with every ounce of their being and who would understand what it was like to still love and adore someone that hurt you so goddamn bad. Who would listen to him without reservation and not judge him or make fun of how he was feeling. Who was a constant pillar of support and occasional wisdom and who'd always, always had Adam's back in a crisis whether it was personal or professional.

He needed that support at the moment. Craved it desperately. Yet at the same time, it was New Years Eve and he no desire to wreck the quiet night at home he knew that his confidant had had in store. He didn't want to bring other people down with his problems.

Sighing heavily, he took a large swig from the bottle of rye and closed his eyes as he leaned the back of his head against the sliding glass door behind him. The ache in his chest was unbearable. The mixture of rage and sadness unshakable.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the cordless phone clutched tightly in his hand. He was worried that if he didn't make that call, if he didn't reach out, that he wasn't going to make it through the night. Because with the state he was in, Adam Ross was more than capable of doing something completely and utterly foolish.

Mind made up, he downed the last of the JD and tossed the bottle in the direction of the waste basket in the corner. It hit the edge of the pail and tumbled to the floor, spilling out the minute remainder of liquor onto the plush rose carpeting. He dialled the familiar number, and taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he steeled himself and held the phone to his ear and waited.

There was a soft click as someone picked up on the fourth ring, and he was about to start spilling his guts even before the person had a chance to speak, when he was greeted by a tiny, angelic voice that brought a smile to his tortured lips.

* * *

"Hello!" the little voice chirped. "Flack redence!"

"It's residence," he corrected.

"That's what I said Uncle Peanut! Flack redence!"

Adam couldn't contain his laugh. "Where did you learn that Kellan?" he asked.

"Papa Mac taught me that," she replied. "Do you miss me Uncle Peanut?"

"Of course I do. I miss you very, very, very much."

"Is it fun in Disney World?" she asked curiously. "Are you going on lots of rides? Eating lots of candy? Have you seen Mickey Mouse? Have you been in Cinderella's castle?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes," he replied. "And I bought both you and your sister something extra special from the castle."

"You did?" Kellan squealed with excitement. "What is it?"

"Well if I told you it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

"No…and I like suprises, Uncle Peanut!"

"Surprises…"

Kellan sighed dramatically. "It's what I said! Suprises."

Adam grinned. "What are you doing up so late, Mighty Mouse?"

"Mommy said we could stay up late so we could watch the ball drop in Times Square," she told him. "And we get to have hot chocolate and popcorn and cookies and lots and lots of goodies."

"Sounds like fun. Are you being a good girl?"

"Of course, Uncle Peanut!"

"Is your dad there, sweet pea?" Adam asked. "I need to talk to him about something."

"Daddy's not here," she told her uncle. "He's gone out."

"Is mommy there?"

"She's with daddy. They're on a date."

"Oh…well does daddy have his cell phone with him?"

"I don't know," the little girl said.

"Well does mommy have her cell phone?" Adam asked.

"I don't know," Kellan answered.

"Do you know anything?" he chuckled.

"I don't know…"

He laughed even harder at that.

"Mommy and daddy are at Uncle Shelly's house," Kellan told him. "On a date. Jasmine is baby sitting us. She's a bad babysitter. She and Michael were playing kissey face on the couch and she knocked pop all over Holly and I got upset and called nine one one looking for daddy and then I got in trouble 'cause daddy said that it wasn't an ergency. But I told daddy it was 'cause Holly was all sticky and gross!"

"And did he…"

"And then I told daddy to come home and arrest Jas for hurting Holly!" Kellan continued "'Cause that's what he does, you know Uncle Peanut. He arrests bad people and puts them in jail and they get old and die there. But Jas didn't get arrested or put in jail. But I still think she's bad for hurting Holly."

"Well I'm sure she didn't mean it," her uncle assured her.

"Yes she did!" Kellan cried. "She was playing kissey face on the couch and daddy already told her before that if she did it again he'd kick her ass!"

"Kellan…" Adam said in a scolding tone.

"Well that's what he said, Uncle Peanut!"

"I know that's what he said, but that's not a word you should be saying."

"What word? Ass? That word Uncle Peanut?"

"That's a bad word, Kellan."

"Not it's not. It's not a swear!"

"Yes, it is."

"No…daddy told mommy it's not a swear. It's a part of the human body. And then mommy called him a knob and told him to put five dollars in the swear jar! And you know what, Uncle Peanut?"

"What?" he asked, biting back his laughter.

"The swear jar is almost full! And it's all daddy's money in it! Daddy says he's poor now."

"He probably is," Adam said.

"Mommy keeps telling him to watch his mouth. But how does he do that, Uncle Peanut? How does daddy watch his mouth? I try to watch my mouth and I can't make my eyes go that far. Does he take his eyes out to watch his mouth? How does he do it?"

"It's just a figure of speech Kellan," her uncle told her.

"A what?" she asked.

"A figure of speech," he said. "Mommy doesn't really mean that he has to watch his mouth. She just means not to swear so much."

"Oh…I get it! 'Cause daddy has a sewer mouth!"

"That's pretty much it," Adam laughed. "Look sweetie sweets, it's getting late so I better say goodbye for now, okay?"

"Oh…okay…" she said, sounding more than a tad disappointed. "Are you coming home soon, Uncle Peanut?"

"Couple more days," he told her.

"Two more sleeps?" Kellan asked.

"Three more," he replied.

"Alright…I guess that's okay…I'm sad…I miss you."

Adam smiled. "I miss you, too. You tell your sister I said hi, okay? And make sure you're both good for Jasmine."

"Alright, Uncle Peanut. I promise we'll be good."

"I'll see you both in a couple of days, Kellan. Have a nice sleep, okay?"

"Okay…wait! Uncle Peanut! I forgot to tell you!"

"What's that sweetie?"

"There's a sign in front of our house. Daddy says it's a for sale sign. 'Cause someone new is going to move in to our house and we're going to live in a different one somewhere far, far away."

Adam frowned. That was the first he'd ever heard of his sister leaving town. "Do you know where this place is?" he asked.

"No. But I know it's really far!"

"What's the name of it?" Adam asked.

"New Jersey. Do you know where it is Uncle Peanut? Is it nice there? Will the kids like me? Will we have a nice house?"

"It's not that far," he assured her. "But why are you moving there?"

"'Cause Papa Mac kicked mommy to the curb. That's what daddy said. I heard him and mommy talking."

Adam squeezed his eyes shut. Unable to comprehend the information being tossed out at him.

"But mommy's got a new job!" Kellan announced. "Working with Auntie Stellie. You know Auntie Stellie right Uncle Peanut?"

"I do," he said. "When does mommy go and work for Auntie Stellie?"

"Next week," Kellan told him. "I think…I don't know for sure. I just know that she is."

"Well I'll have to talk to mommy about that," Adam said. "I'm going to let you go now, okay?"

"Let me go where?" his niece asked.

"I mean I'm hanging up now."

"Oh!" she giggled. "Okay…night night, Uncle Peanut. I love you bunches."

"Night night," he echoed. "I love you bunches and bunches."

"Bye!" Kellan chirped.

Adam heard the dull click as his little niece hung up the phone. He pressed end and sat staring down at the phone in his hand for what seemed like an eternity. So many words were jumbled together in his pounding head. First it was hearing that the love of his life hated his guts and wanted him out of her life. Now it was his niece telling him that her family was moving from the city. And that her mother had been fired from her job and was working in a different state.

Adam sighed heavily and began dialling once again.

The night couldn't possibly get any worse.

* * *

The Hawkes' brownstone was festively decorated for the holidays. White Christmas lights surrounded the frames of each window and sparkled around the front door. In the spacious living room, a Christmas tree tastefully decorated with white lights and silver and red ornaments sat in the far corner. It's pine scent filling the room. A red velvet tree skirt with silver trim lay around the base, and on the mantel of the white wood, gas fireplace, four colourful and elaborately embroidered stockings hung from ornate pewter holders.

The food and desserts that Mari had both bought and prepared, were laid out on linen covered card tables set up in both the living and dining area while soft music and the smell of baked goods travelled through the house.

Mari cheerfully greeted her friends at the front door. Ushering them inside and through the breeze way before offering to take their coats for them.

"I am so glad you could both make it out for the night for a change," Mari said, as Flack kissed both of her cheeks in greeting. "When was the last time you two actually got out of the house together?"

"With or without kids?" Flack inquired, helping Sam out of her coat before removing his own and handing both to Mari.

"Without obviously," Mari replied, as she moved to the closet to hang their jackets.

"I don't know," Flack said, laying a hand on the small of his wife's back as they followed Mari into the living room. "I'd say…give or take…nearly five years?"

Mari stopped walking and turned and stared at him.

"No word of a lie," Flack told her. "We haven't been on a date, like a real date, since the girls were about five months old."

Mari's eyes widened.

Flack chuckled. "It's no joke. Why would I make up something that sad and pathetic? We work a lot. We barely see each other some times from one day to the next never mind find time for a romantic night out."

"Most nights we don't even have our bed to ourselves," Sam added.

"For longer than fifteen minutes anyway," Flack said. "And yes, I know that makes me sound bad. A fifteen minute man. But what are you suppose to do under the circumstances?"

"Don't feel bad, Don," Mari laughed. "I have friends whose husbands unfortunately go fourteen minutes less than that on a great night."

"Now that is just a waste of time," Sam declared. "Takes longer to get undressed."

"What are you talking about?" her husband asked. "Takes me ten and a half seconds to get you naked."

"Well we weren't talking about you," Sam replied. "We all know you're in a league of your own, honey."

He grinned and ran a hand over her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. "You know, you're lucky I love you."

"I count my blessings every day, Donald," she said.

Mari laughed at their playfulness. "The other guests should be arriving soon," she told them. "My mom and her boyfriend, Rick Santucci and some new girl he's dating. Marty Pino is coming with that new wife be brought back from San Fran with him. And there's some girls I worked at the hospital wife and a couple of friends of Sheldon's. Not a major crowd or anything. Things were under control when you guys left?"

"The girls were bouncing off the walls from the junk food they ate today at the Disney on Ice thing. Jasmine should have her hands full," Flack responded. "As long as that little shit boyfriend of hers doesn't come around my house, it's all good."

"We talked to her about that," Mari sighed. "She promises it won't happen again. And for her sake, it better now."

"Wait until I get a hold of Michael Taylor," Flack said. "Him and his 'my dad was a Marine so that makes me all big and bad'. I swear to you, I will knock that kid into the middle of next week. Last time me and him had it out, the little bastard actually told me that his dad would have my ass if I even looked at him the wrong way. Mac and Kelli coming tonight?"

"Mac elected to work," Mari told him.

Flack snorted. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Kelli's entertaining his mother for the evening," Mari said. "She wanted to come, but things are a little…I don't know."

"Fucked up?" Flack offered. "She's raging pissed that he was such as ass when he fired Sam."

"And she should be," Mari declared. "You would have thought that he'd be a little more gentle about it."

"You would think. But I've come to expect cold from him. Love Mac, but sometimes he is damn difficult to take."

Sam nodded in agreement. "It's done now, though. No sense dwelling on it. He did what he had to do and we're doing what we have to do."

Mari sighed. "Can't say I'm thrilled with either of you at the moment. But…do you guys want something to drink? Sam, I've got some red wine chilled just for you. I'm sure you can have a couple of glasses at least."

"Sounds good," Sam said. "I'm dying for some alcohol to be honest."

"Don?" Mari asked. "I've got JD, white and red wine, tequila, Guinness…"

"JD and coke is fine, thanks," he replied.

"So a glass of wine and a triple JD and Coke coming up," Mari said, and headed for the kitchen.

"A double!" Flack corrected her.

"Yeah, right," she laughed, and disappeared from view.

"I'm going to go and see if she needs a hand with anything," Sam said, laying her hand on her husband's forearm.

"We just get here and you bail on me?"

"It's only for a few minutes," Sam assured him. "You're a big boy, Don. Make nice with Sheldon, okay?"

"What are we suppose to talk about?" he asked, as his wife walked away.

"I don't know. The weather, work, sports…"

Flack rolled his eyes.

"The difference between RNA and DNA," she suggested with a grin.

"You're a goddamn smart ass," he informed her.

* * *

"So…" Hawkes said, as he and Flack, sitting across from one another on the love seat and sofa in the living room, sipped their drinks.

"So…" Flack echoed, swirling the ice around in his glass.

"How about them Rangers?" Hawkes asked.

The homicide detective grinned. "You don't have to talk sports with me, Doc. It's okay. I know it's kind of awkward when we get together outside of work. Neither of us know what to talk about."

Hawkes sighed and nodded. "I'm doing this for Mari. She wants us to be friends. It's a huge deal for her. And I told her that we are friends. We're just not the kind of friends that hit the bars together and go to hockey and basketball games and sit around watching football and drinking beer and eating pizza and wings. It's not like we have a problem with each other."

"We're just not out of work buddies," Flack concluded. "We're just too different in our personal lives. Nothing wrong with that, I don't think. I know it means a lot to Sammie too. And no offence, but I'm here because of her. Because she wants things to be perfect."

"Nothing is perfect," Hawkes said.

"That's what I keep telling her," Flack sipped her drink. "But I figure whatever little piece of happiness she can get is a good thing, right? Considering how the past year has been for us."

Hawkes nodded. "How has she been feeling?" he asked "How's the fibromyalgia been?"

"Okay," Flack said. "She's on that new-ish drug. Lyrica? She's been taking that for a couple of weeks now and she says she can notice the difference. Not as much stiffness and aches. And not as many side effects as with the other drugs she was popping. Before she was getting headaches and nausea and some dizziness. She says that the new drug hasn't affected her that way."

"Have you noticed any difference?" Hawkes asked.

"I've noticed she's not bitchy and moody. Her temperament is at a pretty even keel. And she seems less on edge and less irritable. Happier. Much, much happier."

"And intimacy wise?"

Flack laughed. "I'm not talking about that kind of thing with you, Doc."

"We're friends, right? Friends talk about stuff like this. And I happen to be a doctor and I've written Sam many a script myself."

"It's just…I don't talk about that kind of thing," Flack told him. "Not with anyone."

"Consider this is a conversation between a concerned husband and a physician," Hawkes said.

The detective sighed and took a sip of his drink. "In all honesty? Things are awesome. Intimacy wise things are pretty damn incredible. She's not complaining half way through about being in pain and wanting things over and done with. She's initiating things. Showing genuine interest. Enjoying it. Immensely."

"And…"

"And what? It's an amazing change from what she used to be like on those other meds. Two months ago, when she was having some down time, I couldn't get within five feet of her. Now she's affectionate and loving and I can't get enough of it."

"But…"

"But…" Flack sighed. "But I can't help but think how it's only short term and wonder how long it's going to last."

Hawkes nodded in understanding.

"Sam hadn't been Sam in a long time," Flack said quietly. "And lately she's back to being Sam again. And I missed that Sam, you know?"

Hawkes nodded again.

"Not that I don't love her all the time," Flack added quickly. "Just when she's the other Sam, things get really, really tough between us and it gets tiring and there's times I feel like I can't take it anymore. And I know that makes me sound like a real selfish bastard."

"Makes you sound human," the other man said. "There's been a lot to deal with, Flack. It's hard when the person you love the most is ill and you want to help them but can't. You want so badly to make the pain go away, to ease their suffering and you're completely helpless. There's nothing you can do. It's a tough road to hoe. I don't envy you that's for sure."

"Pity is the last thing I want from anyone," Flack told him, almost defensively.

"It's not pity. Or sympathy. I won't even sit here and tell you that I understand what you're going through. But I will sit here and tell you that you're doing a hell of a job with all of this. You take care of your wife and your kids, handle things when Sam gets ill. A lesser man would simply walk away."

"I love her to much to just walk away," Flack said. "She's my wife. The mother of my kids. I wouldn't just leave her to deal with all of that on her own."

"You're a strong person, Flack," Hawkes said. "But even the strongest people have the right to be weak sometimes."

The detective snorted.

"Weakness is not something to be ashamed about," the other man said.

"I don't do weak," Flack told him. "It's just not me. Blame my father for that, I guess."

"Well you are a stubborn bastard," Hawkes told him. "You always have been. I mean, I distinctly remember telling you after the bombing when you were ready to come back, to take another month. But you just wouldn't hear a damn thing about it and insisted that you were ready and you were going to do things your own way."

Flack grinned.

"You've come a hell of a long way," Hawkes said. "And I know there's been some shitty times in your life and you've made some shitty ass choices through the years, but you're an amazing family man and you should be proud of your wife and your marriage and your kids."

"I am," Flack said. "Sam and the girls are my everything. They're my reasons for getting up every morning. Putting up with the bullshit of the job. I wouldn't do it if it wasn't for them, trust me."

"Our families are our entire lives," Hawkes agreed. "I think we've all come a long way. Especially in the last five or six years."

Flack gave a small laugh and sipped his drink. "You can't say that again. Sometimes I sit back and I think about what I was like ten years ago and I can't believe how different my life is now. I'm a husband and a father. Surreal. Especially when I always swore I'd never be either."

"Life is full of surprises," Hawkes said. "I never thought I'd ever met someone and love them as much as I do. Have a family of my own. And now I can't seem to remember my life without Mari and Jasmine and Elijah."

"I don't think I even existed before Sam," Flack laughed. "Either that or the old me seized to exist and a new me took it's place."

"We're lucky to have the women we have, in our lives," Hawkes said.

Flack nodded. "Still find it hard to believe she wanted anything to do with a shmuck like me," he declared, winking at his wife as she entered the room, a glass of wine in one hand, gingerbread cookie in the other.

"Shmuck," she rolled her eyes. "You bringing the Yiddish to the party or what?" she asked, as she sat down beside him on the couch. "What were you two talking about? Sports?"

"Women," Hawkes told her. "Two in specific."

"Lucky girls," she said and took a bite out of the gingerbread man's left arm. "I was just telling Mari, that if we move into the new place and have plumbing problems, I'm going to call you Sheldon."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Considering how handy you were at pulling apart that public toilet back in the day," Sam told him.

"You're just such a smart ass," Hawkes informed her.

"I don't think I will ever forget that case," Flack declared. "Woman drowns in an automated, public toilet."

"I'll never forget what you said to Mac and I when we showed up," Sam said. "Or one of the things you said. It cracked me up at the time. Of course I had to hide my amusement from Mac because I swear he frowns upon laughing or smiling on the job."

"What did I say?" Flack asked, laying his arm around her shoulders. "Something incredibly intelligent and charmingly witty I'm sure."

"You don't remember?" she asked, sipping her wine.

He shook his head.

"You said, 'Let's put it this way. If a porta-potty and a dishwasher were to ever mix it up, this thing would be it's offspring.'"

Hawkes laughed.

"I can't believe you don't remember that," Sam said to her husband.

"I don't have the never ending memory chip that you do," Flack informed her. "You remember everything. You probably even remember what I was wearing that day."

"I do actually," she said and took a bite out of her cookie. "But I mostly remember certain things you've said during cases that just made me laugh. My personal favourite was that case with that Mitchell Bentley the third and you stood there and in all seriousness told Mac and I 'they should have stopped at two'."

"I've had better lines then that," Flack argued.

"That made me want to laugh like hell," she said. "And you're entire face the whole time we were in talking to Laughing Larry. How about I shtick you in lock up. Classic."

"She remembers everything," Flack told Hawkes. "Everything."

"I do," Sam declared. "Or maybe I don't. I forgot to tell Hawkes when I came out here that Mari wanted to see him in the kitchen."

"Okay. So you can remember things that happened ten years ago but not ten minutes ago," Flack concluded.

She directed a playful elbow to his stomach.

He pulled her into him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "What'cha got there?" he asked her, as Hawkes headed for the kitchen.

"Mari made gingerbread men," Sam replied. "I've named him Chuck."

"You've named your cookie?"

Sam nodded. "I will have you know that Chuck is the perfect man," she said.

"What makes him perfect?" Flack asked.

"Well, he's quiet, unassuming. Doesn't leave the toilet seat up or his socks and underwear on the floor. And if he gets mouthy with me, guess what?"

"I am afraid to ask," her husband sighed.

"He gets lippy, I can bite his head off!" she cried, and proceeded to chomp the gingerbread man's head clear off.

"You know," Flack said, a grimace on his face. "That actually physically hurt me."

"I'd never bit yours off," Sam assured him. "Because if I did that, I'd have no use for you."

He frowned. "Nice to know at least one part of me is appreciated," he said.

"The most important part," she teased, her eyes sparkling playfully.

He kissed her softly. Then pulled away, a frown on his face as he felt his cell phone vibrate against him.

"Oh please tell me that isn't Jasmine," Sam said, as he slipped the phone from it's carrier. "Please tell me that the girls haven't plugged the downstairs toilet again and it's flooding our basement."

"It's a long distance number," Flack said, studying the call display. "Maybe Danny and Lindsay?"

"Maybe. Or your parents. They were going to Buffalo this weekend to see your uncle."

He nodded and flipped the phone open and pressed talk. "Yeah…Flack…" he said in way of greeting.

"Don?"

"Adam?" he asked, surprised that his brother in law would be calling him on New Years Eve while on vacation. And even more surprised at the sound of the younger man's voice. It sounded as if Adam was crying. And the only reason Adam would be crying was if there was something wrong with his wife or kids. "What's up, buddy?" he asked.

"I needed someone to talk to," his brother in law replied.

"Your sister's right here. Just…"

"No!" Adam cried. "Not Sam! I don't want to talk to Sam! If I wanted to talk to Sam I would have called her phone. It's you. I want to talk to you."

"Alright…" Flack said, alarmed by the emotional state Adam appeared to be in. "What's going on?"

"Is Sam there?" he asked.

"You just said that…"

"I know what I said! Is she there?"

"She's sitting right beside me. Why…?"

"I don't want her to hear what I'm talking about. Can you tell her you need to talk to me in private? I don't want her to know what I'm about to tell you. Not until I'm ready to tell her myself. Can you do that?"

"Yeah…hang on a second…" Flack put the call on hold. "Your brother wants to talk to me," he told his wife.

"In private?" she asked, slightly concerned as he stood up from the couch.

"Guess it's guy talk," Flack replied. "I'm going to go out and have a smoke anyway. I'll be in in a few. Okay?"

She nodded and accepted a kiss. "Is it bad?"she asked.

"Naw. He just wants to talk to another guy about stuff. No big deal. I won't be long."

"Okay…" she said, scepticism in her voice and eyes as she watched her husband, drink in hand, walk through the living room and disappear into the front foyer. She heard him open and close the front closet, and thenthe door to the breezeway open and shut.

_What is that all about?_ Sam thought, trying not to let her imagination run away from her.

* * *

Flack sat his drink on the small, snow covered front porch and pulled a pack of cigarettes and a light from his coat pocket. He shook out a smoke, lit it and returned the pack to his jacket before pressing the hold button on his cell phone.

"Adam?" he asked.

"I'm still here," the pained voice answered.

"What's up, buddy?" Flack inquired. "And don't say nothing. 'Cause one, you wouldn't be calling and wanting to talk to me and not your sister if it wasn't something huge. And two, you couldn't sound the way you do. So don't bullshit me here."

"I'm sorry for calling you, Don," his brother in law said. "I just really needed to talk to someone. I didn't want to ruin your New Years Eve or…"

"You're not ruining anything," Flack assured him. "Important thing right now is getting to the bottom of whatever the hell is eating you. So? What's going on?"

"It's Paisley," he said.

"Something happened to her? She get into an accident? Take sick or something?"

"She's leaving me," Adam told his brother in law, near tears once again. "She told me this morning. "

Flack didn't respond. Too shocked by the announcement to formulate a thought in his brain.

"Don?" Adam asked.

"I'm here," he replied. "I would have sworn you just said that Paisley is leaving you."

"That is what I said," Adam told him. "She is leaving me. She told me this morning."

"What in the hell is going on?" Flack asked. "There never seemed to be any trouble in paradise for the two of you?"

"There wasn't!" Adam cried. "Everything was going great! Awesome marriage, amazing kids, the whole nine."

"So…"

"I don't know what happened! She just sat down on the bed this morning and told me that she wanted out. That she didn't love me anymore and hadn't loved me in a long time."

"Adam…I don't know…"

"She told me that she'd stuck with me because she felt she owed it to the kids to make it work," he tearfully continued. "And that she couldn't stand living a lie anymore!"

Flack sighed.

"And she wasn't even upset! She didn't even feel bad about what she was saying!" Adam sobbed noisily. "She didn't even care that she was destroying me! She told me to suck it up and stop acting like a baby!"

"I know this is going to make me sound like a prick," Flack said. "But if you're sister ever said that to me, I'd fucking smack her silly. Not that I'm condoning or saying I beat my wife or anything like that."

"No…no I understand what you mean. It's exactly how I felt. Like I wanted to kick the shit out of her."

"That's a scary goddamn feeling," Flack said. "Trust me, I know. So what did you do?"

"Sucked it up and went on with the day. Put on a brave, happy front for the kids."

"Paisley say anything else to you?"

"Nothing. She's barely looked at me let alone talk to me."

"And where is she now?" Flack asked.

"Out with my parents and the kids. I'm in the room."

"Doing what?"

"Drinking myself into oblivion."

"Been there, done that," Flack sighed. "Many a time in the past eight plus years. Fucking women just drive us mental."

"I don't know if I can take this," Adam cried. "This pain inside! I don't know if I can take this Don! It hurts so fucking bad!"

"I know it does, buddy," Flack tried to remain as calm and collected as possible. "I know it does. It fucking sucks to hear shit like that. I speak from experience. Think it felt good to hear shit like that from your sister? And more then once? It was like a kick in the fucking gut to hear it. But you know what? For the most part I deserved it. I deserved it and I learned from it. And once your sister calmed down and we sat and talked about shit, it was all good again. And maybe tomorrow, when Paisley gets her head out of her ass, you'll find that's what happens in your situation too."

""No…" Adam said. "That's not going to happen. It's over. It's just over."

"You don't know that," Flack told him. "You don't…"

"I do!" Adam yelled. "I do know that! It's over! What am I going to do, Don? What the hell am I going to do?"

"First, you're going to calm the hell down," Flack told him. "Second you're going to sober the fuck up and pack your shit and get on the next plane back to New York City."

"I can't do that! What about the kids?"

"Your parents are there. Your mom and step dad are there. Leave them a goddamn note that you had to come back. Mac needed you or some shit."

Adam sniffled. "I can do that."

"Second thing you're going to do, is when you get back into town, you're going straight to your place and packing all your shit up and then you're calling me and I'm going to pick you up and bring you to my place. And you can stay with me and your sister for as long as you need to."

"You sure about that? I wouldn't want to impose or anything."

"You're not imposing. You're family. And Sam and I sure as hell wouldn't let you go through this shit alone. You know that right?"

"I do," Adam said with a heavy sigh. "But what about the kids, Don? Paisley could…"

"Keep them from you? Fuck her. She can't do that. This is my speaking from experience here. She can't keep your kids from you. She can threaten but she can't do it. She does you take her to fucking court. Plain and simple. You're their biological father and by law she can't fuck you around like that. I've been through this Adam. I know how this shit works, buddy."

"I know. But she'll try to…"

"Let her try. Just let her. You're a great dad and she has nothing she can possibly use against her. Any lawyer will tell you that. In fact, first thing we're going to do on the second, is get you into the lawyer that helped me out. Helped straighten shit out for me. He owes me a big time favour so getting you in with someone like him won't be an issue."

"You'd do that for me?" Adam asked, sounding surprised.

"You're my brother, Adam. Why wouldn't I?"

The younger man sniffled noisily. "I just…I don't know if I can take this…living without her. Or my kids."

"You're talking crazy shit, Adam. Trust me, no woman in the world, even as much as I love your sister? No woman in the world is worth hurting yourself over. 'Cause you do something to yourself and then you're kids have no father. And they don't deserve to be hurt like that. They don't deserve to lose their dad. You don't want to do that to your kids, do you?"

"How'd you do it?" Adam asked. "How'd you survive without Kellan and Kallison?"

"Well, I didn't let Sam fuck me around and bully me about shit," he replied. "She wanted to leave, that was her prerogative. But she wasn't taking my kids and keeping them from me because she had a major ax to grind against me. What happened was between me and her and he girls didn't need to be punished because we couldn't keep our shit together. She walked out with those kids but she wasn't stopping me from being a part of their lives. I've never been a fucking doormat and she knew it. She tried, but she realized I wasn't screwing around right quick. You need to be tougher, Adam. Not let Paisley jerk you around."

"But I'm not you, Don," Adam argued. "I'm not strong like you are."

"Yes, you are, Adam. All your life you let other people protect you so you wouldn't have to take care of yourself. But you know what? You're a big boy now and you need to stand up and take control. I know you can do it."

The other man sighed.

"I'll be by you every step of the way," Flack assured him. "Whatever you need, I'll be there. And so will your sister."

"But you guys worked it out," Adam said. "You two loved each other no matter what. And it was that love that brought the two of you back together. And that love is even stronger now and I see that. Everyone sees that. And Paisley and I don't have that. We never have and we never will."

Flack sighed. "Listen to me…love is different for everyone. Just 'cause you and Paisley don't have what me and Sam has, doesn't mean it's anything less. Understand? We're Sam and Don and you're Adam and Paisley. Plain and simple."

"I guess you're right…" Adam said.

"Look, you did the right thing calling me. So listen to my advice. Haul ass to the airport and get back here. A'right?"

"Alright," Adam agreed.

"You call me as soon as you find out what time your flight is at and what airport you're coming into and at what time. I'll be there to get you. Then we'll go back to your place, get your shit and you head home with me. Kapish?"

"Kapish. Do you mind not telling my sister? I'd rather tell her."

"My lips are sealed. I'll tell her you're coming home for work purposes. There's things we need to talk to you about, too."

"Sam getting fired and you guys moving to New Jersey? I already know. Kellan let it slip by mistake."

"Damn kids," Flack sighed. "We wanted to tell you and…"

"She's five. She doesn't know," Adam said. "It's all good. I'm going to go and get my shit together."

"I'll be waiting for your call."

"Okay…thanks, Don. For everything."

"Don't mention it. That's what family, real family, is all about. Take care of yourself and I'll see you in bit."

"In a little while," Adam said. "And hey, for what it's worth…Happy New Year."

"I certainly hope it will be," Flack sighed, and disconnected the call. Sighing heavily, he took a long drag of his smoke and glanced down at his watch.

Less than three hours until the New Year.

If the end of 2016 was any indication, 2017 was going to suck.

Huge.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! But please, please R and R folks! It's greatly appreciated!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**Delko's Girl88**


	29. The love of two good men

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**THIS CHAPTER BRINGS US BACK TO THE PRESENT…**

* * *

**The love of two good men**

"So if you're mad get mad  
Don't hold it all inside  
Come on and talk to me now  
Hey, what you got to hide  
I get angry too  
Well I'm a lot like you  
When you're standing at the crossroads  
And don't know which path to choose  
Let me come along  
'Cause even if you're wrong  
I'll stand by you  
I'll stand by you  
Won't let nobody hurt you  
I'll stand by you  
Take me in into you darkest hour  
And I'll never desert you  
I'll stand by you."  
-I'll Stand by You, The Pretenders

* * *

Samantha woke to the sound of a snowplow directly underneath her bedroom window. City workers had been clearing the streets since nine the night before, after a nasty winter storm had begun it's descent. Forecasters had predicted over ten inches of the white stuff, along with excessive winds, and the chance of ice showers. The department of public health had issued yet another extreme cold alert and had turned school gymnasiums and cafeterias into emergency shelters for the homeless. School boards had begun cancelling classes yesterday afternoon in anticipation of the storm that had been on the radar for days now. Companies had issued emails and bulletins informing all non-essential personnel to take the day off. To not risk their personal safety by attempting to make it into work.

Unfortunately, the NYPD didn't employ non essential personnel it seemed. Save for janitors and cleaning staff, everyone was expected to be on the clock exactly when they were scheduled to be. No ifs, ands or buts. No excuses about the subways and buses running behind for the weather. Transportation and bad road conditions? Leave two hours early if you had to. Just make sure that your ass was where it was supposed to be at the time it was supposed to be.

That was easier said than done when all you wanted to do was lie in bed all day. Underneath mounds of covers where it was exceptionally warm and cozy, curled up to an equally as warm and cozy body. After all, body heat was the best heat there was. She knew, as soon as she so as much put on leg outside of those blankets, the harsh reality of winter was going to bite her in the ass. She'd never been a cold weather girl. Despite growing up in Brooklyn, both she and Adam had been the New York City kids that complained about the temperatures as soon as autumn hit. They were constantly cold and bitched and moaned endlessly the second the first hint of snow dusted the ground.

Arizona had turned them both into complete and utter wimps. And the thought of having to get out of her bed and start her day in an apartment that was nearly as cold as the outdoors -an exaggeration of course, but for the amount of money she paid in rent, the place should have been a lot damn warmer - was enough to consider calling in sick and burying herself in her blankets all day long.

She rolled over onto her back and scooped up the man's watch that was lying on the nightstand on her side of the bed. In the dim winter morning light that was beginning to peek through the curtains, she was able to make out the time. Ten minutes to eight. Forty more minutes before the alarm clock was going to sound and bring a start to the day. Then it would be time to slip out of a toasty bed and set foot on a freezing cold floor. Time to nearly freeze your ass off the second you dropped your clothes to step into the shower. There'd be no hot water in the pipes and you'd stand under the bitterly cold water, cursing and howling your displeasure, pissed off when the water finally heated up just as you finished rinsing your hair and were ready to step out of the shower

Then there was the bundling up in boots and layers of clothes and hats and mitts and scarves just to make the small walk to the car parked a block away. And possible outdoor crime scenes to be investigated and running the risk of your eyelashes freezing and icicles hanging from your perpetually runny nose.

Sometimes it was fun to be a whiny bitch, she thought, as she laid the watch back down on the bedside table and turned over onto her opposite side. She burrowed herself under the layers of blankets and cuddled in close to her boyfriend's sleeping form. Out like a light on his back, his face turned towards her and his thick, long, dark eyelashes falling on his pale skin. His cheeks bearing the hint of dark stubble. Very sexy and very dangerous looking, as far as she was concerned. And as his chest rose and fall with each steady breath he took, she pressed a kiss to the pulse point on the left side of his neck and trailed her hand down his strong, broad chest. She let it rest over the jagged scar on his abdomen as she nuzzled her nose against his ear.

She placed a tender kiss to his temple before pulling back to look at him. Content to watch him sleep as she softly trailed her finger tips of one hand across his stomach, skimming the waistband of his boxers while she lightly ran a finger on her other hand over ever inch of his face. Tracing the outside each of his ear, the line of his jaw, over his chin and all the way down to his Adam's apple. Then following the same path in reverse before pressing a kiss to the inside of his ear. Giggling as she felt him tense slightly and reach up to gently push her away.

"Faker," she said, and bit down lightly on his earlobe.

"Do you mind?" Flack asked, his eyes still closed, his voice groggy.

"No," she replied and trailed her lips down his neck. "Do you mind?" she inquired, slipping a finger under the waist of his boxers.

"Just a little," he told her, and laid a hand over hers, stilling it.

Sam pouted dramatically. "Usually you're all raring to go, standing at attention first thing in the morning."

"Oh trust me I am, " he said and moved her hand to the front of his boxers to show her the proof.

"So then what's the problem?" she asked, licking and suckling at his neck.

"I'm tired, babe," he replied, giving a sigh that was both one of reluctance and one of arousal. "I didn't get in until after two in the morning. Remember?"

"And you have to get up in about half an hour," she told him, sliding down the bed and placing kisses across his chest.

"Which is exactly why I need that extra thirty minutes sleep," he said, and yawning noisily, brought a hand up to stroke her hair. "I'm beat, babe."

"Hmmm…you're lucky I'm buying your excuse of exhaustion," she said. "Or I'd be worried that you're lack of interest in sex means you're think I'm hideously disgusting or something."

"Now that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Flack declared. "Believe me, Sammie. It's not that I'm not interested in sex. When am I not? It's just that my body, save for below the waist, is wiped out."

"You're luck you have proof to back up your claim," she said with a grin, and grazed her hand over his erection. "But you so owe me after the costume party. Do you think it will still be on? Or do you think it will be cancelled with the weather?"

"I doubt they'll cancel something like that. Call the hotel afterwards and see if it's all systems go."

"I still think you should have come with me," she said, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

"Not my scene. You couldn't pay me enough to get me into a costume. And honestly? I'll be lucky if I'm still not working long after the party is over."

"Did you at least get your case done last night?" she asked, tracing a circle around his navel with a fingernail.

He nodded. "All my paper work is finished, too. Sitting on the Inspector's desk waiting for her to sign off on them."

"Very impressive," Sam praised. "You're becoming quite the workaholic lately, baby."

"Just trying to keep the dragon lady at bay. Remember all those times I complained about Gerrard?"

Sam nodded.

"This bitch is a thousand time worse. She's been on my ass since the day she started."

"Maybe she's a cougar," Sam reasoned. "Wishes she could ride something else."

Flack frowned. "That is just plain disturbing," he declared.

"What?" Sam asked, running her hand along his chest. "You don't have a Mrs Robinson fantasy?"

"Hell no. Older women do nothing for me. Creeps me right out to be honest."

She drew back to look at him, a frown on her face.

"What?" Flack asked, combing his fingers through her long, dark tresses.

"I'm older than you are," she reminded him.

"By three years. Big deal. I don't exactly consider that a big age difference, babe."

"Well, when you consider how much slower a man matures compared to a woman mentally, technically, I'm almost thirty-four and you're about…thirteen."

"Thirteen my ass," he snorted. "No thirteen year old knows the things I know and how to do those things to you."

"Maybe you've just watched a lot of porn," she reasoned.

Frowning, he wrapped an arm around her slender body and pulled her on top of him. "Why do you always have to be such a damn smart ass?" he asked, rubbing her back and shoulders through the flannel of her pyjama top as she curled her arms around his torso and nestled her face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

"I was born that way," she replied.

"Must be a Ross characteristic, huh? That and that annoying, incessant rambling both you and Adam do."

"Do you spend a lot of time in bed with my brother?" she teased. "Does he do that ramble thing during pillow talk?"

"I am going to pretend that you never said that," Flack told her. "Because that is enough to give me nightmares. Speaking of nightmares. I don't know what the hell you were dreaming about last night, but when I came to bed, you were yapping on and on in your sleep."

"About what?" she asked.

"Couldn't understand a damn word. You just kept going on and on and on and then all of a sudden you were completely quiet."

"I did have a pretty strange dream last night," she said.

"About?"

"Being on the subway with you, Stella, Lindsay and Hawkes that day when that crazy asshole Drew Bedford decided to be a fuck head."

"You weren't even there when that happened. You called in sick that day."

"Doesn't mean I can't have a minor freak out over things, right? And to be honest, I wasn't exactly sick that day."

"Just playing hooky?"

"I had a date," she said. "We went to Atlantic City for the day."

"A date? With who?"

"Get the jealous tone out of your voice," she said. "I did have a life before we hooked up, you know. And what does it matter now? It's me and you in this bed."

"What kind of date was it?"

"I just said. We went to Atlantic City."

"Why AC?"

"How should I know? That's where he wanted to take me."

"Was it a cop?"

Sam nodded.

"Someone I know?"

"Donald…"

"Turning the jealous, possessive side of me off now," he assured her. "I'm just curious who it was is all. Was it someone I work with?"

She shook her head, her hair tickling his bare chest.

"Detective? Uniform? Undercover?"

"Bomb squad, actually," she told him.

"Bomb squad? How in the hell did you ever meet someone in the bomb squad?"

"It was a series of strange events," she said. "The same day you were investigating the dead groom thing. I guess you could say that Drew Bedford started the whole ball rolling by leaving that puzzle on the hood of Stella's Avalanche. And then I went down with Lindsay to see what was going on and, well, as the saying goes the rest was history."

"And you just so happened to flash your smile and bat your long eyelashes at some bomb squad guy?"

"I was just very friendly. And he wasn't just some bomb squad guy. He was the bomb squad guy. The one that determined there was no bomb to begin with. And in all fairness, he was kind of hot."

"Why didn't you flirt with me and ask me to take you to Atlantic City?" Flack asked. "I woulda jumped on that, and you, in a heart beat."

"Oh and break up the beautiful relationship between you and Devon? Weren't you two still dating then?"

"I told you we were still dating."

"Why did you lie?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want you to think I was some pathetic loser that sat at home all by myself and lonely on the weekend."

"Oh poor baby," she sat up and looked down at him, pouting dramatically. "I guess you could have just made all of it much easier on yourself by actually asking me out."

"I like torturing myself," he reasoned. "Driving myself crazy thinking about all these guys you were dating."

"And there was so many!" she laughed. "Please. Two guys in a year and a bit does not make me a serial dater. Seriously though. Why didn't you just ask me out. I still can't get a decent reason out of you."

"I was afraid you were going to shoot me down. Tell me to get a life. I wasn't in the mood to be humiliated, okay? And I sort of, kinda asked you out. That night I asked you to meet me at Sullivan's."

"That was not a date," she informed him. "We had a pitcher of beer and some tequila shooters and played pool."

"I paid, remember?"

"That doesn't make it a date. I thought you were just being a gentleman."

"I was."

"It would have been a date if we'd had sex on the pool table," she laughed.

"I never should have told you about that," Flack sighed. "Danny would kill me if he knew I told you about that."

"It's our little secret," Sam vowed, and leaning over, her hair falling around him, covered his mouth in a long, slow kiss. Her tongue pushing its way into his warm, moist mouth, seeking out his.

"Where'd you learn to be such an amazing kisser?" he asked, when the need for air forced them apart.

She gave a devilish grin. "My bomb squad boyfriend taught me," she replied.

Flack frowned.

"Kidding," she said, placing a kiss to his chest before resting her head on his shoulder. "He was a perfect gentleman."

"Never tried to put the moves on you?"

Sam shook her head.

"What? Was he gay?"

"No. He was a perfect gentleman. Just like I said."

"Please. Any guy that goes out with you but doesn't try and put the moves on you, must have something wrong with him. Even I put the moves on you in my car that night when I drove you home. After giving you some of that chocolate."

"And then you try denying it," she snorted. "And I quote, 'No, there wasn't anything in the chocolate, I don't know what you're talking about'."

"I wanted you to think it was charming personality and my boyish good looks that made you all hot and bothered."

She laughed. "If I was being completely honest right now, I'd admit to you that I was hot and bothered long before I ate that chocolate. For about, I don't know, six months before that."

"See? You should have just come right out and told me that night at the mayor's thing when I kissed you that you liked it. But no, you accused me taking advantage of you at a weak moment. What weak moment? I still don't get what weak moment you were talking about."

"Seeing you in a tuxedo," she told him. "You picked me up at my place and I nearly fainted. Took all the will power I had not to throw myself at you or drag you into my apartment and take advantage of you. And then you go and kiss me like that…"

"You liked it," he said cockily. "You didn't exactly tell me to stop or push me away."

"I never said I didn't like it. I happened to like it very much. It was just…I don't know. A very weird time for that all to be happening. I mean Devon was in the next room, we were suppose to be keeping an eye out for secret agents."

"Hey, even James Bond got to mix business with pleasure sometimes," Flack told her.

"There were two things I learned that night," Sam said, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face.

"What were those?" he asked, his hands drifting down her back and over her hips and resting on her thighs.

"One, you were a better kisser then I ever imagined. And two, you looked goddamn hot in a tuxedo."

"You know what I learned that night?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I learned that that the tongue inside of your smart mouth was amazingly talented. And that underneath all those conservative work clothes and that lab coat, you had one smoking body."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Then giggled as she found herself tossed onto her back.

"And now," he said, as he covered her body with his, bearing his weight on one arm as he kissed her. "That body is all mine."

"All yours, huh?" she asked, as she circled his neck with her arms.

"All mine," he declared.

"You sound like a corny Valentines Day card," she laughed. "And speaking of which…you do remember that's tomorrow, right?"

"Why would I forget? I'm the one that made the reservations and booked the hotel."

Her eyes narrowed. "What hotel?" she asked.

He bit his bottom lip and hung his head.

"You are so busted! You are totally incapable of keeping a secret! You're putting us up in a hotel tomorrow night?"

Flack nodded.

"Baby, that's so romantic. I thought you said you didn't do romance?"

"I don't. Well not usually, anyway. I just thought it would be nice. So I called the St Regis and…"

"We're staying at the St Regis?" she asked excitedly.

"We've got the romance package. Jacuzzi suite, complimentary wet bar and concierge service. The whole nine. It was suppose to be a surprise, but…"

"I can't believe you'd do all of that for me. A fancy restaurant, an even fancier hotel…"

"It's our first Valentine's Day," he reasoned. "I wanted to make it special for you."

"Wait until I tell everyone just how sappy and romantic you actually are," she teased, and planted a long, sizzling kiss on his lips.

He returned the kiss eagerly and demandingly. His hand slipping in between them, his fingers setting to work on unbuttoning her pyjama top.

"I thought your body wasn't in the mood," she teased, when the kiss was over and had left her breathless.

"It changed it's mind," he told her, finishing with the top and laying it open. His hand sliding up her smooth side and around to the front of her to cup her breast as his lips descended onto her slender neck. "Lucky for you, huh?"

She sighed, quickly and easily aroused by the touch of his hand and the feel of his lips. She buried her fingers in his hair, shivering as his warm, moist mouth began teasing her body. "I'm the luckiest woman in the world," she declared.

And she meant every word.

* * *

Driving to work had been sheer and utter hell. While the snow had finally halted, the drifts from the high winds were causing near white out conditions. Mixed with the plows unable to keep up with clearing and salting the streets and the build up of ice on the roads, a usually fifteen minute drive turned into an hour long one.

By the time she arrived at the lab, Sam's nerves were almost completely shot from the nerve wracking, hair raising ride. Her hands shaking so bad she could barely carry the caramel latte she purchased in the main floor café let alone attempt to pull change from her pocket and hold it out to the cashier. In between her boyfriend's white knuckle driving -he was Mario Andretti even in the bad weather- and the stupidity of other drivers on the road, she had spent the majority of the ride with her eyes closed and her hands gripping the door handle so hard she left nail impressions in the vinyl.

With her heart still pounding and her stomach still in her throat, she took the crowded elevator to the thirty-fifth floor and made her first pit stop the unisex locker room. In Phoenix, it was strictly men in one room, women in another way down at the end of the hall. The bosses there weren't about to take any chances that employees would take advantage of a situation such as a unisex room and use it for 'extracurricular activities'. The last thing the complaint ridden Phoenix crime lab needed, was sexual harassment suits.

And it was no wonder the such complaints hadn't plagued the NYC lab yet. While Sam didn't mind sharing a change room with men -most were good about stripping down in a stall and the actual showers and toilets were separate- she had seen enough activities in the locker room to write an x-rated book. In a year alone she'd walked in on several couples -both male and female and same sex- engaged in a little workplace action, and arrogant, conceited men walking naked around the place as if they were God's gift. While seeing things like that didn't embarrass her, it made her want to do two things. One, critique the performances, and two, laugh in the guy's face and ask, "Is that it?"

This morning the changing area was empty as she made her way to her locker, sipping her latte as her eyes skimmed the apartment rentals in the folded classified section of the Times in her left hand. There were several possibilities in the lower Manhattan, both east and west side, and a couple in midtown that were in their price range. The hard part was going to be actually finding joint time to actually go and see the places. So far, the plan was to meet up during lunch and dinner breaks and attempt to weed the crappy places from the good ones.

She set the newspaper and her latte down on the bank of benches that separated a row of lockers from the ones across from them and began extracting herself from the layers of winter clothing she'd worn to work. Flack constantly teased her about being about thirty pounds heavier from all of her apparel, and didn't understand why she felt the need to bundle up so much when she was in the car. There were to simple explanations. One, she wanted to be prepared if they ever became stranded on the side of the road somewhere. Two, she hated being cold. It was as plain as simple as that. He'd simply just nodded and looked at her as if she was insane and said, "Okay, now…"

She toed off of her boots and unzipped her coat and dropped it onto the benches. Unbutton her snowboarding pants, she let them fall to her ankles before kicking them off and scooping them up off the floor. Turning to her locker, she punched in the security code on the panel mounted on the door and waited for a dull click before opening it.

The inside of the door was plastered with photographs. Held up for the world to see with sticky tack. Pictures of her and Adam when they children and teenagers, candid shots of various members of the team she'd taken with her digital camera when she'd first started, others at last summer's NYPD picnic and softball tournament. Just small mementos and reminders that they had lives outside of the job. That they could still could laugh and have a good time. Hang out just like regular people without having the stresses of the job plague them day in and day out. Her favourite picture, by far, was of Danny and Lindsay. Taken shortly before Danny took to the field as a short stop for their team. They wore matching blue t-shirts with NYPD written on the left chest in white letters and backwards NYPD ball caps. His arms were wrapped around his petite girlfriend from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. They both looked so happy and so in love.

It was the first time that Sam had seen Danny truly happy since Ruben Sandoval's death.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. Standing beside Mac as they watched Sid begin the autopsy on the little boy that Sam had met on several occasions on her various visits to Danny's place. Ruben had been a friendly, adorable, hyper little thing with the most beautiful brown eyes she'd ever seen and a smile and laugh that just warmed her heart. From short talks with his mother, Sam had found that Rikki was warm and personable. A hard working single mom whose life revolved around her boy. And it had been thoughts of Rikki and how she'd handle the news of her son's death that had raced through Sam's mind as she stood beside Mac with tears slipping down her cheeks. Lindsay had long gone off to find and attempt to console a distraught Danny, leaving the new girl and the boss alone, lost in their own thoughts.

Sam had opened her mouth to beg and plead with Mac not to put her own Ruben's shooting. She knew she just wasn't capable of handling something like that. But before she could get a word out, he'd laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and told her to go home. And if she didn't want to do that, to find Stella and see what work needed to be done on her case. It was the first time Mac had ever shown in front of her that he had a heart. And it was a moment she'd never forget.

The next time Sam had seen Rikki Sandoval was at Ruben's funeral. She'd been at a loss for words as she attempted to reach out to the distraught woman. And any words that had come had seem horribly inadequate. She'd never talked to or seen Rikki after that, although there'd been many times she had wanted to stop by the apartment building or simply pick up the phone. Their last meeting had been a brief one. Standing in front of Flack's desk. She'd been in the precinct finishing up some last minute paper work, and had been surprised to see him at his desk when he'd been off hours before. He'd told her that something had come up with Danny, but had been uncomfortable and reluctant to say any more than that and had suggest he tell her all about it. Over an Irish coffee. Only she wasn't an idiot, and she knew that was actually a euphemism for something else. And, through her short friendship with Angell, that he'd actually used that line on her as well.

Before she could talk him up on the offer -even if it did lead to something else in the grand scheme of things- Danny had wandered into the precinct with a terrified looking Rikki. Sam didn't know what had gone down and didn't know if she wanted any details. By the look on Danny and Flack's faces, whatever had happened had not been pleasant. And it was something that needed to be sorted out between them with no outside interference.

So she'd shown Rikki to an interrogation room like Flack had asked and she'd left for the night. She wasn't about to get involved and it had been quite clear, by Rikki's indifference towards her when Sam had offered to stick around for support, that she wasn't welcome.

She never did get to go out for Irish coffee. Shortly after that, Flack had hooked up with Angell and Sam had been on the sidelines once again. Wondering when, and if, it was ever going to be her time. But not having the courage to make it happen.

That all seemed like a lifetime ago now. Danny and Lindsay had gotten past their trust and infidelity issues and were happier then ever. The wedding was just months away and both were excited to begin their quest for a family as soon as possible. Sam was ecstatic for them. She knew that they'd battled through a lot of issues on both sides of the coin to get where they were now. And if anyone deserved a happy ever after, it was them.

* * *

She placed her winter boots on the bottom shelf of her locker and grabbed a pair of black leather flats from a plastic bag hanging on the back hook. Shoving her coat and purse into the small, cramped space, she grabbed a brush from the top shelve and pulled the elastic from her pony tail and brushed out her waist length tresses. Tossing the brush back onto the shelve, she put her hair up once again and reached for her holster and badge and clipped them both to the waist of her charcoal grey dress pants before shutting the locker door.

"Boo!" a male voice cried out.

Sam shrieked and gave a startled jump. Her heart pounding in her chest and her eyes narrowed at the sight of her younger brother doubled over with laughter. Apparently amused by the reaction he was able to illicit from his sister.

"You bastard Adam!" she scolded, and shoved him angrily.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he managed in between his fit of laughter. "I didn't mean it! Well I did mean it or obviously I wouldn't have done it. I just didn't think that you'd react like that. Making you pee your pants was not on my agenda for today."

"Shit head!" she huffed, and slugged him hard in the right shoulder.

"Ow!" he cried. "You punch like a man!"

"I always was the tough one," she reminded him. "I can't believe you'd sneak up on me like that. You're lucky I didn't punch you in the face or knee you in the balls. What's wrong with you?"

"I like terrorizing you?" Adam reasoned.

"You've always been a pesky little brother, do you know that?"

"Of course. From the day I came into the world kicking and screaming. I even put that on my resume. Pesky little brother extraordinaire. In case some other poor soul requires my services in that department."

"Are you just getting here?" Sam asked.

"Do I look like I'm attired for the winter?" Adam inquired.

"Okay, smart ass. How long have you been here for?"

"A couple of hours now. Which is remarkable considering how hung over I actually am. It's weird, but I drank nearly a gallon of beer and an unknown amount of tequila last night yet I feel perfectly fine. Bright eyed and bushy tail to be exact. No sleep, yet I am just on the ball today."

"How much coffee have you had?" Sam asked, gathering her latte and newspaper.

"I've lost count," Adam admitted. "Lets just put it this way? That massive tin of Folgers Stella brought in for all us two days ago?"

Sam nodded as they headed for the door.

"It's three quarters empty. And it was three quarters full when I got here."

"What are you?" Sam asked. "A camel?"

"Not quite. I won't even go into how many bathroom breaks I've had to take already. Not to mention how hyper I am."

"Mac's going to think you're tweaking on something," Sam said, as her brother pulled open the locker room door and motioned for her to go ahead of him. "How come you never called me last night? You leave me this cryptic message about needing to talk to me about something dire and then you don't bother to return my message. What's up with that?"

"I got into the beer and tequila before you called me back," Adam told her. "And by that time, I was nowhere near in appropriate shape to carry on a conversation. So when I saw you get off the elevator and saw you head into the locker room…"

"You thought you'd ambush me," she finished.

"I personally thought it was funny. I only wish I'd caught your reaction on my camera phone so I could make copies of it and paste them up all over the lab. Show everyone that Little Brooklyn isn't as hard core as she likes to let on. Knock your reputation down a peg or two."

Sam frowned and made a fist and drew it back.

Adam winced and laid a hand over his shoulder and jumped away.

"Two for flinching," she laughed, a lightly punched him twice in his upper left arm. "Do you remember where that's from Peanut?" she asked, curling an arm around his waist.

"Stand by Me," he answered quickly. "How could I ever forget that? How many times did we sneak into the theatre down on Jefferson?"

"Thirteen," she said. "But whose counting? You would have thought that theatre would have caught on to the fact their rear doors didn't close properly. Can you imagine how much money they lost out on because of little shits like us?"

"They're loss was our gain," Adam concluded. "And I figure with all the beats we got, God will no doubt forgive us for sneaking into some movies."

"So?" Sam asked, rubbing his back. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Mom and dad," Adam replied.

His sister rolled her eyes.

"I know. Not the most pleasant of conversation first thing in the morning. Certainly not how you wanted to start your day. But when I got home from work yesterday, there was a very interesting message on my answering machine. From mom."

"They're moving to Antarctica?" Sam asked hopefully.

"As much as I wish I could say that's it, I'd be lying. And I don't think you're going to like what I'm about to tell you."

"If it's about mom, you're right."

"Mom and dad are moving," Adam said.

"Please tell me it's on the opposite side of the world or they're moving to Canada. Like way up north in Canada."

Adam shook his head. "Sorry…"

"Please do not tell me that…"

"They're moving to New York City," he reluctantly told his sister.

"Way to ruin my day, Peanut."

"I'm sorry. And as much as I want to tell you that I'm just pulling your leg, I can't. It's unfortunately true. Dad got a transfer with the airlines. Into higher management. He's going to be working out of La Guardia."

"He couldn't just move here on his own? He had to bring the wicked witch with him?"

"I was telling him that he could always conveniently lose her somewhere."

"Yeah…like drop her out of the plane at thirty four thousand feet," Sam sighed. "So when is this going down? How long do we have to come up with an escape plan?"

"Two weeks," Adam told her.

Sam stopped walking and glared at him.

"Don't shoot the messenger," he pleaded, hands up in surrender. "I just pass along the news."

"Where are they going to live?" Sam asked.

"Apparently they think they're going to be staying with one of us."

Sam blanched. "They can't stay with me. No way in hell. First off, they don't even know I have a boyfriend. Second, they don't know that I'm planning to move in with him. Can you imagine mom and dad sharing my apartment with me when Don and I are in the next room…"

"Spare me the details of your sex life with Flack, okay? Knowing the two of you don't abstain is enough to give me horrific nightmares. And as for mom and dad not knowing about Flack…well I may have kinda, sorta… I don't know…spilled the beans."

Sam frowned.

"I didn't mean it," Adam quickly defended himself. "It just slipped out. Mom was going on and on about how expensive it is to live here and how you had a two bedroom apartment and that she didn't think you'd mind her and dad staying there. And I told her that you might, considering you need your privacy. Especially now. And she asked what do you mean especially now? And I said that you'd met a guy and you two were pretty serious and that neither of you would feel too comfortable with her and dad around," he took a breath. "I'm sorry. It just came out."

"You're a dink," Sam huffed and began walking once more.

"It just happened," Adam vowed, quickly falling in step beside her. "It wasn't intentional."

"What did mom say to that?"

"She wanted to know details about this mystery guy."

"And what did you tell her?"

"All I said was that he was a homicide detective and a great guy. That he was treating you right. And that if she wanted to know more, to call you personally."

"You said that about Don?"

Adam nodded. "Well he is a great guy. And he does treat you right," he said. Then paused before asking, "He does, right? Treat you good?"

Sam smiled. "You're worried that he doesn't?" she asked, sipping her latte.

"A little," her brother admitted. "I mean, I know what Flack is like at work. I know that he's loyal and a great guy to have around and that he's the one you want having your back if things go south, but I don't know what he's like personally. And I want to know that the personal Flack is just as reliable and trustworthy as the work Flack so that when he's with you, I can relax knowing you're in good hands and that I'm not going to get some tear filled phone call from you in the middle of the night saying…"

Sam laid a hand gently over her brother's mouth. "Adam," she said, her voice and eyes filled with seriousness. "Don isn't Zack. He's not going to hurt me. I trust him with my life. And you should, too."

"I just don't want you getting hurt," he mumbled against her palm.

"He's not going to hurt me," she insisted. "Don's an amazing guy with a huge heart and he's not out to screw me over. He's not going to call me names and smack me around. He's in this relationship with the best of intentions. And so am I. And I appreciate you being so worried about me. But you need to give him a chance. Okay?"

Adam nodded and she removed her hand. "You love him?" he asked.

"More then I ever thought I could love somebody," Sam admitted. "And I can tell when he looks at me, that he loves me back. Please just give him a chance. Let us be happy. Can you do that?"

"You promise that if he ever hurts you…"

"That I will come and find you," Sam finished. "I promise."

Adam smiled and pressed a kiss to his sister's cheek. "I just want you to be happy," he said.

"I am happy," she insisted, and curling her arm around his waist, began their journey down the hallway once again. "And I'd be even happier if mom and dad would just stay as far away from me as possible. I mean of all places to get transferred to. It just had to be New York City?"

"Apparently, it came down to three places. Mom chose New York City."

"Naturally. Because she likes to make our lives a living hell. Imagine what joy she'll get showing up here or at our apartments for surprise visits."

Adam shuddered at the thought of having their mother so close at hand. "How goes the hunt for apartments?" he asked, nodding down at the paper in her hand.

"Slowly and not too surely. I've circled a whole bunch that fit into our budget. Now we just have to find the time to go and look at them."

"Well I hope you find one sooner, rather then later. Because I have the most awesome idea."

"Okay…spill."

"I was thinking that you could let mom and dad take over your lease," Adam told her. "That way, they're not camping out on either of our sofas or interruption your new found sex life."

Sam stopped walking and turned and stared at her brother.

Adam winced at the look on her face. "Bad idea?" he asked.

"Adam Gregory Ross," she began in a stern voice. A smile slowly spread across her face. "You are a goddamn genius!"

"Oh…okay, " he chuckled as she gave an excited shriek and tossed her arms tightly around his neck. "…well it's good to know that someone appreciates me for the size of my brain pan."

"Don't you realize how fabulous that idea is?" she asked, holding him out at arms length. "It's perfect! This will make mom happy and Don happy all at the same time!"

"Alright…how?"

"Because if they take over my lease, I can move in with him right away. Then we don't have to bust our asses too much to find something else! It eases the burden a little! You're goddamn brilliant!"

Kissing her brother's cheek noisily, Sam gave him a final hug for releasing him and bouncing off down the hallway towards her office.

"Glad I could help!" Adam called after her. "Hook me up later. Maybe we can do lunch!"

She gave a wave, acknowledging she'd heard him.

Adam gave a deep, pleased sigh, and shoving his hands in his pockets, turned and headed for the AV lab. His usual domain.

"God it's hard being smarter than everyone else," he said.

* * *

**A/N: Just a small note, if anyone is confused...when Adam refers to dad, he means their step-father that has been featured in MOB and VFB and briefly mentioned in this story in a previous chapter.**

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Please, please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**Bluehaven4220**


	30. IM's and DB's

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: I COULDN'T RESIST USING LAST NIGHT'S EPI. JUST A LITTLE MENTION. BUT I HAD TO TWEAK THE TIME LINE JUST A BIT TO FIT IT IN HERE. NOT THAT YOU GUYS MIND RIGHT? CONSIDERING TPTB SCREW THINGS UP ON A REGULAR BASIS….**

**A/N 2: USE OF ITALICS DENOTES AN INSTANT MESSAGE**

* * *

**IM's and DB's**

"As a man I ain't never been much for sunny days  
I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York and maybe as strange  
But when the color goes out of my eyes, it's usually the change  
But damn Sam  
I love a woman that rains  
Clear as a bell, and sound as an old engineer  
Clear as a bell, and sound as an old engineer  
With talented breezes that blow off your hat with a sneer  
As a man I've never been much for talking to  
I'm as open as the door in her house that leads to her room  
And when the color goes out of my eyes, she's usually too  
But damn Sam  
I love a woman that's blue  
As a man I ain't never been much for sunny days  
I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York and maybe as strange  
But when the color goes out of my eyes, it's usually the change  
But damn Sam  
I love a woman that rains."  
-Damn Sam, Ryan Adams

* * *

It was quarter to nine in the morning when Samantha finally reached the office she shared with Danny Messer. Too many stops to socialize had prevented her from getting there any sooner. She'd wanted to get caught up on stacks of work that had gone neglected for too long. But she couldn't resist engaging in some water cooler gossip with the younger lab techs that made talking about each other a part of their job description. Sam found the gossip amusing, for the most part. As long as it didn't involve herself of those closest to her, she was able to get a kick out of it. But she did draw the line when things became mean spirited or just outright ridiculous.

Stopping at the locked door of the office, she could see through the glass walls see that the spacious room was still in complete darkness. The computers were still off, the blinds still drawn. There was no sign of life considering Danny usually was at least a half an hour early for every shift. He was consistently the first to arrive, and the last to leave it seemed. So beating him to the lab was a rare occurrence.

Punching the security code into computerized box mounted on the door, she waited for the dull click and the green light to flash before pushing her way into the quiet office. She reached to her left, hitting the switch for the lights.

"My eyes!" a pained voice cried from the opposite side of the room. "My fucking eyes! The lights! Turn off the lights!"

"You're a goddamn wimp, Danny," Sam declared, smirking at the sight of his legs hanging over the small sofa that faced the picture window.

"You don't understand!" he wailed, laying his forearm over his eyes. "I am dying here! Suffering! Huge! I have a tsunami raging in my head!"

"That's what you get for not being able to handle your liquor," she teased, standing at the side of the sofa and shaking her head at the sight of her friend and colleague. His unshaven face and his wrinkled clothes. And the stench of booze that seemed to radiate from every pore.

"I had no idea your brother could drink like that," Danny said. "Who knew that lab geek Adam Ross was some big party animal? I thought all there was to him was Star Was and Second Life and all kinds of nerdy shit. I knew as soon as he ordered that bottle of tequila and one shot glass that I was in trouble."

Sam grinned and sipped her latte. "Adam's a study in contradiction," she told her friend.

"You can say that again. We went ten rounds with Jose Cuervo and I am paying for it. Trust me."

"Ten rounds?" Sam leaned over the couch and inhaled deeply. "Smells more like two dozen to me."

"I lost count somewhere around fifteen," he admitted. Lifting his forearm away from his face, Danny cracked open an eye and looked over at Sam as she took a seat in the arm chair to the left of the couch. "How goes things with you?"

"They go," Sam sighed, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table in front of her. "I just got possibly the most unnerving news of my entire life from Adam."

"Case related?"

"Family related. And anytime it involves my family, trust me, it's a nightmare."

"You and Adam don't talk much about them," Danny said. "All I know is that your birth dad was a bastard. And that your mom got re-married shortly after he died to some pilot or something."

"His name's Clint. Adam and I called him Sarge 'cause he was in the air force. And he ran the house like a boot camp even after he left the service and took a job with American Airlines. He's a great guy, don't get me wrong. He accepted Adam and I and loves us like we're his own, but you can only handle being around him for so long."

"No teenager or adult likes to live in a place that's like an army barracks," Danny concluded. "No wonder you both left home the first chance you got. What about your mom? What's she like?"

Sam snorted. "That's a topic of conversation I avoid like the plague."

"That bad?" Danny asked.

She nodded.

"She like mommy dearest or something?"

"Or something," Sam said. "So where's Lindsay?" she asked, anxious to change the subject. "I thought she was working today."

"She's running a bit behind," Danny replied, grimacing as he sat up, a hand clutching his queasy stomach. "Had a doctor's appointment. Trying to get to the bottom of that damn stomach virus she's been carrying around for a month now."

"A stomach virus," Sam said, nodding slowly. "Sure…"

Danny frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam replied innocently. "I just think it's kind of strange that she's had this virus…" she air quoted around the word. "…and no one else around here has been sick. And you'd think if anyone was going to catch it, it would be you. Considering you guys live together and share bodily fluids and what not. I get the sniffles and Don's sick four hours later."

"Maybe you two just have more sex than the average person and are passing germs around at breakneck speed," Danny reasoned.

"All I'm saying is that no one else has gotten this mysterious illness," Sam told him.

"Guess it's not contagious," Danny said with a shrug.

"You are so goddamn slow," Sam laughed. "Has it ever occurred to you that there is no illness and it's something else? You know, something that lasts about nine months and comes with eighteen years of side effects?"

Danny frowned and tossed one of the throw cushions at her. "Bite your goddamn tongue, Brooklyn! Don't be talking that shit around me!"

"I'm just saying…"

"I know what you're saying and you need to stop while you're ahead," Danny told her, rising slowly to his feet. "My head!" he cried. "The entire world is spinning! I'm seeing triple!"

"How the hell do you expect to work like that?" Sam asked, offering him her latte. "Mac's going to shit when he sees the kind of shape you're in."

"I'm going to tell him I'm too ill to be out in the field and that I think it's best, for both me and the sake of the lab, to be inside all day."

"Oh that's it," Sam scoffed. "Pussy out on me. Make me take all the calls."

"I won't be much use to you in this condition," he said. "And thanks but no thanks on the drink. I can't take all your girlie beverages. I'm going to head down and grab a coffee. You want anything? Something to eat?"

"I'm good. Thanks though. You should run across the street to Barnes and Noble."

"Why?" he asked, sticking his feet into a pair of boots sitting at the side of the couch. "You looking for something over there? A little light reading?"

"I was thinking about you, actually," Sam said, casually sipping her latte. "I was thinking that maybe you could buy a book on Egypt."

Danny arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"You know," she sighed. "Considering you're living in DE-NIAL and all."

"You're a goddamn comedienne," he grumbled.

"Or you can always pick up a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting," she suggested.

"Fuck you, Sam Ross!" Danny snarled. "No one more comments from the peanut gallery, okay? You just keep your diagnosis and theories to yourself, a'right?"

She held up her hands in mock surrender as he headed for the door. "Actually!" she called to Danny. "I could go for a bagel with cream cheese or a croissant or muffin or something."

"You woman, are seriously demanding," he teased. "I'll be back in a few. Think of anything else, just call my cell."

"Will do," Sam responded.

Danny grabbed the nearby trash bin and opening the door, used the garbage can to prop it open. "Remind me to call building maintenance and get that damn door stopper fixed. It's only been broken for what? A month now?"

"You can't get out your tools and do a little handiwork?" Sam asked. "You can't get a hard hat and a tool belt and go all Ty Pennington for me?"

"Sorry Brooklyn. I'm too busy catering to all of Montana's dirty little fantasies to fulfill yours, too. Get Flack to do it."

"I keep him too busy with my cop fetish," she laughed. "Couple nights ago, we got out his cuffs and…"

"Don't wanna hear it!" Danny exclaimed, placing his hands over his ears. "Do not want to be discussing yours and Flack's kinky sex life!"

"Wimp," Sam grinned.

"Be back in a few," Danny told her, and had one foot out in the hall when a delivery man with a massive arrangement of long stemmed champagne roses in various colours in a finely etched crystal vase appeared in front of him.

"Samantha Ross?" the man asked.

"Obviously it's not me," Danny replied. "She's in there," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and then stepped aside to let the delivery man into the office. Deciding to hang tight in the doorway to see just who was sending his friend flowers the day before Valentine's Day.

"Happy pre-Valentine's Day!" the delivery man exclaimed and set the flowers down on the coffee table in front of a startled Samantha Ross. "Someone obviously thinks a whole lot about you."

"Wow…" she said, in awe at the roses in front of her. She rose to her feet and reached into one of her pockets to pull out a crumbled five dollar bill. "Who are they from?" she asked.

"Pretty girl like you must have a husband," the man replied, accepting the tip with a gracious nod and a smile. "Or at the very least, a boyfriend."

"It's the latter," Danny piped up. "So quit fishing for clues on her marital status and shit can all ideas on ever coming back here to ask her out."

"Ignore him," Sam said. "He hasn't had his coffee this morning."

"So you don't have a boyfriend?" the delivery guy asked.

She gave a polite smile. "Thank you for dropping them off," she said dismissively.

"Take a hike," Danny said, as the young man slipped past him on the way out the door. "Jack ass."

"Be nice, Messer," Sam sighed. "Either that or get a personality transplant."

"Sorry. I'm getting too old to be anything but an asshole. So? Who are they from? Flack decided to show us all up and get you flowers a day early?"

"Don knows what kind of flowers I like," Sam said, leaning over to inhale the intoxicating scent of the roses. "He knows that's it's pink or orange roses or the white ones with the red trim around the top of the petals. These are beautiful, but they're all red and white. Not Don's style at all."

"You've got that guy so goddamn whipped," Danny grumbled. "Don't keep me in suspense here. Who are they from?"

She plucked the small envelope from the arrangement. Opening it up, she pulled out the tiny card.

**Just letting you know that it's all done. Hope that makes for a good Valentine's Day. Pop by and see me some time. Work or home. TD.**

"Well?" Danny asked impatiently. "Who are they from?"

"Just a friend," she replied, a broad grin crossing her face as she tucked the card into the pocket of her dress pants. "He just wanted to cheer me up, I guess."

"What kind of friend?" Danny inquired.

"A friend," she answered. "Just a friend."

"Does this friend know you have a boyfriend?"

"Give it a rest, Danny. The overprotective and possessive man crush you have on Don is starting to poke through again."

Danny frowned. "I'm just saying that…"

"He's just a friend," Sam insisted, and went and sat back down with her latte.

Danny nodded slowly. "Asshole better hope so," he said, then disappeared out into the hall.

* * *

So much to do and so little time.

That was the story of Don Flack Jr's life.

Half an hour into his shift and he was already preparing himself for the long haul. The case files on his desk were a horrific reminder that there were days, and nights for that matter, that he just hadn't been on his game lately. That he'd slacked off and put things on the back burner in order to concentrate on his personal life. He'd been so caught up on having someone to share his life with, someone that he loved to the ends of the earth, that every other aspect of him was starting to suffer.

Gone was the guy who'd pull a triple just so he could get all the paper work and proper forms finished for his cases. Now he could barely wait to get out the door once his shift was up. He would rather take the work home with him then have to stay behind in the precinct. Only once he actually got home, he was so caught up in playing the attentive, loving boyfriend that the case file simply got tossed aside and was quickly forgotten about. Days off -if they were fortunate enough to get mutual time off - were spent going out. Going to the movies and out to lunch or dinner. Taking walks through Central Park or through the malls. Sometimes they just hung out and watched television and stayed in their bedclothes, cuddled up on the couch all day.

Which was why he had a mountain of work to tend to. Active cases that he needed to work his ass off to try and solve, lukewarm ones that he had to attempt to resuscitate, and employee evaluations on his guys that needed to be completed, and handed in to the Deputy Inspector, in less then three days. Mixed in with without calls he caught during his next scheduled twelve hours, and the writing was on the wall. As clear as day.

It was time to get his head out of his ass and the show on the road.

Sighing heavily, he slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it along the back of his chair before sitting down. He leaned forward and powered up his computer, waiting several seconds before typing in his secure password and logging into the NYPD system. Since 9-11, the department had been through millions of dollars of security upgrades and changes. Every year it seemed the computer systems were undergoing some massive renovations to make them less susceptible to hackers. The only thing it really did, was succeed in pissing people off and forcing them to relearn an entirely new operating system.

Picking up a stainless steel travel mug that rested on his desk, Flack took a huge swig of the steaming black coffee inside and mentally prepared himself for the day that lay ahead of him.

He'd just grabbed the folder on the top of the monstrous pile and laid it on his desk and flipped it open, when his computer beeped noisily. Indicating that someone was sending him an instant message via the department's internal service.

Laying his hand over the mouse, he moved the cursor to the flashing orange icon located on his desk bar and clicked on it.

**Det. S. Ross **says: _I was just thinking. I think I'll take you up on the offer of that Irish coffee now._

Flack grinned, his mind taken back to that night a little more then a year ago, when in between Devon and Angell, he'd made a very lame attempt at propositioning Samantha Ross. He could still see the way she rolled her eyes and hear the small laugh she gave. He still remembered how after he'd gotten out of talking to Rikki Sandoval, he'd called both Sam's cell phone and home line and received no answer at either. So he'd sent her a text message, asking her to meet him at a small, out of the way restaurant on the lower west side. He'd sat for nearly an hour hoping she'd show up.

His ego had taken a huge hit that night. He'd asked out a lot of women in his dating career. Not many had developed into anything more then a couple of outings of dinner and drinks. He wasn't the male slut that people so often pegged him as. For a thirty one year old guy, the number of conquests notched on his bedpost were startlingly low. But whether it was a girl he simply took out to a nice restaurant once or twice or someone he invested a lot of time in, he'd never been turned down, or stood up.

Until that night. When a tiny Brooklyn girl taught him without words, that he wasn't God's gift to women. He'd left that restaurant shortly after midnight, pissed off at her goddamn nerve, and utterly deflated. And when she didn't return any of the messages he left on his way home, that only infuriated him even more. He'd been half tempted to show up at Adam's place, her residence at that moment, and bang on the door until she answered and demand an explanation. The cooler side of him had prevailed. Being heavy handed with her would have just made things worse. She'd made it quite obvious that she wasn't interested, and as hard as that was to accept, he'd swallowed his pride and sulked throughout his sleepless night and vowed to be a complete asshole to her at work from there on out.

That had been easier said then done. Those golden brown eyes and those sultry lips and that musical giggle were impossible to resist. And even when, after he'd confronted her about not showing up the night before, she'd declared, "I'm nobody's booty call, Detective Flack" he'd been unable to simply walk away from her. Instead, he'd taken his bruised and battered ego and thrown himself into a relationship with Angell. Angell was an easy conquest. She wanted him and hide that fact from no one. He was tired of being alone and convinced himself that being with her, was better then not having anyone. So he'd tried to concentrate on what he had with her in an abysmal attempt to distract himself from what he didn't have with someone else. He'd come to the conclusion that it was easier to fool yourself into thinking you were in love with someone, then it was to accept you were alone.

And ashamed as he was to admit it, he had, in an evil genius sort of way, used Angell and her feelings for him. Because being with Angell meant that outside of work, he would remain in close contact with Samantha because of the friendship the two women shared. It was a shitty thing to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Angell had been so caught up on being in love with him and planning their forever, that she'd been oblivious to the fact that he just wasn't that into their relationship.

In the end, he had proved the old adage true. Good things did come to those who wait.

And wait, and wait, and wait.

As he now sat at his desk, his hard work and suffering long behind him and the woman who was quickly becoming the love of his life waiting for his response, he thought for a moment before typing: _Sorry, babe. That offer is no longer on the table. _

Flack hit enter and turned to his case file as he waited for a reply.

_You're mean, _she sent back. Accompanied by a pouting 'Smiley'.

Eyes on the screen, his fingers flying over the keyboard, he composed his response.

_I just figure why should I buy you an Irish coffee when I am already getting the end result for free?_

A grin on his face, Flack hit enter.

_Because you love me and like to buy me things_**, **came her retort. _And because with a couple of Irish coffees in me, I become the inhibited Sam. And you love the inhibited Sam._

That Flack could not deny. But then he loved every aspect of her. Whether it was the bitchy and moody, whiny little girl, or the sultry sex kitten or the cuddly and attentive and loving one. There wasn't a side that he didn't like. Some he could go without witnessing for a while but others he'd die without.

_Which is why I gave you all that money for the party later, _he typed. _Because when you get home you'll be a totally uninhibited Sammie and well…do I really need to elaborate?_

He sent the message and waited, longer this time, for something to be sent back.

_Have I ever told you that you're a huge perv? Not that that's a complaint or anything, but…I was just wondering…what if the department saves all the IM's sent through here and we're being spied on?_

Flack smirked. _What does it matter if they are? None of their goddamn business what goes on between me and you. And it's not like we're talking THAT bad._

_I just worry that the wrong person will get a hold of it and get the wrong idea about us._

He frowned. _What wrong idea? Does it bother you if the brass knows that we're boyfriend and girlfriend?_

_It's not that it bothers me…it just…worries me. I don't want you get in trouble. That's all. _

Flack took a swig of coffee before responding. _Why would I get in trouble for having a social life? _

_Some bosses frown upon workplace relationships, _she reasoned. _And they could want to transfer one of us._

He sighed and shook his head_. First off, Mac is your boss. I don't work for the crime lab. I work in conjuncture with the crime lab. I have my own bosses. So you and I working together isn't that huge of a thing. If anyone was going to get in shit for working together, it would be DL. 'Cause they're both employed by Mac. Second, ask me if I give a shit what TPTB think. They can't stop me from having a girlfriend that works thirty some floors above me._

Flack hit enter and leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen repeatedly on the desk top, eyes riveted on the computer screen as he waited for her come back. It took longer then he expected. At first he was tempted to 'write' back and ask if she was still around, until the words finally appeared on the screen.

_At the risk of getting fired, I will remind you that the NYPD is a Nazi Regime sometimes and that they've fired people for a lot less._

He sighed heavily and fought the urge to bang his head off his desk. Tossing his pen onto his papers in frustration, he leaned forward and quickly typed: _So what you're saying is that it does bother you that TPTB know we're together._

_I never said that, Donnie. I just said that if they want to fire us for breaking some sort of protocol…_

Jesus fucking Christ, woman, he thought, and instead of sending a message back, snatched his cell phone up from it's resting spot to the left of him on his desk and dialled her number.

"We are not breaking some damn protocol because we're seeing each other," he barked, before Sam even managed to get the words Detective Ross out of her mouth.

Silence. Then her very perturbed, and hurt voice, hissed back at him. "And here I was thinking it was a little more then that. Seeing each other? Are you kidding me? Seeing each other is like saying I'm having a great time with you but tomorrow I could be having a great time with someone else. Like it's good, but when something else better comes along, see ya."

"Samantha, that is not what I meant. Do me and you really need a title? Is there a specific and appropriate term that classifies us? Does it really matter if I say seeing each other, dating, co-habituating, fornicating? 'Cause if there's a term you prefer, just let me know and I'll…"

"How about the term fuck you?" she asked in an overly polite voice. "Does that term make sense to you?"

And with that, there was a dull click as she disconnected the call.

Flack sighed heavily and briefly closed his eyes before staring down at the cell phone clutched tightly in his hand. Pressing end, he tossed the phone aside and went back to the computer keyboard.

_Look, I'm terrible at grovelling over the computer,_ he typed. _Almost as terrible as I am at being a boyfriend. I didn't mean that the way you took it. I just don't see why we need a 'term'. We know what we are, so what does it matter what we call ourselves? To me, all you are is the woman that I love more then anything in this world. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I really don't care who reads this or who thinks what. You and me, Sammie. That's all that matters, babe._

His finger hovered over the enter key, praying she was actually at her desk to read his message and reply back. That his heartfelt words weren't about to fall on deaf ears. Sighing, he hit the button and waited. A huge wave of relief washing over him when her response appeared a minute later.

_Maybe you're not as bad as you think at grovelling. I think you're doing a great job. And you are not a horrible boyfriend. I'm still slightly pissed, but that doesn't mean I don't love you, Donnie. It just means I think you're a huge turd sometimes._

He smirked and composed his reply. _A turd, huh? This morning you called me a tool. Yesterday I was a twit. What other T words do you got in that pretty little head of yours?_

_That is between me and my next emotional melt down, _she replied. _But can I be completely honest about something?_

Uh-oh, he thought, almost afraid of what she was about to say.

_Of course,_ he sent back in reply.

_I just want to say, that I've always been there for you. Always. Even long before you and I ever got together. When you were going through that IAB nightmare after Todd Flemming decided to just up and kick the bucket on you, I was the one person that had your back no matter what. When Angell was all obnoxious and Queen bitch worrying about herself and her feelings, I was the one that was trying to convince everyone else, aside from Mac and Stella, that you weren't capable of doing what IAB was accusing you of. So I'm sorry if this comes across as terribly bitchy, but I think I deserve more status then 'the girl you're seeing'._

I deserve that, Flack thought. _I admit,_ he typed back_. I am not the world's most sensitive boyfriend. I say the wrong things at the wrong times. I don't always know what to say when you get upset or you need my opinion on something. Sometimes I run off the mouth and don't know what I'm saying or think about how it's affecting you. But I don't say things to purposefully hurt you, babe. I don't mean things the way they sound. I'd never do anything to hurt you and you know that. I just need more practice in being more gentle, that's all._

Picking up his coffee, Flack sipped slowly at the brew while he waited the couple of minutes it took to get an answer.

_Well you know what they say. Practice makes perfect. And I don't mind you being less then gentle while you are practicing. _

Flack nearly spit a mouthful of coffee all over his computer screen. He certainly hadn't been expecting THAT kind of answer. He coughed and gagged and sputtered and took a moment to compose himself, aware of the curious looks he was getting from his guys that were milling around. All wondering what in the hell he was up to.

Let them wonder, he thought, and hurriedly messaged his girlfriend back.

_That was not at all professional, Miss Ross._

Smirking, he picked his pen up and chewed thoughtfully at the end of it.

_Maybe that's because I enjoy being unprofessional with you. _

_Time and place, _he sent back.

A minute passed by before her reply appeared on the screen._Something about a janitor's closet on the tenth floor came to mind, but I will bite my tongue. I gtg. Danny says it's time for me to start actually earning my salary._

_I have about a months worth of files calling my name, _Flack typed in response. _So Danny, for once, is right. I'll pop upstairs when and if I get a chance. Okay?_

_Okay, _she returned. _Just so you know, I do love you._

Flack smiled broadly and without hesitation, responded: _I love you, too. _

He paused before hitting the send button, and then typed something else to go along with it.

_And I don't care who knows it._

* * *

"A brazen daylight shooting in one of Manhattan's busiest subway terminals has left thousands of commuters stranded and waiting for the transportation authority to send shuttle buses their way. While tempers flare and patience runs short, the NYPD is hard at work piecing together this bizarre incident that has left two people dead, two dangerous and violent suspects on the loose, and a mountain of unanswered and seemingly impossible questions in it's wake. What will…"

Danny Messer smirked and killed the ignition on the department issues Avalanche, cutting the reporter's grating voice off mid sentence as all power was cut off from the vehicle.

"You ever notice how the press just strikes fear in the heart of man?" he asked Samantha, as they both undid their seat belts. "Dangerous and violent suspects. How do they know it's not a mugging or something gone bad and it was a freak accident?"

"I thought there was only one victim," Sam commented, pulling her log book from her coat pocket and flipping it open to the appropriate page. "When we got the call, dispatch said that there was only one DB."

"Maybe someone snapped 'cause of the hold up down below. Went postal on somebody," Danny suggested.

Sam shrugged and tossing open her door, slid out of the SUV. She stripped off her winter jacket and tossed it into her empty seat before snagging a Kevlar vest from the back seat. Although the K9 unit currently were scouring the tunnels for any sign of the two assailants that got away, it was better to be safe then sorry. There was a million and one hidden, dark places for someone to hide. It only took walking by the wrong one to end your life.

"So did Lindsay say anything to you about her appointment when you, her and Adam had lunch?" Danny asked curiously, as he tossed his own winter jacket in the back in favour of his own vest.

"She just said that the doctor told her to tell us that she's not contagious," Sam replied, affixing her badge to the neck of her Kevlar. "I am telling you, you should have made that trip over to Barnes and Noble…"

"What did I tell you about not wanting to hear any comments from the peanut gallery?" Danny asked, slamming the driver's side door closed before opening the back one and pulling out both his and Sam's kits.

"I don't see what the huge issue is," Sam commented, as Danny locked and set the alarm on the Avalanche before joining her on the snowy sidewalk. "I mean, you guys are in a committed relationship. You're getting married in five and a half months. Would a baby be that horrible of a thing?"

"It's not that a baby is horrible," Danny informed her, as they fell in step side by side. "It's just that it's not the smartest thing to happen at this moment."

"Why?" Sam asked. "Both of you said you were ready to have kids right away. So it happened a little sooner then planned."

"I don't think you understand where I'm coming from here, B. This wedding is costing us tons of money. All those Benjamins I've shelled out for deposits? I can't get those back. If Montana is pregnant, it throws a huge monkey wrench into the entire thing. You really think she wants to walk down the aisle as big as a house?"

Sam shrugged.

"And her dress cost a fortune. And if she's pregnant, she's got to get a whole new dress. One that expands with her so to speak. Get where I'm coming from here?"

"Totally," Sam said, as they headed down the slippery steps leading to their underground crime scene. She kept on hand firmly on the banister, the other securely clenching Danny's bicep. "But say she is…"

"Brooklyn…" Danny sighed exasperatedly.

"Just say she is," Sam repeated. "You guys knew you were getting married in the summer and you knew how much agony and tears were put into the planning and how broke the two of you are already, right?"

Danny nodded.

"Well explain this to me, then. How did you know all of that and not use a goddamn condom?"

"These things happen," Danny protested. "I mean, it's not always the first thing on your mind, you know. You get caught up in the heat of the moment, your hormones are kicking ass over your rational thoughts. You cease thinking about anything else other then the ultimate prize. You know how it is."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on. Like you and Flack use a condom every single time?" Danny snorted. "I seriously doubt that."

"We don't," Sam admitted. "But we also have a back up plan. So there's no way we're having a little mess up. We're protected to the max. And apparently, you're not."

"Well I guess my brains were on short supply that night," Danny said.

Sam arched an eyebrow at him as their feet touched the dusty floor of the subway station and daylight ceased to exist. "Just that night?" she asked.

"You're a goddamn smart ass," he complained, nodding his thanks to the young uniform officer that held up the crime scene tape, allowing them to pass underneath.

A second uniform, bearing a name tag that read Melendez, smiled pleasantly at Samantha as she and Danny passed by. But she would have been blind to not notice the smirk that crossed the young man's face as he surveyed her partner from head to toe.

"A shooting down here, huh?" Melendez called out to a colleague standing near the tracks. In a voice loud enough for an entire city block to hear. "At least this time it's not a CSI shooting another cop."

Sam winced at the harsh, intentional words. She hadn't been at work for two weeks when the gossip mill had went into over drive and she was being assaulted by every piece of juicy information lab techs could conjure up. And one of those tid bits had been about how Danny Messer had chased a suspect from an apartment, into a subway station, where he became embroiled in a shoot out. Mistakenly gunning down an undercover cop in the process.

That was the exact story that she had heard. Word for word. Sam didn't believe it for a second, knowing that firing your weapon erratically and killing another cop, intentional or not, was a definite dismissal, if not jail time. Yet she hadn't want to stir up old memories for Danny, or bring it up to Lindsay. So she'd gone to Don Flack for the straight goods. One shift with the assertive and aggressive homicide detective had taught her that he didn't mince words or talk shit.

Two of the many things that made him so unbelievably sexy.

He'd told her the honest to God facts. Touching lightly on Danny's IAB ordeal and his dissension with Mac and jumping straight to the end of the story. It hadn't been Danny's bullet that had killed Minhas.

And now, years after the incident, she saw the pained expression that came over her friend's face. Danny didn't respond to the comment nor lash out.

He was a damn good person. An amazing cop who deserved more respect. A friend that she loved dearly and would defend to the death.

"Hey!" she snapped at Melendez. "How about you shut your goddamn gate and stop staring at my ass before I pop a cap in yours."

The officer blinked at the outburst from the tiny woman. "Sorry, miss, I was just…"

"You were just being a smart mouth prick," she finished. "And it's Detective. I suggest Melendez, that you keep your comments to yourself or see your ass off my crime scene. Understand me?"

"Yes, miss…I mean, detective."

"Ass wipe," Sam muttered as she as she stepped past the smirking uniform.

"Making friends?" Flack asked as he journeyed over to her while Danny conversed with Stella and Hawkes as they were hunkered down by the first victim. A young Caucasian man with tousled blond hair and a pair of jeans, hiking boots and jeans and Yankees jacket lying on the side in a spreading pool of blood.

"Always," she replied.

"I was a bit worried for a second it was PMS," he teased. Then gave one of his famous grins as he eyed her from head to toe.

"What?" Sam asked.

"You look hot in a vest," he informed her.

"I was just going to say the same thing about you," she said.

They smiled at each other.

"You two wanna be alone?" Danny asked. "Quit making you know what eyes at my partner, Flack."

"So how come when we got the initial call from dispatch we were told there was only one body?" Sam asked, as she and Flack headed over to their colleagues.

"Because we hadn't found the second one yet," he replied. "One of the dogs found the deceased in the tunnel while searching for suspects."

"Hit by a train?" she inquired.

"I haven't gone down myself yet. But according the K9, he's in one piece. So that's a negative."

"Think he's one of the suspects?" Sam asked. "Or just some poor ass in the wrong place at the wrong time? Could be living under the tracks or something."

"Like I said, I haven't seen the body. So I guess both of us have some detective work cut out for us."

"You're a sarcastic bastard," she said with a smile.

"I know how much it turns you on," he grinned. "So this is vic number one," he said, nodding down at the deceased at their feet. "This is our initial crime scene. Aaron Clarke. Twenty-one, originally from Hoboken, New Jersey. Moved up to the big bad city seven months ago to study at NYU. An ancient civilizations student according to his very distraught girlfriend."

"Where is she?" Stella asked.

"EMS had to take her over to St Vincent's. She passed out from the shock, cracked her head on the cement and knocked herself out. According to witnesses, the young couple were simply minding their own business, waiting for the train, when three people started a big old thing on the platform here."

"A big old thing?" Sam asked, eyebrow arched.

"Guess a guy was getting smart mouthed with his girlfriend and his buddy wasn't having anything of it. The two of them start arguing, accusations of infidelity start flying and the next thing you know, a fight breaks out. Aaron here decided to try and play peacemaker."

"And ended up dead for his trouble," Danny surmised. "So much for being a good Samaritan, huh? What's the news on the shooter and the other two?"

"Shooter and the second guy hopped onto the tracks and took off down the tunnel," Flack responded. "Girl took up off the stairs."

"Descriptions?" Stella inquired.

"Witnesses told me that both guys were roughly between five foot ten and six foot one. Both medium build. One had dark shaggy hair to his shoulder and grey eyes, the other was blond and sported a brush cut and slight facial hair. Both wearing b-boy type clothes. Baggy jeans, backwards ball caps, that kind of shit. Approximately twenty-five to thirty years old. No distinguishing marks or tattoos. At least none that were noticeable."

"And the girl?" Danny asked.

"Between twenty-five and thirty-five. Slender build, long dark hair."

Danny eyed Sam from head to toe as Flack spoke.

"Yes?" Sam asked. "What is wrong with you men today?"

"The description," Danny replied. "Where we you an hour ago?"

"Oh that's right. I forgot. I skipped out early on my lunch break and ran over here to kill a perfect stranger. Who called nine one one?"

"Station security," Flack answered. "Minute they heard the shot and saw people diving for cover and Aaron here lying on the ground."

"Where's the other DB?" Danny asked.

Flack stepped up to the train tracks, motioning for Danny and Sam to follow him. He nodded down the dark tunnel. "Down there. About two hundred yards."

"Lovely," Danny sighed and hopped down onto the tracks, the gravel crunching under his feet. "You scared of the dark, Brooklyn?" he asked, as he extended a hand to the tiny brunette, helping her down.

"Nope," she replied. "So don't worry. I can hold both yours and Don's hands when you guys start wimping out on me."

"Your smart mouth is starting to rub off on her," Danny commented to Flack, as the detective joined them, pausing to set both kits on the ground to open them and removed a flashlight from each.

"When did I become the servant?" Flack asked, as Danny snapped both kits closed, picked them up and held one out to his best friend.

"The second you started dipping your pen in the company ink," Danny informed him, flicking on his flash light. "It is as creepy as all shit down here," he commented, as they began their descent down the damp and eerie tunnel. "Last time I had to jump down into the bowels of the earth, Mac was in a tux and Montana was all dolled. They'd been at some mayor's gig and the opera. We thought this kid took a nose dive after surfing on top of the train. Turned out the conductor had bashed his head in and tossed him out."

"Nice," Sam commented. "Makes me think twice about taking the subway. Last week, I had some old guy tell me he was a breast inspector and that he wanted to, and I quote, check to make sure mine were in working order."

"I would have fucking messed him up," Flack declared. "I notice you never tell me these things until well after they happen."

"What were you going to do? Run out to defend my honour? Hunt down every wackadoo riding the A train?"

"Wackadoo," Danny chuckled. "You two spend way too much time together. I was just thinking that…RAT!"

Sam jumped a mile. Not at the rodent that went scurrying across her feet, but at Danny's piercing shriek and the way he jumped behind her. Using her as a human shield in case the damn thing decided to take a leap and go straight for his throat.

"You jackass, Messer!" Flack bellowed. "What is wrong with you?"

"Did you see the size of that thing?" Danny asked, his eyes wide in fright.

Sam closed her eyes, her hand over her racing heart.

"You okay, Brooklyn?" Danny asked. "You alright? Didn't pee yourself, did you?"

She opened her eyes and glared at him and landed a punch to his shoulder. "You moron! You scared the shit out of me! It was a rat! Like you haven't seen a rat before?! What's your malfunction? That was practically a baby one! A sewer rat, but a tiny one!"

"Hey! Just 'cause you're from Crown Heights were the rats are the size of a small terrier, doesn't mean we're all used to it," Danny informed her. "I'm sorry. Want me to cuddle you until you feel better?"

Sam shoved him away. "Remind me to never tell you stories about the hairless rat Adam and I used to have when we were kids."

"Did you hear that?" Danny asked Flack. "A hairless rat? Do you really want to be pro-creating with someone that kept a hairless rat as a pet? Or someone with the last name Ross? You need your head read, Flack."

"Only people around here that are pro-creating shall remain nameless, Daniel," Sam shot back. "Like have we missed the vic or what? How far do we have to…" her words were cut off as her toe caught on something on the ground and she went toppling forward. Right over the dead body.

Danny couldn't hold the laughter in. It burst out of him and echoed down the dark cavern.

Flack bit his lip to keep his own laughter inside as he assisted his embarrassed, and slightly pissed off girlfriend to her feet.

"Walk much?" Danny asked her, elbowing her playfully.

"Shut up," she grumbled.

Flack cast his flashlight down at the deceased. "Looks like our shooter. Matches the description I got."

"We're going to need some better light down here if we want to process anything," Danny commented. "Can't work in these types of conditions."

"Witnesses only heard the one shot?" Sam asked.

Flack nodded. "Why?"

"Because there's a quite obvious bullet hole in his forehead and even in this light I can tell the back of his head is missing," she replied, pulling a pair of latex gloves from her pants pockets and snapping them on. as she crouched down next to the body. "Looks like a medium calibre," she commented. "Up close and personal. I think that's a muzzle stamp on his forehead."

"Someone took the time to stop and execute him in the tunnel?" Flack asked, a frown on his face. "That doesn't make sense."

"Murder usually never does," Danny said, slipping on his own gloves and bending down to scoop something out of the gravel. "Got an Ipod here. Doubt it's his, " he held the item up for Flack to see. "Metallic pink. One of them Ipod nano-chromatic things. It was you, Brooklyn. It's the same one you have."

"Only thing that proves is the girl has good taste," she said. Lifting the victim's head slightly, she reached under with a grimace on her face and fumbled through the rocks. A victorious grin taking over her lips as she found exactly what she had been searching for.

"He was shot in this position," she announced.

"How do you know that?" Flack asked.

"Because I'm a goddamn genius," she replied, and held a loft a bullet fragment. The silver glistening in the bright ray of the flashlight.

"Well I'll tell you one thing," Danny said, bagging the Ipod. "Whatever the hell went on down here, there isn't going to be any easy answers."

"Story of our lives, Messer," Flack sighed.

"Gonna be one long, weird ass day," Danny concluded.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! But please, please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Marialisa**

**wolfeylady**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**


	31. Not so new faces in the same old places

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**THE LAST SECTION OF THIS CHAP GOES OUT TO ALL MY DL GALZ**

**AND PLEASE READ THE LYRICS. IF THAT ISN'T SAM AND FLACK AND DL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS**

* * *

**Not so new faces in the same old places**

"You touch these tired eyes of mine  
And map my face out line by line  
And somehow growing old feels fine  
I listen close for I'm not smart  
You wrap you thoughts in works of art  
And they're hanging on the walls of my heart  
I may not have the softest touch  
I may not say the words as such  
And though I may not look like much  
I'm yours  
And though my edges may be rough  
And never feel I'm quite enough  
It may not seem like very much  
But I'm yours."  
-I'm Yours, The Script

* * *

"Might as well be working by torch light," Danny complained, as he slowly and methodically scoured every possible inch of gravel surrounding the body, and within two hundred yards either direction. A field tech following his every move, evidence markers in one hand and a lantern style flashlight in the other.

Despite the transportation authority turning on all emergency lighting within the subway tunnel, it had done little more then illuminate the cavern in a dull, eerie glow.

"Hopefully the ME's office will get here soon," Sam said, from her position crouched by the body as she snapped photographs. "I'm freezing."

Danny chuckled.

"What, Messer?" she asked with an exasperated sigh. "What now?"

"You talking about being cold and shivering and quivering there. Made me think back to this case I had winter before you arrived. Dead guy in his undies in the middle of Central Park with a shopping cart next to him. Your brother, I think it was one of his first times out in the cold, he was shaking like a leaf and had this huge grimace on his face and his shoulders all hunched up like he was trying to keep warm. Told him to stop shivering like a girl. Then I called him a cupcake. Not out loud of course."

"Adam was twelve when we moved to Arizona, I was sixteen," Sam reminded her friend. "Trust me, it didn't take long for us to warm up to the winters there. No pun intended."

"Ever wish you were back there?" Danny asked, kicking at gravel and dirt with the toe of his boot. "When you're freezing that little ass off in situations like this? Does that every make you wish you were back there, kicking back in a bikini and drinking some concoction with an umbrella in it?"

"First, it was Phoenix. Not a beach in Tahiti. And it's hard liquor. How many times do I have to say this? Second, you're nuts if you think I'd walk around in a bikini. And third, little ass? Apparently you haven't looked at my rear view in the past year."

"Oh I've looked," Danny commented. "More than once."

"That's sexual harassment," Sam said.

"Okay, Aiden…" Danny snickered.

"Please tell me you just didn't call me by your dead friend's name," Sam sighed. "That's either a massive insult to her or a ….I don't know what it is."

"You just made me think of her just then. She said those exact same words to me once when we had all these sex toys in the lab and I wanted her to give the Robo-spanker a try."

Sam arched her eyebrows. "The what?"

"Long story," Danny said. "What's the news on our friend there?"

"The news is that he has no I.D on him. At all. The only things I've found in his pockets are a Metro Card, five bucks in change, and someone else's wallet."

"So we've got a girl's Ipod and a stranger's wallet," Danny recapped. "Lifted both things off of people waiting on the platform, maybe?"

"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "And without actually laying a finger on the body, I can tell you that there doesn't look to be any other injuries. Just the bullet hole in his head and half of his brains and shards of skull all over the place."

"So why would his partner turn on him in the tunnel?" Danny asked. "Your boy there shoots someone on the platform, they jump on to the tracks and take off down here and his buddy turns the tables on him. Why?"

Sam shrugged once more and snagged three plastic evidence bags from her kit, depositing the wallet, the change and the Metro Card into their own pouches before sealing them tightly. Taking a black Sharpie marker from the kit open next to her, she placed it between her teeth and yanked off the cap before scrawling her initials. Consulting her watch, she added the time on the labels on the bags as well.

"What I don't get is how they didn't get hit by a train," Danny said. "I mean, it would take a few minutes to get the operators to shut everything down. Trains are going in and out of here like crazy. How in the hell did they not get creamed?"

"Blind, dumb luck is my guess," Flack commented, as he caught the end of Danny's observation as he journeyed back down the tunnel towards the others with a uniform next to him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Danny asked. "When you said you were going down yonder to follow the yellow brick road, I didn't think you were going on a lunch break. You at least bring back coffee for the rest of us?"

"You're a comedian," the detective snorted. "Okay, so here's the good news and the not so good news. Which do you two want first?"

"The not so good news," responded Danny. "That way there's something following that will cheer me up."

"The bad news is that those boot tracks you spotted earlier? They go down about four hundred yards and then take a sharp left and disappear."

"Fantastic," Danny sighed. "What's the good news?"

"The good news is that the only place he could have possibly gone was either through an emergency escape door that's used by the subway maintenance guys, or up onto the 88th street platform."

"Two separate directions," Danny concluded.

"I've currently got a K9 unit going through that escape route and seeing if the dog can pick up a scent. If our guy went that way," Flack said.

"And what about the platform?" Sam asked.

"I've sent some of my guys over there now to check for witnesses and confiscate the surveillance tapes. Unfortunately…"

"There just had to be an unfortunately…" Danny grumbled.

"Unfortunately surveillance is limited at that station because it's under renovation," Flack continued. "It hasn't been closed to the public, but it's seeing only a quarter of it's regular business. And surveillance there is minimal at best. So even if he did go that way…"

"We might not see it," Danny finished.

"What's going on with him?" Flack asked, nodding down at the body.

"Uh…he's dead?" Sam replied, stating the obvious.

"What is it? Mac likes hiring smart ass Brooklyn girls or something?" the detective asked. "Seriously though. Give me something. Anything."

"He was shot in the head and that's all I know for sure," his girlfriend responded. "The size of the entrance wound and the damage down suggests it's a medium calibre weapon. There's a slight muzzle stamp around the entrance wound, along with these indents in the gravel…" she touched a spot on either side of the victim's torso where the gravel and dirt had been disturbed. "…show that the shooter kneeled over him and put the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger."

"What about the bullet?" Flack asked. "Can you look at it and tell what calibre it is?"

"Come on, Brooklyn," Danny cajoled. "You're the ballistics bitch."

"Sorry gentleman, even I can't make out what this…" she plucked a small evidence bag from her kit and held it up. "…is. Now get me back to the lab under proper lighting and with the proper equipment and hopefully I'll be able to do something with it. I'm not making any promises. It's pretty damaged. Almost completely mushroomed."

"You just know how to ruin my mood," Flack teased, using the beam from the flashlight from the young uniform beside him to see as he jotted everything down in his log book. "So I've got surveillance tapes from both the eighty-eighth station and the eighty-seventh in the works and I'll have them sent to Adam as soon as possible. And you've got that Ipod so you'll probably be able to get the owner's name off of it."

"If it's registered," Danny said. "If. I've never registered mine and I've had it for over a year. Brooklyn also found a man's wallet and a Metro Card."

Sam scooped both items from her kit and held them out to Flack. "The wallet is not his," she said. "I went through it and all the ID and credit cards and what not belong to a Frank James. A graphic designer over on East 118th."

"And the Metro Card?" Flack asked, turning the items over in his hands.

"No signature on the back," she replied. "But I never sign my from month to month either so that's no huge surprise."

"I'll get in touch with this Frank James," Flack said. "See if he can tell me anything about the guy who stole his wallet. If he even knows it's missing. It could have just happened while he was waiting for the train. I'll go and see if anyone that is still lingering around matches this James' guy's ID."

"Yeah, go and make yourself useful for once," Danny said. "About damn time."

"You two find anything else out, give me a shout," Flack told them, bending down and dropping the wallet and the Metro Card back in Sam's kit before laying his hand on her back and letting it linger there for several seconds before he stood back up. "I'll keep you guys posted about K9 and all that."

"You do that," Danny called to his best friend as he watched the detective head down the tracks to their original place of origin. He looked down at Sam, a smirk on his face as he caught her intently watching her boyfriend as he departed.

"What?" Sam asked, as Flack finally disappeared from view and she felt Danny's eyes on her.

"You two make me sick," he declared.

"Like you don't bat your pretty blue eyes at Lindsay all the time," Sam commented. Then grinned and added. "Daddy."

"Shut up about that already, would ya?" Danny huffed. "You know nothing."

"I know enough. I know that unless Lindsay has a really bizarre case of stomach flu that makes you gain weight and your boobs to swell and hurt, you're going to be changing shitty diapers before you know it."

"Quiet," Danny ordered.

"Guess that condom spray didn't work, huh?" Sam teased.

"How do you know about that?" her friend asked, as he crouched down to exam a series of gravitational blood drops along the track. "You weren't even around then."

"Word travels," Sam replied as she stood up. She yawned loudly and stretched. "I know as soon as I heard about it you were heading for certain doom. I mean think about it. How could that possibly work? You must have sat back at least once and thought about where the stuff was going when you…"

"We never used the stuff," Danny informed her. "It was just too weird. I wasn't spraying anything on my Johnson. What if it turned it orange or something?"

"Well look at it this way," Sam said. "You could have went out naked on Halloween and claimed it was your costume. You know those guys that stand on the aircraft carriers? Waving the planes in and out? You could have been one of those light up things they're waving around. A walking, talking one."

"You're disturbed. You know that? Seriously disturbed."

"Or you could have claimed someone stuck an orange popsicle to your…"

"We've got some gravitation blood drops here," Danny informed Sam as he reached into her kit and snagged a DNA swab. "Not consistent with high velocity blood splatter. More like someone was standing over the tracks with a bloody nose or something of the sort. I can guarantee it that it does not belong to our friend here."

"Could belong to a rat or something," Sam commented, watching as Danny swiped the tip of the swab through one of the small drops of blood. "I bet there's a lot of them getting hit down here."

"Well set out some cheese and some traps and you can take a couple home as pets," he teased, reaching for a plastic test kit that resembled a home pregnancy test and dabbing the bloody end of the swab in the middle of it. "It's human," he announced after several seconds. "Maybe they got into a tousle and he punched the shooter out before he got iced. You notice anything on the body? Injuries from a fight? Anything like that?"

"I'd have to actually touch the body to find that out. And the last time we touched a body before Sid, Mac had both of our asses for supper."

"You touched his head to look for a bullet."

"The bullet was necessary evidence," she argued.

"Don't be such a damn baby," Danny complained and picked up the victim's left hand. Examining by the beam cast from the flashlight, he frowned and set the dead man's arm back down before moving to the right hand. "Guy's a rightie," he announced. "He's been in a dust up with someone. He's got fight bite and everything."

"Well I guess we'll have to tell Sid or whoever does the autopsy to swab that," Sam said. "In the meantime, let's…"

* * *

"Can anyone join this party?" a voice called out from down the tracks.

Danny glanced up, a smile spreading from ear to ear at the sound of the familiar voice. And the long missed face. Followed by two ME's assistants, one carrying a body bag, the examiner in question had seemingly dropped off of the face of the earth more than three years ago. He was close to six feet and athletically built. His thick, wavy dark hair was cropped close to his head and he wore a Giants winter jacket over his over medical examiner's garb.

"What's going on here?" Danny asked as he stood up. "Am I being visited by the ghost of ME's past?"

"This is no This Is Your Life Danny Messer," the young man joked. "It's me. In the flesh. Alive and kicking."

"How the hell have you been, Pino?" Danny asked, as the two men exchanged friendly embraces.

"I've been pretty damn good. Just got back from San Francisco about a month ago. Dabbled for a few years in cosmetic surgery. And let me tell you, in San Fran, there's always an abundance of rich and lonely house wives looking to spruce up their girls, or wannabe starlets going all Jenna Jameson on their twins."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Using terms like their girls and the twins shows you that some doctors really are just perverts with medical licenses."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Marty Pino's mouth. "Whose your friend Messer?"

"This is Brooklyn," Danny introduced. "She started here in the early summer of '07. Brooklyn, this is Marty Pino. Used to be an ME here. Apparently, he's come back to grace us with his presence."

"Well isn't that just so kind and thoughtful of you," Sam said, giving a sugary sweet smile.

"Brooklyn, huh?" Pino asked, as he eyed her from head to toe. "Unusual. Or is it that you were born there and your parents couldn't be more creative?"

She smirked. "Harsh words coming from a guy using frat boy terms for breasts and walking around in a Giants jersey when they didn't even make the playoffs this season. Didn't they lose to the underdogs or something? Went from Super Bowl Champs to super chumps in the blink of the eye."

"Let me guess, you're a baseball fan," Pino commented. "Something more gentle for little folk like you."

"Brooklyn can actually break you in half, Pino," Danny snickered. "So don't tempt her, a'right? So when did you come back?"

"This is my first shift back with the dark side," the ME said, as he pulled a pair of latex gloves from the pockets of his jeans and snapping them on his hands. Pulling a pen light from his jacket pocket, he switched it on as he crouched down next to the body. "So I went up to the lab to see who was hanging around," he commented, as he began his examination of the deceased. "Guess you were all out in the field already. Only person I saw was that massively geeky lab tech who started there just before I left."

Danny's eyes widened.

"Oh do tell who that is," Sam pleaded excitedly. "I love good gossip!"

"Just this lab tech," Pino told her. "Works a lot in AV. Guess he's some kind of computer junkie or something. Nice enough guy and all that. Just a little too nerdy for my liking, you know?"

Sam nodded. "Oh I know the type you like. Trust me. Let me take a wild guess. The hard drinking, man's man type who can burp the National Anthem and scratch their crotch in twelve different positions without taking their other hand off the remote. That type right?"

"What's the word on our vic there?" Danny asked Pino, anxious to change the subject.

"I happen to be a little more selective then that," the ME told Sam. "And this Adam Ross guy, he just…"

"Adam Ross?" Sam cocked her head to the side. "Oh yeah…Adam Ross. Wavy, almost out of control hair, beard, aquamarine eyes? Smarter than your average bear. I know him. Very well. I don't find him that bad. He's actually pretty cool to be around."

"So you're a sci-fi and Second Life geek too?" Pino chuckled. "Wouldn't know looking at ya, that's for sure."

"I'm not into that kind of thing," she said. "And silly Danny Messer," she slapped Danny's arm. "You really should have introduced us better. Brooklyn is just some nickname Danny's invented for me. I quite like it. But my real name is Samantha. Samantha Ross."

Pino looked up at her. Unblinking and unmoving.

"As in Adam Ross' older sister," Danny informed him. "Moron."

"Are you sure?" Pino asked.

"Am I sure I'm Adam's older sister?" Sam asked. "Yeah…I am pretty damn sure. Considering I remember my mother both being pregnant and then bringing him home one day as a newborn. And before you ask, I am aware we look nothing alike. We're as different as night and day. Appearance wise."

"They're definitely both Ross' once you get to know her better," Danny commented. "Now can you stow the art of putting your foot in your mouth and tell us what the deal is with our vic?"

Pino nodded and flicked off his pen light and stood up. "He's dead," he said simply.

Sam gave a shocked gasp. "You're shitting me!"

Danny coughed noisily and attempted to hide his amused smirk. "Come on, Pino. Give us a little more than that. It's quite obvious he's dead. There's only brain matter all over the place here and seeing as he's without a pulse…"

"You know the rules, Messer," Pino said as he stood up and motioned for one of his assistants to hand him the clipboard and pen in their hands. "ME has to rule the victim deceased. Neither of you are qualified to call it."

"Well couldn't you have at least hauled ass over here a little quicker?" Danny asked. "Can't remember your way around the city, buy a GPS system."

"Christopher Columbus didn't need directions and neither do I," Pino told the CSI, as he signed off on the victim and instructed his workers to bag the vic up. "And under these conditions, I can't do a proper examination of the body to give you anymore information. You'll both just have to wait until we're back at the ME's office."

"No offense," Sam said, tearing off her latex gloves. Balling them up tightly, she tossed them into her kit before bending down to snap if closed. "But having an ME come all this way to state the obvious is plain ridiculous."

"Well take that up with the NYPD," Pino told her. "Either that or get an MD and then you can go around calling deaths all to your little heart's content."

"You're so charming," Sam said sarcastically. "I'm going to head back to the Avalanche, Danny."

"I'll catch up," her friend told her. "Watch out for the rats. No capturing one and taking it back with you, a'right?"

"I'm not making any promises," she said, and headed off down the track. "It was nice to meet you Marty."

"It's Pino," he called to her.

"Not to me it isn't," she responded.

"She doesn't do the whole last name thing," Danny explained. "Says it too impersonal."

Pino nodded as he intently watched her go. "Wouldn't mind getting personal with the likes of her. She's nice."

"I know the meaning in way you say the word nice," Danny said. "And if you know what's good for you, that's one girl you'd keep your distance from. You hear me? She's like a little sister to me and I won't tolerate you pulling any of your womanizer shit with her. Kapish?"

"You sleeping with her?" Pino asked curiously. "Is that why you're so defensive?"

"She happens to be my fiancee's best friend."

"I heard that you're getting hitched to Lindsay. Good for you. She's cute. Doesn't mean you can't be banging the best friend though."

"You know what?" Danny snorted and began packing his kit up. "I am not even going to dignify that with a response."

"So does the new girl have a boyfriend?" Pino asked. "Girlfriend, even?"

"Boyfriend," Danny replied. "A big and mean one at that. So if you like your arms and your legs attached to your body…"

"Come on? Everyone likes a little competition. It will make him feel like more of a man to know he has to fight for his girl's affections."

Danny smirked and snapped his kit closed and stood up. "He'll tear you a new asshole twice over, Pino. Trust me. And besides, you'll tap anything once and she's not into that kind of thing. So go and find someone that is."

"Think Lindsay would be up to a cup of coffee or some dinner?" Pino asked.

Danny grinned and shook his head. "You're lucky I know you're joking. At least you better hope you're joking."

"Hey, even I practice the art of never poaching from a friend. I'll get the DB back to the office and page you guys when I have something more definite."

"Try and make that some time today, alright? I know your propensity for having a thumb stuck up your ass. Permanently."

"Did I tell you how much I missed the clever Messer wit and your boyish charm?" Pino asked.

"I'm not available either," Danny said, and gave a playful wink before heading down the subway track.

Marty Pino smirked and turned back to the paper work in hand.

It was damn good to be back.

* * *

"Don't shoot!| Flack called out, as he yanked the door open to the ballistics lab, where his girlfriend was currently hunkered over a high powered microscope, protective goggles pushed up onto the top of her head and a wide arrangement of handguns laid out on the table. A corresponding test fired bullet sitting next to each one. Everything carefully and expertly marked and catalogued.

"Is there a reason you might be scared that I may shoot you?" she asked with a smile, her golden brown eyes sparkling playfully. "Did you forget an important event? Like an anniversary or something like that?"

"I was smart. I circled Valentines Day on every possible calendar and put it in my planner in my cell phone. Nothing is going to get passed me. How goes it with the bullets?"

"Well," she sighed. "It goes."

"That does not sound at all promising."

"Actually, the bullet that I recovered at the scene? The one responsible for obliterating our vic's brains? I was actually able to get a fairly decent look at it. It's a nine millimetre. The only problem is, that's the most widely used and popular bullet out there, so it's been somewhat slow going identifying the possible weapon it could have come from. So far I've tested a .38 Special, a .357 Magnum and a .35 Remington. But none of those striations match the one I found."

"I am so glad that it's your job to figure this stuff out and not mine. A gun's a gun as far as I'm concerned. They all kill people."

"Guns technically do not kill people," Sam said. "It's the people with the guns that kill other people. And if you think about it, a knife is a far superior weapon. It never jams, never misfires and you never run out of ammo."

"I am not getting into a debate on gun control with a girl that gets her kicks out of reading Soldier of Fortune magazine," he teased, reaching out to rub her back lightly. It was the farthest either of them would go, public display of affection wise at work. "So what's this bullet you're looking at now."

"Well this one here," she pointed to the nearly decimated projectile to the left. "Is the one from the scene. And this one here," she gestured to the bullet on the right. "Is the one I just test fired from a a .380 ACP."

"An automatic Colt pistol," Flack said with a nod. "Also known as a the nine millimetre short, nine millimetre Browning, nine millimetre Corto…"

"Or the less known, nine by seventeen millimetre," she finished, and giving a grin, elbowed him in the stomach playfully. "You've been hanging around me way too much."

"I figure it's a damn decent way to spend my free time," he said, grinning as well and fighting off the urge to kiss her right there and then. "So did the bullet come from that type of gun or what?"

"Patience, my dear. Patience," she sighed, and hit a button on the computer hooked up to the microscopes. "This will take a few minutes."

"Any news from autopsy?"

Sam shook her head. "Things are a bit backed up down there. But I do have some information of what did and did not kill both victims."

Flack arched an eyebrow.

"The bullet that killed our victim? Did not come from the same gun that fired the bullet that killed Aaron Clarke. This…" she moved along the table and scooped up a small evidence bag holding the bullet and a glossy coloured picture of a close up of the projectile. "…is a ten millimetre. A hallow point. From a .45 Automatic Colt Pistol."

"Those are pretty rare, aren't they?"

"The bullets, no. But the actual handgun that the striations matched? It's an antique. Browning first designed them and introduced them circa 1909. The US Army brought them in as their official side arm in 1911. It was retired from service in the thirties when the more popular nine millimetre handguns came out. So the only people who would own something like that would be an avid collector. I looked it up on the 'net? One of these in perfect condition? Worth over ten grand."

Flack gave a low whistle. "You know…you know way too much about guns and ammo for a girl."

"Really?" she asked, pulling off her latex gloves and discarding them before helping herself to a handful of sour candy from an open tub on the work station behind her. "I thought it did something for you when I went all Rambo chick."

"It does," he responded. "You have no idea what it actually does do to me. But seeing as we're finally getting the ball rolling on this case, now is not the best time to suggest meeting in the nearest supply closet."

"Too bad," she sighed and popped a cherry flavoured candy into her mouth. She held out her hand in offering.

Flack shook his head and instead helped himself to a sip from the hot beverage sitting next to the tub of candy. "How in the hell do you drink this crap?" he asked with a grimace.

"It's Earl Grey tea," she said.

"I know what it is. How you stomach it remains a mystery to me. So if this gun is rare…"

"It may be easy to track," she concluded. "I've got Adam checking all gun licenses in the five boroughs, cross referenced with the type of gun to see if an owner pops up. Chances are, not too many people own that exact weapon."

"That's if they bothered to get a license," Flack said.

"Most collectors get licensed. So they don't have the ATF come down on their asses and seize their entire collection. We're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars tied up in weapons. People who have spent that kind of cash, don't want to lose it."

"I am so buying you a year subscription to Guns and Ammo for your birthday," he teased.

She smiled and bumped his hip playfully with hers before popping another candy into her mouth. Wincing as the tartness caught her off guard. "How about the surveillance tapes?" she asked.

"The footage was grainy at best at the original station. We weren't able to make out their faces, but we were able to verify the witnesses' accounts that our dead guy in the tunnel killed Aaron Clark, and that he and the other perp did jump off the platform and take off down the tracks and the unknown girl did take off up the stairs. So technically, Aaron Clark's murder was open and shut."

"And what about the emergency exit stairwell or the other platform?"

"K9 picked up no scent in the stairwell and the cameras on the platform down yonder weren't operational at the time."

"Go figure," Sam snorted.

"So you still going to that party tonight or what?" Flack asked, pulling up a stool and taking a seat.

"Are you just paying me a social visit?" she inquired.

"I figure I can do case work and socialize with you. Kill two birds with one stone. Get the best of both worlds. Have my cake and eat it too. So are you…"

"Why?" she asked. "Are you anxious to get rid of me for the night?"

"No," Flack replied, reaching onto her work station and helping himself to a case file. He held it up.

"That is yours," she confirmed. The computer behind her beeped noisily and she wheeled around to read the results. "Fucking A!" she cried when the words Positive Match appeared on the screen. Boom!"

"Boom?" Flack smirked. "Is that the female Danny Messer in you dying to come out?"

"He's rubbing off on me. I could so kiss you right now out of sheer happiness."

He grinned. And blushed slightly. "So this party thing, I was just thinking that if you were still going and I managed to actually get my work done sometime tonight, I'd head out to Sullivan's with Scagnetti and Danny and some of my guys."

"You know, Don, I am capable of spending some nights by myself," she said. "You are allowed to have friends."

"I know. I was just checking to see if you were still going. 'Cause I really like spending my nights with you. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Of course not. But if you want to go out with the guys, feel free. I'm not the clingy, possessive type that says you can't have buddies."

"So then are you going or not?"

"Actually, it was cancelled. Well, postponed. Until a later date because of the weather."

Flack nodded slowly. "So in that case I was thinking maybe get some Chinese or Thai take out? Rent a movie. Light some candles, have some wine. Sound like an idea?"

"Did you not just hear the part where I said it's okay to go out with the guys?" she asked, stepping up to the work station alongside of his stool. Standing close enough to him that their arms touched and he could breathe in the scent of her J. Lo perfume.

"I did. And did you not hear the part where I said I liked spending my nights with you?"

She smiled.

"So that sounds okay? Sounds like a good plan?"

"How come you're being Mr Romance tonight? Valentine's Day is tomorrow."

"I know. Maybe I just feel like being a nice guy for once. Are you going to take me up on it or not? Some take out, some alcohol, some candles. What more could you want?"

"I just may be tempted to take you up on it and if there's one more thing in store for me."

"Yeah? And what would that be?" he asked, leaning back against the table behind him, placing his elbows on the surface.

"Oh I don't know," she said, then lowered her voice as she leaned in close. "Does hot sex come with all that other stuff?" she asked.

He grinned broadly, the dimples in cheeks standing out. "It can," he replied. "Will you wear that slutty Tinkerbell get up again?"

"Just for you," she whispered.

"I so want to kiss you right now," Flack declared.

"I dare you," Sam challenged. "People would shit themselves."

"No one is even around at the moment," he said.

"Well why the hesitation then?" she asked.

He bit his lip as he considered his options, then laid a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her down gently towards him. Their warmth breath caressing each other's faces, their eyes locked on each other, the tips of their noses touching and their lips faintly touching.

A loud knock came to the door of the ballistics lab. Sam jumped back, startled, while Flack casually glanced over his shoulder to find Kendall Novak -or Lab Tech Barbie as he fondly referred to her as- standing in the doorway, a massive smirk on her face.

"Seeing as I just interrupted something," the young woman said. "Would the two of you like a few minutes alone to continue with what you were doing?"

"What do you want, Kendall?" Sam asked irritably, reaching around to the back of her neck to remove Flack's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go.

She couldn't stand Kendall. When Adam had finally admitted to Sam that he'd been seeing Kendall for some time, she'd initially been stunned, and then had asked him what in the hell he was thinking getting himself mixed up with someone so shallow and superficial. Thankfully, their relationship hadn't lasted long. But Kendall's incessant put downs of Adam and her immature bullshit continued.

"Oh don't let me intrude," she replied. "Go on with what you were doing. I'm all for voyeurism."

"What do you want Kendall?" Flack asked with an aggravated sigh.

"Danny asked me to bring you this," the lab tech replied, holding a loft a sheet of computer paper as she entered the room. "Results from the Ipod you found earlier today."

"Thank you," Sam said and snatched the paper from the other woman's hands. "Two sets of prints," she read. "One belonging to our second and as of yet unknown vic, and the other also an unknown. But he's tracked down the original owner. A Melissa Markus. She didn't record a phone number when she signed up her Ipod, but she did give a place of employment. And you would not believe where it is."

"Nothing could possibly surprise me anymore," Flack said.

"Remember that high end doll shop we visited during the Ann Steele case?"

"The life like rubber ones?" Flack asked, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"You've already corrected Danny on that. They're latex, Donnie. Latex."

Kendall arched her eyebrows at the the sound of Samantha Ross calling Detective Flack anything else other then the usual Flack that everyone around there called him. She had had no idea that they'd been involved in anything other than a professional relationship. So the near kiss she'd walked in on and now the use of a term of affection were real eye openers.

"Now that you're done here you feel like going for a ride?" he asked, as he slid off the stool.

"Give me a few to lock away my evidence and update Mac on what I found?" Sam inquired in response.

He nodded. "I'll wait down in the employee lounge," he told her. "Kendall," he said, giving the lab tech a polite smile as he headed for the door.

"Detective Flack," she said in response, eyeing his rear view as he walked towards the door and then disappeared into the hallway. Sighing, she turned back to the tiny brunette in front of her. Whose eyes were narrowed and locked on her. "What?" Kendall asked innocently.

"Try sticking to men that are available," Samantha told her. "You've got this uncanny ability of poaching other peoples' guys."

"Well if the guys are happy where they are, they wouldn't be so willing to be poached, would they?"

Sam rolled her eyes and set the paper from Danny down on the work station before attending to her evidence.

"So you and Detective Flack, huh?" Kendall asked, as she took a seat on the stool Flack had vacated and helped herself to a handful of sour candy.

"It appears that way," Sam replied, as she slipped into a fresh pair of latex gloves and finished cataloguing her work before returning the various hand guns to the weapons and ammunition locker and securing it tightly.

She re-bagged her evidence and placed it inside of an evidence storage safe that could only be accessed through a five digit security code and a finger print of an employee given privileges to work inside of the ballistics lab. In the past there'd been too many cases of disgruntled and jealous workers going into the old lockers and messing around with someone else's evidence. Mac had done the right thing by spending the money to have security improved in the lab. Even if the brass didn't agree with it.

"So how long has that been going on for?" the lab tech asked curiously.

"Long enough," Sam replied.

"Why are you so invasive? You act like it's something to be ashamed about. If I was hooked up with someone like him…"

"Well you're not," Sam told her with a heavy sigh. "And you never will be."

"No reason to get so nasty. I'm no threat, I assure you. And even if I was…"

"Look, Kendall!" Sam snapped, yanking off her gloves and tossing them into the trash. "We're not friends, okay? We never will be friends. So I'm not discussing my personal life with you. All you need to know is that yes, Don…Detective Flack and I are together. Very together. And I'd appreciate it if you'd lay off of him."

"I'm not going to steal your boyfriend," Kendall promised. "And even if I did, what would you do? Beat me up?"

"Oh grow up," Sam grumbled as she snapped the lid onto the container of candy and gathered up both it and her cup of tea. "Just do me a favour and stay away from him and out of my life. Okay?"

"Why are you so nasty with me all the time?" Kendall asked. "Since the day you started here you've been this rude little bitch to me."

"Oh I don't know, Kendall. Maybe it's because I don't like you."

"There must be some reason why."

"Got a pen? It's a long list. And maybe writing shit down will help you improve your personality," Sam snarled. "We can't all be universally loved. As nice as that would be. I just don't like you. I don't like the way you walk around here like you're shit doesn't stink. Like we're all specks on the bottom of your shoe even though you're the lowly lab tech. And I'm tired of you talking about my brother behind his back. Adam's a decent, wonderful guy. Probably the best you've ever had."

Kendall snorted. "I beg to differ with that."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You don't even deserve my brother. He's got too big of heart. Too much compassion and integrity to be stuck with the likes of you."

"Funny," Kendall said. "I was going to say the same about Detective Flack. Someone should warn him about you. About the Ross' in general. All the massive baggage that you two carry around with you. Someone really needs to ask him if he really knows what he's gotten into it. And if he really feels like dealing with your crap."

Sam smirked and shook her head. "You're pathetic, you know that?" she asked, as she headed for the door. "A real pathetic bitch."

"Well you know what they say," Kendall sighed. "It takes one to know one."

Sam glared at the tall blond over her shoulder before storming out of the ballistics lab.

Kendall gave a satisfied smirk.

Novak 2, Ross' 0.

* * *

Lindsay paused in the doorway of the trace lab. One hand resting lightly on her stomach while the other clutched a scarlet red envelope as she watched Danny working intently on the subway track victim's clothes laid out in front of him. His brow furrowed in concentration as he plucked samples off of fabric with plastic tweezers and prepared them for GC/MS testing.

The suspense was killing her. She'd been dying to spring her early Valentine's Day surprise on him since she'd arrived at work from the doctor's shortly before ten. She had been already to exceute her well thought out plan when he was called away for the shooting at the subway station. And since he'd returned, he'd been running around the lab like a chicken with its head cut off, attempting to make a dent in the work.

And now that he seemed to be somewhat in a groove, she had decided now was never.

"Take a picture, Montana," Danny drawled, not looking up from his work. "It lasts longer."

"Sorry," she said as she slowly entered the lab. "I was a bit lost in thought for a second. I was just on my way down to check on some results for mine and Mac's Central Park stabbing. But I wanted to stop by and say hi first."

Danny looked up from his evidence gathering and smiled brightly at her. "Hi," he said simply.

She returned the smile and slid in behind the table beside him. "Your vic's clothes?"

Danny nodded. "Looking for anything and everything that may tell me who he was with when he was shot."

"Find anything?"

"So far, nada. And the hair I did find didn't match his and it didn't have any skin tags for me to run for DNA. Save for pulling that name and location off of that Ipod, we haven't gotten very far on this case."

"I just ran into Sammie going into see Mac," Lindsay told him. "She said that she was able to confirm that two separate guns killed each victim. And that she was able to correctly match the bullets to the corresponding weapons. She was on her way to brief him before heading to that doll shop with Flack. I really hope he keeps those hideous pick up lines to himself this time."

"Guy has absolutely no game," Danny declared. "How he managed to score someone like Brooklyn I will never know."

"I am pretty sure his pretty blue eyes had something to do with it," Lindsay laughed. "I won't tell you the other more personal stuff she told me."

"Yeah…keep that stuff to yourself."

"Anyway, I have to hurry along before Mac wonders if I dropped off the face of the earth. I just wanted to drop something off with you first."

"Some kind of surprise?" he asked, his eyes sparkling as he teased her. "A love note?"

"Just a little something," Lindsay replied and sat the card down on his work station. "I'll see you in a little while," she said and kissed his cheek.

"Valentine's Day isn't until tomorrow!" Danny called after her.

Lindsay didn't respond as she stepped out into the hall and disappeared from sight.

"Let's see what this is all about," Danny said quietly, as he set down his tweezers and picked up the card stepped away from his work.

Tearing into the enveloped, he pulled out a card that boasted a cartoon panda bear -obviously a guy with his Fedora hat and his tie- holding a much smaller Panda bear in his arms. The two of them smiling as they embraced tightly. It wasn't the picture that caught his attention, it was the words above it written in red sparkles.

Happy Valentine's Day to my Daddy

What in the hell, Montana, Danny thought, as he opened the card. What are you…

All rational thought ceased to exist as a small photograph tumbled face down on the ground. Danny bent down to retrieve it, his heart hammering in his chest and tears threatening in his eyes at what now lay face up in his trembling hand.

An ultrasound picture. With that day's date and the time at the moment it was taken 9:13 am on the top right corner. On the bottom left, the words that almost caused him to break down there and then.

BABY MESSER.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreicate each and every one of you! Even all of you lurkers. But please, please, please R and R folks. Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurazz**

**Hope4sall**

**much madness**

**TwinkeyRocks**

**IluvPeterPetrelli**

**HighQueenRicheru**

**wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**


	32. Family Ties

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**SPECIAL WELCOMES TO:**

**Twinkle the Wishful**

**StokesandMesserLuver**

**I want to dedicate this chapter to Afrozenheart412. Thanks for the suggestions! *hugs***

* * *

**Family Ties**

"I wish I could do better by you  
'Cause that's what you deserve  
You sacrifice so much of your life  
In order for this to work  
Whle I'm off chasing my own dreams,  
Sailing around the world,  
Please know that I'm yours to keep, My beautiful girl  
When you cry a piece of my heart dies,  
Knowing that I may have been the reason  
If you were to leave,  
Fulfill someone else's dreams, I think I might totally be lost  
You don't ask for no diamond rings,  
No delicate strings of pearls,  
That's why I wrote this song to sing,  
My beautiful girl."  
-The Girl, City and Colour

* * *

What should have been a fifteen minute drive into the lower east side of Manhattan stretched into a thirty-five minute one thanks to the brutal condition of the roads and the snarled traffic caused by numerous accidents. Drivers were impatient and pissed off with being stuck behind slow moving city plows and their reckless weaving in and out had resulted a record number of fender benders. Road crews couldn't clear the snow fast enough, nor lay down enough salt to prevent the incredibly slippery black ice that quickly formed underneath. And the white stuff showed no signs of slowing time anytime soon. In fact, the skies overheard were grey and sullen and filled with massive snow clouds. The temperatures were well below freezing and the winds were strong and biting.

Any one with half a brain listened to the warnings from the forecasters to stay indoors. To not travel unless it was an absolute necessity. To stay inside where it was nice and warm.

Apparently, half of the city of New York either didn't listen or didn't care. Or had less than half a brain.

"You would think people would listen," Flack commented, sighing heavily as he found himself stuck in yet another back log of bumper to bumper traffic.

He reached for the extra large take out cup of black coffee that sat in the holder between the front seats and took a long sip. Thankful for the last minute trip to Starbucks he decided on. He was tired and aggravated and coffee was the only thing keeping him going at the moment.

"Most of these drivers are men," Sam said, glancing out her window. "And we all know how well men listen to anything."

Flack smirked. "Do you want to get out and walk?" he asked.

She snorted and sipped her hot chocolate. With the works. Whipped cream and chocolate and cinnamon sprinkles. With a shot of mint flavouring for some extra kick. "Walking would probably get me there quicker," she said. "I told you we should have taken the side streets."

"Side streets would have been worse. The city hasn't even gotten around to clearing those yet. Why? Are in some kind of hurry? You got a hot date or something?"

"Maybe," she sing-songed. "The guy in the car next to me keeps smiling over here in between picking his nose and eating it."

Flack grimaced. "Sam…do you mind?"

"I'm only making an observation. Don't you ever sit back when you're in a traffic jam and look around at what everyone else is doing? Or wonder what people are talking about? There's people taking naps, other people on cell phones. A lady back a little ways was plucking her eyebrows. I saw the couple in that white Pontiac Grand Am two cars back engage in a little something something."

"You did not."

"I did!" she insisted. "The girlfriend ducked down and was out of sight for about five minutes. And trust me, she wasn't looking for something under her seat by the look on her boyfriend's face and the words I could make coming out of his mouth."

Flack grinned. "Lucky guy if you ask me," he said.

"Well if we weren't on the clock and we weren't in a squad car you never know what we might be doing right now," Sam told him. "But seeing as we're not that fortunate."

"Just for that, when we're off tonight, I am going to drive all around the city looking for shitty traffic to get purposefully stuck in."

"That could be fun," she said. "It's something I've never done before."

"What's that?" Flack asked. "Make out in a car?"

Sam nodded and sipped her drink.

"You have got to be kidding me," he chuckled. "Never? Not even when you were a teenager?"

"Never," she insisted. "First off, my boyfriend in high school didn't have a driver's license. Second, I was an innocent little Catholic school girl. I didn't do things like that."

Flack arched both eyebrows and stared pointedly at her.

"Okay…so maybe I wasn't that innocent. But I have never, ever made out in a car. Apparently you made it a sport when you were a teenager. You and what's her face. The chick you told me about that night we nearly got run over by that taxi cab."

"The night you laid an ass wuppin' on Roland?"

"You actually remembered his name?"

"Hard not to remember someone that smelled that bad. And her name was Bianca. Bianca DeFazio. She was the daughter of one of my dad's cop buddies. We went to school together. Kindergarten on up to grade twelve."

"And were you always sweethearts?" Sam inquired. "Were you two holding hands at the sandbox and sneaking little kisses under the slide at recess?"

"We didn't start dating until grade eleven. And trust me, babe, it was the longest year of my life."

"Oh she couldn't have been that bad, Donnie. You lost your virginity to her."

"I never said that."

"Jesus! How many women are out there that came lay claim to being laid by you?" she cried, slapping his shoulder. "Am I suddenly going to be accosted by an angry band of ex girlfriends one day?"

"There was not that many," Flack chuckled. "Trust me. It's a shockingly low number for a guy my age in New York City."

"Hmm…let me guess…" she thought about it for a moment. "I'd say about thirty."

He snorted. "You're way off."

"More?" she asked, her nose crinkled in disgust.

He shook his head.

"Less? For real? How less?"

"Try about half of that, minus two."

"Really?" her eyes widened. "Wow…that's a little more than surprising. You're practically a virgin still! Not that that's a complaint at all. I certainly don't find anything wrong with your skills. I just thought for sure it was way more than that. You know, 'cause you got that whole cocky, arrogant, God's gift way about you and all."

"Hey, don't knock it. It hooked you, didn't it?"

She grinned. "As much as I'd like to lie and say it was your lovely personality that attracted me to you…"

"Please don't say the eyes. It's always the eyes."

"Well it was those too. But the first thing I noticed about you was that bashful little smile you give when I get one up on you."

"Yeah? Well you're damn good at getting one up on people. You definitely knocked me for six the second you opened your mouth and shot me down ten minutes after meeting me."

"Well you deserved it trying to boss me around like I was put on earth to serve you. And I have to admit, there's another part of you that I noticed right away too."

"And what would that be?"

"The rear view," she admitted, peeling the lid off of her hot chocolate to stick the tip of her tongue in the whipped cream. "I am such a sucker for pretty blue eyes and an incredible ass."

He laughed and shook his head. "You are seriously disturbed, woman," he declared, and gave a sigh of relief as traffic began flowing once more. "By the way," he said. "You've got some white stuff right here," he pointed to the left corner of his mouth.

"Oh really?" she asked, and cleaned the whipped cream off with a finger tip. "When has that ever bothered me? I like the white, sweet, sticky stuff."

He smirked.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Don!" she scolded. "That is not what I meant! Hey, did I ever tell you about the guy back in Phoenix that lived a couple of doors down and had a dog named Sex?"

"Get outta here," Flack said.

"I am dead serious! That was the dog's name. It was this tiny little tea cup poodle. Fuzzy little white thing. And for some reason known only to this guy, he named this precious, adorable dog Sex. Well the dog used to get out of the house. A lot. So can you honestly imagine what it was like to be waken up at one in the morning, to some moron standing on his front porch in his pyjamas yelling 'SEX! SEX! WHERE IS MY SEX!'."

"You honestly can not be serious," Flack said, casting a doubtful expression her way.

"I am deadly serious. Why would I make something like that up? You can even ask my brother if you want. Call him. Ask him."

"And have to listen to his rambling? No thanks. You know, you're just like him sometimes. Like at two in the morning when you're waking me up to have deep, meaningful discussions and you just go on and on and on."

"Can I help it if I have weird dreams and feel the need to discuss them with you right away?" she asked, snapping the lid back onto her cup. "By the way, did you happen to get a call from Terrence Davis today?"

Flack shook his head.

"Hmmm…that's weird. Because he got in contact with me to let me know that things had been dealt with."

"He called you?"

"Well not exactly," Sam said. "He sent me a card and I…"

"He sent you a card? To your office? You can't be serious. What the hell is he thinking putting something in print like that and sending it to the Crime Lab? Stuff like that can be traced."

"Well he made it look harmless," Sam assured her boyfriend. "See he put the card in a bouquet of flowers and…"

She had to put her hand on the dashboard in order to prevent herself from flying forwards as Flack stomped on the brakes to avoid a car that swerved into their lane.

"If the weather wasn't bad, I would swear that was intentional," she said.

"Terrence Davis sent you flowers?" Flack asked, turning to look at her as they once again found themselves at a complete stand still. "What kind of flowers?"

"Just some nice flowers," she responded. "Nothing major. Like a Pleasure Doing Business with You type of arrangement."

"Guys don't send another guy's girl flowers," Flack declared. "They just don't do it. They don't send flowers to a girl that's off limits."

"He didn't send them as a romantic gesture," Sam assured him. "He was just being nice. I guess he felt I deserved something nice after all that head ache with Zack."

"It's my job to get you something nice," he reminded her. "He's just some punk ass gangster whose lucky he isn't spending the next couple of decades in prison and being anointed the cell block bitch. He works for me. I saved his ass. And he just decides that it's a good idea to try and poach my girl?"

"You honestly can't be serious, Donnie. He didn't send me flowers because he wants to poach me from you. He sent them to deliver a message in a inconspicuous way. He wanted to let us know that he'd taken care of the Zack issue. And I guess he felt doing it through the flowers was the safest way to do it. For both of us."

Flack snorted. "Something tells me that's not why he did it."

"Why are you so paranoid?" Sam asked. "I mean, seriously. Okay, so let's say maybe there was more to his motivation. And so what if he's somewhat attractive in a bad boy sort of way and he's insanely rich. He's a goddamn criminal. Do you actually think I'd dump someone like you, for someone like him?"

"I don't know. You tell me. Seeing as you're attracted to the gangsta type."

Sam frowned and sighed heavily. "You're impossible, Donald. Do you realize that? You are reading way too much into this."

"And you're taking getting flowers from another guy way too lightly," he retorted. "Especially a guy like Terrence Davis."

"So is it that I got flowers from another guy or who the guy is? Would it bother you as much if I got them from just a regular guy?" she challenged.

"I don't give a shit who the guy is, alright? I don't like you getting flowers or anything for that matter, from someone other than me. Would you like it if some other woman was buying me things?"

"Of course not, but…"

"How is there a but in this?" Flack asked.

"Because I highly doubt Terrence Davis was showing some romantic gesture by sending me flowers. I truly believe that he did it because it was a safe way to get the news back to us about Zack."

Flack snorted. "You're so delusional. You spent way too much time Phoenix."

"And you've spent way too much time here with materialistic, stuck up bitches for girlfriends," Sam concluded. "Terrence Davis meant nothing by it. You are blowing this way out of proportion."

He sighed heavily.

"But if it makes you feel any better, I got rid of the flowers," Sam said. "I put them in the break room."

"Why did you do that?"

"I don't know," Sam huffed. "Maybe because it didn't seem right accepting flowers from another man? Do I need another reason?"

A slow smile spread across his face.

"But you didn't give me a chance to tell you that, did you? No you just went all possessive and jealous on me and…"

He silenced her mid rant by leaning sideways and covering her lips in a soft and lingering kiss.

She smiled when it was over and ran a hand along his face. "You're going to get us both fired," she declared. "How do you know there's not a hidden camera in here and that the brass doesn't review the footage after you've gone home at the end of the shift?"

"Trust me, Sammie. There's no hidden cameras in any of the squads. Because if there was, there'd be a lot of cops suspended for doing inappropriate things while on the clock."

"Dirty, dirty people," she said and went back to her hot chocolate. "Have you ever done any inappropriate things in your squad?" she asked curiously.

He looked over at her and grinned. "Not yet," he replied.

The traffic began to finally let up and they were able to move steadily through the snowy and icy streets.

"Now do you promise to behave yourself this time around?" Sam asked, her eyes sparkling playfully. "I really don't want a repeat of last time."

"What's that suppose to mean? What happened last time?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Hey girl, what's your sign?" she asked in a deep voice, mocking him. "Does that ring any bells?"

"I didn't think you heard that."

"You have got some lame ass pick up lines, Don. That was almost as bad as the one you used on me when I met you at Sullivan's."

He cleared his throat noisily. "Sorry, I don't remember that one," he lied.

"Oh I do. Very, very well. Want me to refresh your memory? You said, 'Do you have Italian in you? No? Would you like some?'."

Flack grinned sheepishly. "I must have been seriously loaded when I busted out that one."

"You were completely sober!" she cried. "Your problem is that your game is just as bad as your taste in ties."

"You're lucky I love you as much as you do. Or else I'd be seriously offended at the moment."

"Well we're working on the ties," she said, reaching out to tug playfully at the tie he wore now. "And technically., you can retire your game or any resemblance of such now. But please, please, I am begging you. Do not come onto the dolls, okay?"

"I am still holding firm to my belief that they're the perfect women. I was totally right with what I said before. They're not bad looking and a guy does save huge money on dinner."

"And like you don't get anything in return when we come home for dinner?" she asked. "Please. You get repaid and then some. Don't give me that."

"You know, if you repay me the way you do after dinner at McDonald's, makes me wonder what you'll do if I take you to Tavern on the Green."

She frowned and punched him hard in the shoulder. "You're such a goddamn pig!" she huffed.

"I'm just joking, babe," he laughed, then dropped a hand from the steering wheel to rub his shoulder. "Ow…you hit like a man. You're damn strong for a tiny, wee thing."

"You know what? I'm going to buy you one of them dolls," she declared. "A cute little brunette thing with huge boobs. So you can cuddle up to her on all those cold, lonely nights you're going to have on the couch from now on."

"Hey, at least she won't wake me up a two thirty in the morning and yap my ear off or annoy me with her Brooklyn accent when I'm trying to sleep."

"Why do I put up with you?" she asked with an exasperated sigh. "Seriously. Why do I put up with you?"

"Because you love me," he replied. "Because you'd miss me if I wasn't around."

She snorted. "Oh yeah…that's it."

Yet she knew it was entirely true.

It was another ten minutes before they finally arrived at the high end doll shop. Parking at the rear entrance, Sam un-buckled her seat belt and gathered up a case folder lying on the dashboard as Flack killed the ignition and undid his own belt and climbed out of the vehicle. He opened her door and offered his hand, helping her climb out before shutting the door behind her.

"Fucking snow," Flack grumbled, as he laid a hand on Sam's elbow, guiding her through the snow and protecting her from slipping and falling on her ass.

Sam smiled politely at the group of workers huddled along one of the building's brick walls, shivering as they took a smoke break. Then a wide smile spread from ear to ear as she seized the opportunity to get her revenge.

"I can't believe you!" she cried, shoving her boyfriend away from her.

"What?" he blinked, taking back by her sudden outburst. "What did I…"

"We've been married for five years and I find out you have a mistress all this time! The fucking nerve! And if that isn't bad enough, I find the receipts for Tiffany's and Tavern on the Green while me and your three children are eating Kraft Dinner and frozen meals and shopping at Target! You're an insensitive bastard!"

Flack stared at her, mouth agape, his brain unable to form a suitable comeback as he watched his girlfriend stomp past him and yank open the door to the doll establishment. Closing it quickly behind her, leaving him standing there in the swirling snow. A dozen eyes trained on him.

Flack looked at the employees and offered an embarrassed smile. "She's joking," he assured them as he reached for the door handle. "Seriously she is."

Some nodded, most smirked.

Sighing, he yanked the door open. "You need to stop spending so much time with Lindsay Monroe!" he called out, as he stepped inside and the door closed behind him.

* * *

Danny Messer hadn't had time to ponder his expectant father status. Or really react to the news. No sooner did he recover from his initial shock, his cell phone was ringing in regards to the case. Marty Pino had his autopsy results and had sent a DNA sample -a female pubic hair- up to the lab. Their as of yet unidentified shooter had died of a single gunshot wound to the head, but he'd also been involved in one hell of a punch up prior to death. A broken nose, two cracked ribs and a split lip. Not to mention busted knuckles and a permanent indent on his hand from his fist connecting with his assailant's teeth.

As he was returning from the morgue, hell bent on finding Lindsay and sitting her down for a long talk about their future, he'd been paged to the DNA lab. The results were ready on the swab he'd taken of the gravitational blood drops in the subway tunnel. He'd been pretty psyched at the news. A firm believer that if someone had been involved in a brazen daylight shooting, chances were that he was in the system.

His theory had been dashed right quick. The blood hadn't gotten him a hit in CODIS. It was back to the drawing board and hoping that some results would come off of the hair sample Pino had collected, and that Adam was successful in tracking down the owner of the rare gun that had been used in their crime. He was aggravated and pissed off at the lack of progress they seemed to be making with the case. The surveillance tapes had been completely useless, and all ballistics had been good for was identifying the types of bullets and weapons used. Thorough searches of all trash cans and dumpsters and gutters within a five block radius in either direction of the subway station had turned up no sign of the murder weapons.

He grabbed himself an extra large black coffee from the cafeteria before returning to the trace lab. Hoping that something, anything, would come out of the samples he'd taken early and was still waiting on. As he stood sipping his steaming beverage, he stared down at the slice of red envelope poking out from underneath his stack of files. He'd stowed the card back into his envelope and then stashed it under his work to avoid curious eyes from finding it. He didn't want anyone knowing. Not yet anyway. And the lab was notorious for gossip.

He knew he wasn't ready yet. To be a father. In his heart of hearts, he knew he was nowhere near ready. Being a father was a massive step. As was getting married. And he had wanted that honeymoon stage with his wife. To get used to being someone's husband. Someone's everything. He had wanted her all to himself, as selfish as it sounded to even his own ears. He had wanted that alone time with her. Where all her thoughts and energies were focused solely on him.

None of that was going to happen now. And not only did a baby throw those greedy thoughts to the curb, it also brought all wedding plans to a screeching halt. Despite all the money and the hard work they'd put into their planning, Danny knew that there was no possible way that the wedding could go down the way they wanted it to.

Having a baby at that time was a terrible idea. He cursed himself for being so goddamn careless. For not taking the proper precautions to make sure something like that didn't happen. He didn't wish harm on his baby, or particularly think that Lindsay should get rid of it. He was against abortion and would never even suggest it. But at the same time, he knew that he just wasn't ready to be a dad.

In fact, he was damn terrified.

So much to think about, so little fucking time, he thought, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone. He began dialling Lindsay's cell number, prepared to track her down and ask her to meet him somewhere to talk. Although he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say.

He only knew that he loved her more then life itself. And hoped that together, they could face anything.

"Danny!" Adam cried, as he burst into the trace lab completely breathless. "I've got some news…about…the case…"

Danny sighed and disconnected his call and snapped his phone closed. "What kind of news, Adam? And sit down before you pass out."

The lab tech shook his head, and bending over at the waist, laid his elbows on his knees as he drew in deep breaths. "I'm good," he said. "Just give me a second here….I'm good."

Danny waited for Adam to compose himself, drumming his fingertips impatiently on top of the work station next to him.

"Okay…." Adam let out a huge breath and stood upright once again. "I've got two results for you that are just going to blow your mind. I was going to call my sister but she's indisposed at the doll warehouse at the moment. Which, I have to admit, is where I wish I was. Either that or I wish she had tons of extra cash to actually buy me one of them things for my birthday. Because in all honesty? Who has the time for an actual social life. If I had one of those dolls, I wouldn't have to go out and actually attempt to meet someone and then do the whole awkward mating dance. I could just…"

"You're disturbing, you know that?" Danny asked. "Almost as bad as your sister. What's the news regarding the case? Focus, Adam. Focus."

"Right…okay. Two pieces of major info that I have to for you. And both involve Flack."

Danny arched an eyebrow.

"Well maybe not Flack per say, but people that share the last name. First up, is the results from scouring the gun licensing data base for all of New York State. Sammie had asked me to cross reference that antique gun with all owners of such weapon within the boroughs. I came up with three names."

"There could be more. Not everyone gets licensed," Danny said.

"And I suggested that to my sister, but she's adamant that anyone who has this kind of weapon is a collector and collectors get licensed to avoid crap with the ATF. Anyhow, like I said, three hits. Two of them I already called. They're in Staten Island and Far Rockaway respectfully, and both assured me that their guns are locked away in safes at home, and have been all day. Now the third one is when I hit pay dirt. Serious pay dirt. Because when this name came up, so did a police report regarding the theft of the exact same weapon in question."

"You do not believe in making a long story short do you," Danny said. "Whose the owner?"

Adam opened up the top case folder in his hands, turned it around so it was right side up and held it out to Danny.

"It's Flack's father," Adam told him.

"What in the hell…." Danny snatched the folder from Adam's hands.

"The gun, along with several others, were stolen from his home in Flushing, Queens two months ago," Adam said. "I guess he was out for the day with his wife, and when they came home, they found the back door unlocked. The only items missing were from the family room. A DVD player, some DVDs themselves, and the weapons. The perp, or perps, had smashed into the locked gun cabinet to took them out. He called the cops, filed the appropriate police report and someone from the lab went out there and dusted for fingerprints and took some photographs. No perps were ever caught, but a week later, all but one of the guns were found in area pawn shops."

"All except the one gun that Brooklyn identified," Danny sighed. "I'm going to have to call Flack's dad and see if he'll come down, answer some more questions about that robbery. What's the second piece of info you've got for me?"

"I flagged some DNA results for you. I didn't think you'd want the wrong hands getting a hold of them."

"DNA from that pubic hair Pino found?"

Adam nodded and held the second folder out. "The DNA was a match to someone already in CODIS."

Danny took the report from the lab tech. "You sure about this?" he asked Adam.

"A hundred percent sure. Apparently when the name popped out, the tech ran it again."

He sighed heavily and stared down at the results and the mug shot in his hands.

_What the hell are you getting mixed up in now, Melanie?_ Danny thought.

* * *

This is just plain creepy, Sam thought, as her eyes wandered over the naked dolls as they lay neatly and lovingly arranged on long, wooden tables. Workers hunched over them as they skilfully applied make up to the life life creatures. Steady hands working on lip liner and lipstick and human hair eyelashes. At other tables, employees were carefully and intently stitching in hair to the doll's scalps while others were moulding breasts into the perfecting that customers both requested and craved. To Sam, it just wasn't normal. Adult men playing with dolls. There was something so sick and twisted about it. If you lacked the social skills to meet real life women, then go out and spend half the money you'd spend on the doll, taking dating classes. There was no way someone could be that lonely and that pathetic that they would have to settle for a fake woman.

And the thought of what they may actually be doing with the dolls. Now that just made her grimace and shiver from head to toe. Granted, these dolls were exquisitely made and nothing short of beautiful. But they were just that. Dolls. You certainly couldn't feel the same things that you felt when you were with a real person. The warmth of the body and the touch of their hands and their soft breath caressing your body. The sound of their voice in your ear or the feel of their heart beating against you. Nothing in the world could replace what it felt like to physical be with another living and breathing human being.

"I guess someone has a serious thing for Pam Anderson," Flack commented, nodding in the direction of a worker putting the finishing touches on a doll with a massive pair of breasts.

"You would notice that one," Sam grumbled, sneaking a glance down at her own pair, which in relation to the doll, were seriously not up to par.

"Do you blame me? I'm a boob guy. They're my weakness. And don't worry, yours are much better. And they're real, too. Can't beat the real ones."

"Would you please just keep your mind on the task at hand? I seriously don't understand how inatimate objects can get you all hot and bothered."

"It's not that they get me all hot and bothered. It's just that they kinda get me going and then the real thing standing next to me just finishes me off."

Sam rolled her eyes, but smiled as well.

"I'm sorry," a tall and slender Asian woman with bum length black hair and a body to die, and kill for, approached them. "We don't take personal orders through the warehouse. You'll have to go back out and around the front and into the actual store."

"We're not here to place an order," Flack told her, opening his jacket to reveal the badge clipped to the waist band of his pants. "We're here to talk to someone. Is Melissa Markus around?"

"She is. I can get her for you if you'd like."

"That is what we'd like," Flack said. "Thank you."

"Who has more brains I wonder?" Sam whispered to her boyfriend as the pretty Asian girl sauntered off, her hips swinging provocatively. "The dolls or the actual humans around here?"

"I don't know about brains. They seem to be in short supply but in other departments they seem to be stocked to the rafters around here."

Sam glared up at him.

"Commenting," Flack defended himself.

"Were you checking out her ass?" Sam asked. "Were you honestly checking out her ass with me standing right here?"

"I most certainly was not. Why would I be checking her ass out when I can check out your ass both visually and physically, on a recurring basis?"

She sighed heavily and shook her head in disbelief. "You are unreal," she grumbled.

"What does it matter if I was? Do I not come home to you every night? Is it not you I share my bed with? So what if I check out someones ass. It's not like I'm going to be doing anything to it."

"Do you want to be doing something to it?" she asked.

"To what?" Flack inquired. "Her ass or yours?"

Sam's eyes narrowed as she stared pointedly at him. "What do you think?"

"I'm thinking I better shut up while I'm ahead or else you'll be cutting me off for a very, very, very long time."

She smiled and nodded.

"Can I help you, officers?"

Their attentions focused on a petite, yet willowy young woman with flaming, curly red hair that reached the middle of her back, and vibrant green eyes. She had flawless skin and a well proportioned and exquisitely beautiful face. And a body of a goddess on full display in a denim dress that fit like a second skin.

"Detectives, actually," Flack corrected politely. "I'm Detective Flack and this is Detective Ross. We're here to ask you a few questions."

"About?" Melissa asked.

Sam opened the case folder in her hand and pulled out a glossy photograph. "Do you recognize this?" she asked, holding aloft a picture of the Ipod.

"That looks like the one I lost a few days ago," Melissa commented.

"It is the one you lost," Flack confirmed. "We were able to get your name and your whereabouts off of the Ipod when we plugged it into the computer back at the crime lab."

"Since when does the NYPD act as a lost and found?" the young woman asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and running the tip of her tongue over her top lip as she eyed the tall, dark and handsome detective from head to toe. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad they at least sent a good looking cop to find me. That's a fantasy of mine, you know. Some hot cop coming to my recuse and sweeping me off my feet."

"You want someone to come busting down your door and scooping ya up?" Flack asked. "Try an FDNY fantasy next time."

"Firemen don't carry handcuffs. Do you think maybe I could see yours?"

Flack smirked and shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "Professional use only."

"Then whatever it is you're here for, I confess."

"Tell us where you lost your Ipod," Sam snapped, shoving the photo in the younger woman's face. "We're here about the Ipod, okay?"

"Is there a reason you're so hostile?" Melissa asked, shoving the picture about of her face.

"Why don't you make this easier on yourself and answer our questions," Flack suggested. "We want to know about your Ipod here. Unless you'd rather take a ride downtown with us and talk there."

"I'm not exactly sure what happened to my Ipod," Melissa admitted.

"Well then how about you tell us what you think happened to it," Flack suggested.

"Last Wednesday I left my apartment, with my Ipod on. I was using it all the way until I got to the eighty seventh subway station."

Flack cast a glance at Sam. The eighty seventh subway station being the initial crime scene.

"And then what happened when you got there?" Sam asked, as Flack pulled out his log book and pen and began scrawling notes.

"I always stop to grab a coffee and a muffin from the little café just inside the main doors," Melissa replied. "I turned off my Ipod and took out the ear phones and shoved everything into my coat pocket."

"This is an outside pocket?" asked Flack.

The young woman nodded.

"Was it zipped up or what?" he inquired.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Melissa asked.

"What Detective Flack is trying to figure out is if it was possible someone stole the Ipod from your pocket," Sam informed her. "Was it an outside pocket or not? It's not a difficult question."

"It was an outside pocket. And no. It wasn't zipped up."

"What time was this about?" Flack asked. "What was the crowd in the station like?"

"It was about eight in the morning. I always get the quarter after eight train. Gets me here by quarter to nine. I start my shift at nine. The place was a mad house. It always is at that time of day. That and after work rush hour are the worst. Like a sea of humanity, you know?"

Flack nodded as he jotted everything down. "So you put the Ipod in your pocket when you stopped off at the café," he recapped. "When did you realize it was gone?"

"When I boarded the subway," Melissa told him. "I managed to snag a seat and I went to reach in for my Ipod once I sat down. That's when I realized it was gone. I just assumed maybe it fell out of my pocket somewhere between the front entrance and the platform. I was pretty pissed. Those things aren't cheap."

"Do you remember if anyone bumped into you?" asked Flack. "Anyone seem like they purposefully knocked into you or anything?"

"It just seemed like the regular hustle and bustle and crazy crowd," she replied.

"Anything unusual happen on the platform?" he inquired.

"You two sure are going to a lot of trouble and asking a lot of questions over an Ipod," Melissa complained. "I mean, thanks for finding it and all. I really don't care about busting whoever might have taken it. I just want it back."

"Your Ipod is evidence in a murder investigation," Sam informed her, her patience wearing thin. "We found it, in the possession of a victim."

The young woman's eyes widened. "Whoa…just because my Ipod was on someone doesn't mean I murdered them."

"Did anything happen on the platform or not?" Flack snarled. "It's all I'm asking here."

"There was tons of people down there," Melissa told him. "But I wouldn't say that anything unusual went down. I mean, this one girl kept nudging up against me and stuff like that. Complimenting me on my coat and asking me all kinds of personal questions and going on about the weather and how crappy the train service is. And then these two moron guys started arguing about a hundred feet away."

"Could you hear what they were arguing about?" inquired Sam.

"Not really. I just heard their raised voices and saw them shoving each other around. Security came down and warned them to knock it off."

"You remember what they looked like?" Flack asked.

Melissa shook her head.

Sam sighed and pulled another photograph from her folder. An autopsy photo of their unidentified track victim. "Does this look like one of the guys?" she inquired.

Melissa took the photo and studied it. "Yep…that's the one guy. I remember thinking how nasty he was. Like he hadn't bathed for a while and was dressed like a lumberjack. Gross. What happened to him?"

"He's dead," Flack told her. "And we found your Ipod on him. What did this girl look like that was talking to you?"

"She was pretty average. Nothing special about her. About my height…"

"Which is…" Flack gently pressed.

"Five foot six. Slim build. Wearing a black puffy winter jacket and black boots and a jeans. And a red scarf."

"Hair colour?" Sam asked. "Eye colour?"

"She had dark hair like your's. I think her eyes may have been blue. I really don't remember."

Flack wrote it all down. "One more question, where were you this afternoon around quarter after twelve? We're just trying to narrow down our list of suspects here."

"I was already here at work. Like I said, I start at nine every day. Monday to Friday. You can check with my boss if you like."

"I just might do that," Flack said. "Thanks for answering our questions."

"No problem. You made the experience quite a pleasant one. Do I get a card of yours? In case I run into trouble some time and need to call some big, strong man to come and rescue me?"

Sam cleared her throat and rolled her eyes.

"Need someone to come and save you if you're in trouble?" Flack asked.

Melissa nodded vigorously, once more skimming the tip of her tongue over her top lip.

"Call nine one one," he said with a polite smile and snapped his log book closed. "We're done here."

The young woman pouted at being dismissed so rudely and gave Sam a long once over before shooting her a foul look and stalking off.

* * *

"You just find new members for your Everybody Loves Don Flack Jr fan club wherever we go," Sam said with a sigh, as she and Flack turned and headed for the exit.

"Can I help if if the ladies dig the badge and gun?" he asked. "And the fact I have pretty blue eyes to go along with it."

Sam snorted.

"So it looks like our dead guy and his mystery girl and his murderer might have had quite the thing going on," Flack said, as he pushed open the back door, motioning for her to step outside ahead of him. "When I talked to the owner of the wallet today, he told me that he'd thought he'd lost his wallet at the eighty-seventh subway station the same morning. Said he had laid his wallet down to buy a Times, but that he was sure he put it back in his coat. When he got to work, that's when he realized it was gone. He also told me that he remembered a woman with dark hair in a black coat chatting him up on the platform, and watching two guys nearly go at it."

"It's obviously their M.O," Sam said, as she buttoned up her jacket and pulled a pink and white stripped chenille winter hat from her pocket and yanked it on. "But this doesn't put us any closer to finding out who the mystery woman or the shooter is. Or ID'ing our dead guy."

"Something tells me that the Three Amigos have been up to this for some time. I'm going to get some of my guys to call around to different stations and talk to security. Maybe it's an ongoing problem and they move from station to station. Hopefully someone wrote down an incident report with these morons' names."

"Maybe," she sighed. "That's a long shot."

"Right now, the long shots are the only ones we have," Flack said.

Sam's cell phone, tucked into her jacket pocket, rang noisily. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. Checking caller ID before flipping it open. "What do you have for me, Danny?" she asked.

"I'm going to go and start the car while you take that," Flack told her, taking the case folders from her hand before heading for the car.

"How goes things?" Danny asked.

"We just finished up at the doll warehouse," she said, walking slowly towards the car. "We talked to Melissa Markus and apparently, she saw our two guys going at it on the subway platform four days ago. And said our same mystery lady was chatting her up. Distracting her almost. Don thinks these three are running some kind of pick pocketing venture or something."

"Mac wants you to come back. ASAP. He wants to talk to us."

"Us as in me, you and Don?"

"Us as in me and you. IAB wants to talk to Flack."

"IAB?" she frowned. "Why?"

"There's a personal connection between him, the mystery girl, and the owner of that antique gun."

"Wait…wait. You're losing me here, Danny. Start at the top."

"Adam managed to track down three people in all five boroughs that owned that specific gun. Two of them were able to place the whereabouts of the weapon. And they were nowhere near the eighty-seventh subway station this afternoon."

"What about the third owner?" she asked.

"The third owner came home and found guns from his collection stolen about two months ago. All of the guns were later found at pawn shops. Save for the one in question."

"And that has to do with Don how exactly?"

"The owner is Flack's father," Danny told her.

Sam paused in her tracks. "Are you sure about that?" she asked.

"Adam showed me the police report and both of us spoke to Flack's dad."

"But Don never mentioned anything about his dad owning that type of gun when I showed it to him in ballistics," Sam said. "In fact, he knew very little about it other than it was rare. Why wouldn't he tell me that his dad owned a gun like that?"

"Maybe he didn't see a reason to tell you," Danny suggested. "It had nothing really to do with the investigation. Or maybe he chose to keep that information from you to avoid casting a bad light on his dad."

"Why would that cast a bad light on his father? I wouldn't think his dad murdered someone. That's just plain stupid."

"Not if he knew that his dad gave that gun to somebody or he knew who had it."

"Now you're just talking stupid," Sam scolded her friend. "Don wouldn't lie for anyone. He's not that type of person. And what's this about him being linked to the mystery woman?"

"DNA came back, off a female pubic hair Pino found on our vic," Danny told her. "We hit on someone already in CODIS."

"Okay, and that involves Don because…."

"The DNA was a match to his sister. Melanie."

Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"You still there?" Danny asked.

"I'm still here," she replied, opening her eyes. "Dark hair, medium height and slender build. Fits Mel to a tee."

"Mac's sent some uni's to pick her up and bring her in for questioning," Danny said. "And Flack Sr's agreed to come down and talk to us."

"And IAB?" Sam asked.

"Two family members involved, Brooklyn. That doesn't look good for Flack. I mean, both you and I and Mac know that he wouldn't keep info back that would fuck up our investigation. But you also know what IAB is like. They're like goddamn vultures."

"Do you know who the investigation IAB officer is?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Danny asked.

"Just please tell me it's not that same asshole over the whole Todd Flemming mess. That Lieutenant Malley or whatever the hell his name was."

Danny sighed heavily. "Mac wants you to come back," he said. "Now."

"Alright," she reluctantly agreed. "I'm on my way."

She disconnected the call and flipped her phone closed and dropped it into her pocket. Taking a deep breath and composing herself despite her pounding heart and unsettled stomach, headed for the car.

Wondering why in the search for answers, all you ever seemed to encouter was even more questions.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! Means a lot of me!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**much madness**

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**bluehaven4220**


	33. The hot seat

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**A/N: POSTINGS MIGHT BE SLOWER FOLKS. LAST NIGHT I SPENT EIGHT HOURS IN ER WITH MY SON. WHO HAS A NASTY CASE OF STREP THROAT AND CROUP. SO WHILE I CONCENTRATE ON HIM, OTHER THINGS MAY HAVE TO TAKE A BACK SEAT.**

* * *

**The hot seat**

"Prison gates won't open up for me  
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'  
Oh, I reach for you  
Well I'm terrified of these four walls  
These iron bars can't hold my soul in  
All I need is you  
Come please I'm callin'  
And oh, I scream for you  
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'  
Show me what it's like  
To be the last one standing  
And teach me wrong from right  
And I'll show you what I can be  
Say it for me  
Say it to me  
And I'll leave this life behind me  
Say it if it's worth savin' me."  
-Savin' Me, Nickelback

* * *

Gillian Whitmore was waiting by Flack's desk when he arrived back at the precinct. A half an hour ride that had been completed in near silence. Which, when Samantha Ross was in your presence, was something that never happened. A quiet Sam Ross was a sign of impending doom. A prelude to Armageddon. When she didn't have anything to say -whether something of dire importance or something completely and utterly random- you knew that hell had definitely frozen over. She'd been elusive in answering his questions about what Danny had wanted with her. He'd commented that it had seemed like an intense conversation based on the seriousness of her face, but the most he'd been able to get out of her was that Danny had managed to get an I.D. on their mystery woman, and that Pino had determined both COD and that their track victim hadn't gone down without a fight.

There was more to it then that. Way more and Flack knew it. Under normal circumstances, she would be offering up the news involving their case with a childlike exuberance. In that excited, breathless way she got when they were one step closure to nailing the bad guy. However, as they drove back to the crime lab in the horrendous winter weather, she was uncharacteristically tight lipped. And no matter how hard he had tried to pry information from her, it had remained a fruitless cause. Whatever she had locked up inside of her was staying that way.

He could tell, as he walked her through the front doors of the precinct and to the elevators that would take her up to the lab, that something was definitely troubling her. She was sullen and quiet and did her best to not make eye contact with him. And when the elevator had arrived and he told her that he'd see her later, to give him a call if anything else with the case came up, she'd simply stepped into the elevator without a word and turned towards him and offered up a small smile before laying her finger on the button for the thirty-fifth floor. The door cutting off all contact between them as it closed.

He had walked to his desk, shrugging out of his winter jacket as he went, silently wondering what in the hell was going on with both the case, and with his girlfriend, when he'd been greeted by the site of the Deputy Inspector parked on her ass behind his desk. And as if the sight of her not so pleasant face wasn't enough to put a serious damper on Flack's day, a foul, dark mood quickly and easily fell on him when he caught sight of the man standing behind her. Lieutenant John Malley, who'd been at the helm of the Todd Flemming fiasco, was hanging over her shoulder as they two of them read information off of Flack's computer.

The first thing that popped into Flack's mind was the instant messages that Samantha and him had exchanged earlier that day. He hadn't considered anything they'd said too each other outrageous or scandalous. And he knew that there were far worse messages being sent from employee to employee on a daily basis. Even by some of the brass. But he had been on Whitmore's shit list since the whole Flemming thing. And routinely felt as if IAB was breathing down his neck, waiting for some kind of monumental fuck up.

Instant messages, tame ones at least, weren't enough to warrant a visit from the department watch dogs. But as he got closer to his desk, Flack realized that carrying on personal business with a confidential informant, was enough to catch shit over. In fact, it was something that warranted having your shield pulled. He wondered how IAB would get a hold of information like that. Had someone seen the flowers and card that Terrence Davis had sent to Samantha? Had someone spotted them coming out of Davis' apartment building on their day off? Had the perps who'd assaulted Zack been caught and spilled the beans on how their boss contracted them out for two NYPD cops?

Don't get ahead of yourself, Flack, he scolded himself as he confidently approached his desk. Terrence Davis is a man of his word. He wouldn't sell you, or Sam out like that. Because he knows that all it takes is you spreading the word on the street that he's a confidential informant to make him a marked man.

"Something I can help you with, Inspector?" he asked, draping his winter jacket over the empty chair that sat at the side of his desk.

"Detective Flack," Inspector Whitmore gave a polite smile. "We were just talking about you."

"Spying on me seems more like it," he said, nodding at his computer. "Something in there I can help you find?"

"We were merely curious," she told him.

"Well go and be curious on someone else's computer. 'Cause I'm pretty sure you letting yourself into my personal files and what not is against department policy. I don't think the union would be too happy to hear that I came back from talking to a person of interest in a case to find you with your nose in my business."

"There's no need to feel cause to be hostile," Whitmore told him, as she pushed herself away from the desk and stood up. "In fact, if you'd have a seat," she gestured to the chair. "We'd like to have a word with you, Detective."

"About what?" Flack asked, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought the whole Todd Flemming thing was over months ago."

"This doesn't concern that case," Whitmore told him. "You remember Lieutenant Malley, don't you?"

"How could I forget," Flack replied, ignoring the hand that the IAB representative offered to him. "So?" he asked. "Am I going to get a straight answer here? What's this about?"

"We're here to discuss your case," Malley told him. "The one you're currently working on."

"What about it?" Flack inquired. "Nothing much special about it. Guy kills someone on the platform of the eighty-seventh street platform, jumps onto the tracks with his accomplice and somehow winds up dead himself. Accomplice is still in the wind. I was just coming back to chase down some possible leads."

"Well hand off those leads to another detective," Malley said. "Because you're off the case."

Flack stared long and hard at the other man. "Why?" he asked simply.

"Because we've been called to attention about your personal involvement in the case. With a colleague that's been in charge of processing important evidence, and with family members having a connection to both your John Doe and one of the murder weapons in question."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Flack fought off the urge to laugh. "What the hell is this? Some witch hunt? You couldn't nail me for Todd Flemming so you're just itching to get me for something else? You've got nothing on me. I've done nothing wrong. There's no reason for you to take me off this case."

"You're personally involved with a member of the crime lab. And two members of your family have suddenly become persons of interest in the case," Whitmore spoke up. "That seems like two perfectly acceptable reasons to me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Flack asked. "Two members of my family? What…"

"Your father and your sister," Malley replied, short on patience. "Now we can either talk about this right here in the middle of a busy squad room where all your colleagues can here, or we go somewhere private to conduct our business."

"I'm not going anywhere to talk to you unless I have a union lawyer with me," Flack declared. "No way in hell am I going anywhere alone so you can fabricate some story or some confession. No way."

"You're not under suspicion of wrong doing," Whitmore assured him. "A union lawyer is not necessary."

"Maybe not. But I'm not sitting down with IAB alone," Flack argued. "So I either sit here and wait for a union lawyer, or I have a witness in there with me. Plain and simple. You want to talk? We talk on my terms."

Malley held up his hands in surrender. "If you want a witness, Detective, by all means. Pick one of your men. But not before you give your memo book and all notes and files regarding this case to Inspector Whitmore."

"This is fucking bullshit," Flack said with an exasperated sigh, and reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out his log book and tossed it onto the top of his desk. Bending down, he yanked open the bottom drawer, he pulled out the corresponding case files and dropped them before the inspector.

"We're doing this for your own protection," Malley assured him.

Flack snorted. "Sure you are…"

"Is there anyone you'd like to serve as your witness?" Whitmore asked. "Will just anyone do?"

"I want Tony Scagnetti in there with me. He's my partner. He has my back no matter what."

Malley looked at the Inspector, as if seeking permission to allow the two men in the same room.

Whitmore nodded. "I'll go and track down Detective Scagnetti," she told Flack. "You go and make yourself comfortable with Lieutenant Malley. You'll be in there a while."

Fucking wonderful, Flack thought with a heavy sigh, and reluctantly followed the IAB representative towards the back of the precinct and towards the interrogation rooms. Aware that all eyes were on him. Curious, concerned. And some even accusing. Malicious smirks and smug smiles on the faces of those who'd long considered him a fuck up. The same people who'd called him a rat when he'd coughed up his log book to Mac Taylor and essentially put Dean Truby behind bars. The same assholes who had talked about him after the Todd Flemming incident and who had said they wouldn't put it past him if he did lash out and kill the kid.

"Got a fucking problem?" Flack asked as he passed by one of the detective's in question. Jerry Martin. An old timer whose well known drinking problem had seen him stay at second grade for almost his entire career. Who'd worked alongside of Flack Sr and considered the man a God and his son nothing more then a speck of shit on the bottom of mankind's proverbial shoe.

"Looks like you got one," the older man retorted, as he leaned back in his chair, bringing the front legs up off of the floor.

Flack smirked. Halting his steps and letting the IAB Lieutenant get ahead several paces before following behind. Without a word and without looking down at the other detective as he passed by, Flack stuck his foot under the chair, hooked it around one of the back legs, and yanked the chair out from underneath the older man.

There was a loud clatter as the chair collided with the wall and an even louder expletive as the other man fell hard on his ass. Near pandemonium erupted in the squad room. Detectives and uniforms alike all rushing over to see what the hell was going on. Some offering aide to their fallen comrade, others laughing at his embarrassment.

"You fucking bastard Flack!" Martin roared, as he stumbled to his feet and rushed at the much younger, stronger man.

"You wanna take this outside, Jerry?" Flack asked, grabbing a hold of the other man by the front of his suit jacket. "You got something to say to me? Be a fucking man and say it to my face!"

"I'll fucking knock you out is what I'll do!" Martin fumed, knocking Flack's hands off him in. "Little punk! Walking around here like you're God's gift to the department. Someone needs to kick the shit out you, teach you about respect."

"Try losing forty pounds so you can get your foot anywhere near my ass," Flack sneered and shoved the older man away.

"You little sonofabitch!" the detective bellowed and went after Flack once more. Only to be held back by two uniforms. "You're nothing like you're old man! You know that! You're nothing but a fucking disgrace to the badge! Ratting out one of your own people! Fucking the squad room skank before moving on to some lowly, pathetic lab rat!"

Flack wasn't the type to care what people thought about him, or said about him. He gave a shit less whether other cops felt he was a failure to his name. A lousy predecessor to the legend his father had been undeservedly turned into. But when things turned personal and involved either his mother or the woman quickly becoming the love of his life, then he quickly and effortlessly saw red.

However he didn't get two steps towards a sneering Jerry Martin before Scagnetti's strong hands grabbed him by the back of the jacket and he found himself propelled by the big man down the narrow hallway leading to the interrogation rooms. Where Malley was standing by an open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed in displeasure as he shook his head.

"Get in there before you fuck yourself up huge," Scagnetti ordered his partner before shoving him into the room. He waited for the IAB moron to step in behind Flack before turning back towards the squad room, where cops were still curiously watching them. "Get the fuck back to work!" he yelled before disappearing into interrogation and slamming the door angrily behind him.

* * *

Sam was dreading coming face to face with Mac. Being ordered back to the lab always meant you were facing certain doom upon your return. A banishment to trace all day was Mac's favourite form of punishment. Followed close behind by a dressing down loud enough to be heard by anyone walking past his office at that exact time. Being summoned by Mac was like being sent to the principal's office. You couldn't remember exactly what you had done to get in shit, you just knew that whatever it was, you were about to pay for it.

Thankfully, her lashing was slightly delayed by the sight of the familiar face sitting in the bank of chairs next to the reception and sign in desk. She paused to scrawl her signature on the sign in sheet and collect a stack of messages from the secretary, watching the tall, strong and intimidating man just mere feet away. His legs shaking impatiently as he absentmindedly flipped through a tattered and dog-eared copy of Time magazine. His short, salt and pepper hair was damp from being out in the snow, as was the shoulders of his khaki green winter jacket and the toes and soles of his black boots. His large hands were slightly wrinkled and his blue eyes were intense and focused.

She'd been terrified meeting Don Flack Sr for the first time. She had been aware of his legend within the department from nearly her first day at the lab. But she also knew of the agony and torment he'd inflicted, both with his mouth and his fists, on his wife and children. Stories from her own boyfriend's mouth -mostly when he was drinking. Alcohol always turned him into an emotional, sensitive and talkative mess- that had widened her eyes and made the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. Because she both sympathized, and understood what Flack Jr had been through in his younger years. Her own father had been a first class bastard. Nothing short of a monster. She had been able to empathize completely. And their shared experiences had brought them even closer together.

But it hadn't done much to calm her nerves about meeting her boyfriend's father on Christmas Eve. She had worked in NYC for a year and then some, and had never laid eyes on Flack Sr. She'd only heard the stories from his son and the tall tales older detectives told in the twelfth precinct. Even after they'd began dating. Flack had shrugged off her suggestions at meeting his family. Making excuses that they were either really busy, or he just wasn't ready to subject his new girlfriend to that kind of nightmare. She hadn't pushed the subject, but had talked to Patricia Flack on more than one occasion when she'd called her son's apartment and Sam had happened to be there alone. And it had been Sam that had accepted the invitation to Christmas Eve dinner. Much to the dismay of her horrified boyfriend when he'd arrived home and she'd dropped that particular bomb on him.

The entire drive to the Flack family home in Flushing, Queens had consisted of her lamenting over how stomach sick she felt over the prospect of meeting her boyfriend's father. Mothers and siblings she could easily handle. But fathers, especially one as frightening as Flack Sr sounded, were her worst nightmare.

"This could have all been easily avoided," Flack had said, a permanent scowl on his face as he drove to his parents' home. "I told you we should have just pretended my crazy family didn't exist."

Despite her uneasiness during the initial introductions -and the fact that Melanie was already drunk and looking to cause trouble with anyone who'd pay attention to her- the Christmas Eve visit had gone exceptionally well. She'd been welcomed into the fold, something that had surprised both her and Flack. He hadn't brought many girlfriends to meet his family, but those he had had been given the third degree or even the cold shoulder. Especially from his old man. Samantha however, had slipped into effortlessly into their lives. And upon hearing about her education, Sr had turned to his son and gave an approving nod and said, "Finally you bring home one with brains."

She'd seen the family several times since. Surprisingly enough she got along better with Flack Sr then she did Patricia. It always felt as if the other woman was looking down on her, judging her. Deeming the Brooklyn born girl not good enough for her son. Whereas with Sr, what you saw was what you go. He didn't put on any airs. He either liked you or he didn't. And judging by his insistences that she call him by his first name, he obviously liked her.

"That gentleman is here to see you," the receptionist told Sam, nodding in Flack Sr's direction.

"Thanks," Sam said, and walked over to the bank of chairs. Knowing that while it probably wasn't in either her, of Flack's best interest, to be discussing the case with his namesake, she was most likely the only one willing to give him the straight goods. "Mr Flack?" she asked quietly. Professionally.

Snapping the magazine closed, he looked up at her, his eyebrows arched.

"Don," she corrected herself. Thought still finding it hard to refer to her boyfriend's father by his first name.

"I've been waiting for you," he said, tossing the magazine aside as he stood up.

"I was on the other side of town talking to a person of interest in a case I'm working on," she told him, almost apologetically.

"With my son?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"What is going on? I get a phone call earlier from your brother telling me that a gun I reported stolen months ago was used in a murder earlier today. I tell him everything there is to know, and then I get a call from Mac Taylor asking me to go over the entire thing again. I collect guns. I'm not a big time collector but I've got a nice selection. Our house got broken into. How many times do I have to tell people that? When I was with the department, we didn't harass people over something so damn simple."

"We don't know for sure that it is your gun," she told him. "We don't have the actual murder weapon. We just know that it was that specific gun that was used and the two other registered owners could place their guns. And yours is still out there somewhere."

God, the explanation sounded lame, even to her own ears.

"And then I get here, looking to talk to you or my son and Taylor tells me no can do. That both of you have been yanked off the case and it's best if I don't have any contact with either of you."

It was the first that Sam had heard about being removed from the investigation, and it set her back a moment before finally responding.

"There's not much I know right now," she said. "All I know is that the weapon used matches the one you had stolen, and your daughter's DNA was found on our victim."

"Melanie?" he asked incredulously.

San sighed and nodded. "We think that she may have been involved with some kind of theft and pick pocketing scheme with our victim and another man. We're still in the process of trying to identify them both."

"Is she talking? She bloody well better be talking," he fumed.

"All I know is that some uniforms were going to pick her up," Sam said. "I would imagine she's already downstairs in interrogation with either Detective Taylor or Detective Danny Messer."

"That goddamn girl has been nothing but trouble since the day she hit sixteen. Booze, drugs, boys. You name it and she was doing it. My wife and I tried everything. Everything! We would have begged, borrowed and stolen to help her out! Get her clean! And all that she's caused us his heart ache. One thing after another. And her brother…Donnie's bent over backwards for her! And this is how she repays him? Getting involved with shit like this? Embarrassing him within the department?"

"I know that Donnie's offered to help her out on numerous occasions," Sam said. "That he offered to help her get a new apartment, find her a job. Get her into rehab even. She just…it's hard to help someone that won't help themselves."

"I've had it with that girl," Flack Sr declared. "Absolutely had it. I'm telling you right now, she's going to cough this guy up if it's the last thing I do. If I have to beat it out of her. Helping friends of hers break into my home and steal my things? All but implicating me for a murder? It's bullshit. She's going to goddamn well face the music this time."

"We don't exactly know the extent of her involvement," Sam said.

"Don't piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining," he grumbled. "It's damn obvious what her involvement is. And what's going on with my son? You just saw him. What do you know?"

"I just know that IAB wants to talk to him," she told him.

"For what reason?"

"I guess they're trying to rule out the possibility that he may have known that his sister was involved."

"That's fucking bullshit!' he fumed. "My son wouldn't lie to protect that lying, thieving little…" pausing, he shook his head. "Donnie would not cover up a crime to protect anyone. And he certainly wouldn't put his entire career on the line to do it for her."

"I know that," Sam sighed. "But IAB has been out to nail his ass to a wall since the Todd Flemming insanity. And if they think they have something up on him…"

"And where do you come in? Why are you in trouble for this?"

"I processed the ballistics evidence. Donnie was in the lab while I was doing it. He was there when I identified the gun as the same kind that was stolen from your home. He never mentioned it to me that you had ever owned a weapon like the one and question…"

"He probably didn't even know. He knows I collect and that's it. We've never sat down to discuss those things. And even if I had had told him what I owned, he probably didn't remember or he didn't put two and two together. I doubt he was keeping anything back from you."

"I doubt that either. But the simple fact that he was in the lab while I was processing that gun that in the end was tied to you…well it looks as if both of us were trying to hide something. Like he was lying to protect his family and I was lying to protect him."

"Neither of you would do something like that."

"I know that and Donnie knows that and you know that, but they don't. And it's the brass and IAB that we have to worry about. And I'm pretty sure I'm next on their shit list."

"You know, the department was never run like this when I was here. Back then we worked as a team. A tight knit, hard working group. These days it's every man for himself. And that's a bunch of crap. Everyone is out to see everyone else around them fail. And that's not right."

"No," Sam shook her head. "It's not."

"How much trouble do you think Donnie's in?" Flack Sr asked.

Sam shrugged. "Depends on what questions they ask and if they feel he has the right answers."

"Bunch of goddamn bullshit," he sighed and raked a hand through his short hair. "And ever since that bitch Whitmore took over…"

"Things have gone slightly down hill," Sam admitted. "There's a lot of problems in the department right now. She has a Big Brother mentality. The numbers we call on our phones are monitored, as are our work email and IM messages. There's cameras everywhere. Too 1984 if you ask me. Even George Orwell would have something to say about this."

"It's just not right," he sighed. "Not right at all. Every new Commissioner we get, things go down the shitter even more."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I wish there was more I could tell you," she said. "I've probably stepped into a huge pile of shit by talking to you. I'm sure my boss will have something to say about it."

"Fuck him," he snarled. "You can talk to who you want. It's a free world. It's not like you're passing me top secret case information. We're having a talk about our common interest. My son. You're the one person out of this Godforsaken mess of a place that has Donnie's best interests at heart. You wouldn't turn your back on him."

"I like to think he wouldn't turn his on me either," she said.

"Are you insane girl? You must be insane. He'd rather die a slow and painful death then utter a bad word about you. He'd do anything for you, no questions asked. He's got your back no matter what. Hell, my boy is wildly and crazily in love with you. If you don't realize that by now, you've got some serious issues."

She gave a small smile. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for your son," she assured him. "He's just…he's my everything. And I don't believe for a second that he'd keep information back from me. Just like I didn't believe for a second that he killed that kid in interrogation. I just wish that none of this was happening."

"Well you can think one person for all of this bullshit. Melanie. And believe you me, when I get a hold of her, she's going to rule the day she ever got mixed up with the people she has. I should go down there. Throw my name around and get in to see her."

"If you think that will help." Sam said.

"Damn right it will help. I'll put the damn fear of God into her. I hope things go okay for her. If you need anything, let me know. I've got some people high up in the union that would gladly do me a favour or two."

"Well I'm hoping it doesn't come to that," she sighed. "But thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"I should let you get back to work," Flack Sr told her, and embracing her warmly, softly kissed both of her cheeks. "If you need anything…"

"I'll let you know," she promised.

He smiled, patted her face gently and then headed off.

Sam sighed heavily and watched him journey down the hallway to the elevators.

_I hope you know what you're doing,_ she thought. _Because when it comes to myself, I have no damn clue._

* * *

"For the last fucking time," Flack fought to control his temper, his hands tightening around, and threatening to crumble, the take out cup of coffee in his grasp. "I didn't know that my sister or my father were brought into this investigation until you told me fifteen minutes ago."

"I find that really hard to believe," Malley told the detective, as he paced behind Flack and Scagnetti's chairs. "That the CSI you were working with knew but you didn't."

"She didn't say anything to me!" Flack insisted. "Why do you find that so damn hard to believe?"

"She received the call from a Detective Danny Messer. She was told that both your sister's name, and your father's, had been linked to your investigation. Do you not normally share case related information with the people on your team?"

"Of course. But she never told me."

"And why do you think that is?" Malley asked. "Why do you think that she kept that from you?"

"How the hell should I know? I just know that she never mentioned it. We got into the car and we came back here. All she told me was that her boss wanted her back at the lab ASAP."

"And you didn't ask why?"

"I asked and she told me that something came up he needed her for. That's what she said. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe she was told not to tell me. I don't know. Maybe she didn't feel it was her place to tell me. That it was something for my supervisor to do. Why don't you ask her yourself instead of busting my ass over something she chose not to do?"

"Well let me tell you what I think," Malley said, as he returned to his seat and sat down across from the two detectives. "I think that you're lying. I think that you either knew from the get go that your sister and your father were involved in this…."

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"…or that the CSI in question did one of two things. Either told you to give you the heads up so you'd be prepared when you came in here, or she didn't tell you to protect you. So you wouldn't get all hot under the collar about it."

Flack shook his head. "She didn't tell me, okay? She didn't say a goddamn word about it. I didn't know until you told me. What is so hard to understand about this? She never fucking told me."

"Let's exam why I think you're lying," Malley said with a smug smile. "Shall we?"

Flack rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair and gestured for the other man to go ahead.

"I'm going to start from the top, Detective Flack. Where were you at approximately two thirty this afternoon?"

"I was upstairs in the crime lab. In ballistics. Checking on the progress of the investigation with the CSI in charge of processing ballistics evidence."

"And this is the same CSI you were with when you talked to your person of interest?" Malley asked, jotting the information down on a yellow legal pad.

Flack nodded.

The IAB investigator glanced up at him.

"Yes," Flack confirmed verbally. "It's the same person."

"And what's the person in question's name?"

"Detective Samantha Ross. Middle name, too? How about date and place of birth? Or are you satisfied with what I told you?"

"And what were you and Detective Ross discussing while in the ballistics lab together?" Malley inquired.

"Did you not just hear me? I said I went there to talk to her about the progress being made on our case."

"And that's all you were talking about?"

"We may have talked about the Giants not making the playoffs. Maybe we talked about how shitty the Rangers are doing this season. Maybe I complimented her on her work. But for the most part, we talked about the case."

Malley arched an eyebrow. "For the most part? And what about the smaller parts?"

"Look, we talked about work, okay? That's it."

The investigator nodded. "What was Detective Ross doing as the two of you talked?"

"She was processing bullets she'd test fired from various weapons, hoping she'd get a match to a bullet she'd recovered at our crime scene."

"And did she get a match?"

"Yes. And she had already identified the gun used in the killing of an innocent man on the subway platform," Flack told him.

"And did she tell you what that weapon was?"

"She showed it to me and told me that it was an .45 automatic Colt pistol," Flack confirmed.

"Which is the same type of gun your father reported stolen from his collection two months ago," Malley stated.

"And?" the detective asked. "I was just suppose to put two and two together right there and then and say hey, I think that was my dad's gun? Look, I know very little about guns, okay? I don't study them like she does. She's the expert. I don't even know all the names of the guns my dad has in his collection. And I've never sat down with him and talked about them with him. And I never talked about the break in with him, either. I knew my parents got robbed and that some of his guns turned up at a pawn shop. That's the extent of my knowledge."

"So you had no clue when Detective Ross showed you that weapon that your father had owned the exact same one?" Malley inquired.

"No clue at all. And if I did, I would have said something. I wouldn't have kept back important information regarding our case."

"How about Detective Ross?" the investigator asked. "Would you say she's the type to hold something back to avoid hurting someone?"

"I guess that's something you'd have to ask her," Flack replied, casually sipping his coffee.

"Detective, could you clarify to me exactly what kind of relationship you have with Samantha Ross?"

Flack attempted to hide his surprise at the question, and the discomfort he felt answering it. Because while he was damn proud of the woman he had in his life, and love her more then mere words could possibly ever say, he knew that not only was his integrity and professionalism riding on his response, so was hers. And while he'd been booted off the case, there was no reason for Sam to follow suit. He had to do whatever it took to assure her reputation remained unsullied, and her work completely admissible. The case depended on it.

"Samantha Ross and I are colleagues," he replied. "And friends."

"Outside of work?" Malley asked.

"We hang out. The whole team hangs out from time to time."

"Do you ever hang out with her on your own? Just the two of you?"

Flack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What are you trying to ask me?" he inquired.

"Do you ever spend time alone, outside of work, with Samantha Ross?"

"No," Flack replied quickly.

"Have you ever spent time time alone, outside of work, with her?"

"No," the homicide detective responded confidently.

"Ever? At any time."

"Look," Flack huffed. "I just told you…"

"I know what you just told me, Detective. What I'm waiting for is the moment you discover that I don't have moron written across my forehead. I'm giving you a chance to recant your answer before one lie turns into a bigger one, and then an even bigger one and so on and so on."

Flack didn't respond. Instead he took a sip of his coffee and stared the IAB investigator dead in the eye.

"Fine then," Malley said and reached for a file folder sitting to his left. "Let me show you a little something here. A little something that tells me you're lying. Let me show that to you, followed by a huge something."

He flipped open the folder and pulled out a piece of computer paper and laid it on the table, facing Flack.

"This is a letter, to your Inspector, from Detective Jessica Angell. It's a letter requesting a transfer and giving very detailed reasons on why she wanted out of here. She states in this letter that you and her broke up because of a sexual relationship you were having with Samantha Ross while you and her were still together."

"We never…."

"And these," Malley continued, cutting Flack off as he slid a set of photographs from the folder as well. "Are photos that were sent to your Inspector, by a Private Investigator named Anthony Martino. Is any of this starting to make sense to you, Detective Flack?"

Flack shook his head in disbelief.

Malley took it as denial. "Martino sent these to your superior officer, claiming that you hauled him in here on a bogus jay walking charge and then proceeded to threaten him. That you warned him if he ever followed or spied on you and your girlfriend ever again, that you'd have his ass. And that's an exact quote. Do you see where there's a problem here, detective? You tell me she's just a friend when I have proof that there's a whole lot more to it then that. These here are the tame pictures. Want me to get into the more hard core ones? See if they knock some sense into you?"

"No," Flack snapped, then fought to get himself under control. "Okay, so she's my girlfriend. So what? What does that have to do with anything? When we're at work, it's strictly professional. We concentrate on our cases and that's it."

"That's not what a Kendall Novak told us," Malley told him.

Flack snorted and shook his head in disgust. "You people work fast," he said.

"You know Kendall Novak, don't you? She's a lab tech."

"It's called a criminologist," Flack corrected smugly. "And yeah…I know her."

"She was telling us that she walked in on something very interesting today. You and Detective Ross looking mighty cozy in the ballistics lab."

"I don't know what she saw, or what she thought she saw," Flack told the other man. "But nothing happened. We were discussing our case. That's it. And the fact that you sit there, taking the word of a woman whose fucked nearly every guy up there and has done it in and around the lab, over me, makes me sick. I've had one incident with you people. One! Did you ever think of checking how many times she's been hauled up on the carpet with Mac Taylor about things? Everyone knows she's a pathological liar. And you believe her over me?"

"Detective Flack," Malley breathed a patient sigh. "You've lied nearly half a dozen times to me since we sat down. You're hardly one to talk."

"Fine," Flack conceded defeat. "Samantha Ross and I are in a relationship. We're boyfriend and girlfriend. We have intimate relations. We're planning on moving in together. There's the whole story. And yeah, I threatened Anthony Martino. Because I don't really appreciate the fact that there's photos out there, of me and my girlfriend engaging in oral sex. Would you like something like that?"

"We're not talking about me," Malley responded. "We're talking about…"

"Me and Samantha Ross," Flack concluded. "So we're involved. Who cares? What does that have to do with anything? I can have a relationship with whomever I want."

"Not when it affects your job," the other man said. "You work for the New York City Police Department. Your loyalty lies with us. And if you can't focus on the job because of some girl…"

"I do my job just goddamn fine," Flack snapped. "Samantha has nothing to do with this."

"She processed the ballistics evidence," Malley shot back. "You were in the room with her at the time! The two of you were discussing the case! She told you the make and the model of the gun used!"

"So?" Flack asked.

"So it just so happens to be an exact match to the make and model owned by your father. One that was stolen months ago. And you didn't think about mentioning that to her?"

"I told you!" Flack yelled, slamming his hands down on the table. "I didn't know! I didn't know it was the same gun! I don't talk about shit like that with my father!"

"Did Samantha Ross ever tell you at any point in time that your father and your sister were both brought up as persons of interest in this case?" Malley asked.

"No! She took a phone call and then told me when she got into the car that Detective Taylor needed her back at the lab, ASAP."

"And she never once mentioned your sister and your father?"

"No!" Flack bellowed. "I brought her back here and that was it! Nothing was said!"

"The problem we have here, Detective Flack, is that I think you're lying to protect her. Because you know that her work and her ethics are now in question."

Flack shook his head. "I am telling you the truth. She never told me."

"How do I know that you didn't tell her about the gun?" Malley asked. "How do I know that you didn't tell her and together the two of you came up with a plan to keep that information from everyone else involved. To obstruct the investigation."

"Because we wouldn't do that," Flack spat.

"And how do I know that she didn't tell you about your father and your sister to prepare you for coming in here?"

Flack shook his head.

"Or better yet, how do I know she didn't keep the info to herself to protect you from getting upset?"

"Because Sammie…" Flack caught himself and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Because Detective Ross wouldn't do that. I am telling you the truth. I didn't know that that gun matched anything of my father's. She didn't tell me about my old man or my sister. That is the truth."

Malley sighed and shuffled papers and photographs together and stuffed them back into the folder. "We'll be talking to Detective Ross," he said. "Because of your involvement with her, all her work regarding this case is being called into question and very well may be tossed out by a judge. So for your sake, Detective Flack, you better hope that she coberates everything you just told me."

"I'm not lying," Flack insisted. "She'll prove that to you."

"Well we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Malley gave a smug smile. "In the meantime, you're off this case. Personally I'd like to see you behind your desk again with no gun and no shield. But seeing as you didn't exactly beat someone to death or push them off a chair hard enough to kill them…"

Flack wasn't going to dignify that with a response. He pushed his chair away from the table noisily and stood up and made for the door.

"And let me just say one more thing," Malley called to him, as Flack and Scagnetti made for the door.

"By all means," Flack said with a polite smile, as his partner opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"By the end of today, one of you won't be working here anymore," the Investigator told him. "So have a nice long think about that, detective."

"Go fuck yourself," Flack said and stepped out of the room. "Have a nice long think about that." He slammed the door behind him with enough force to nearly shatter the glass.

Malley smirked to himself and took a sip of his own coffee.

_One down, one more to go._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! But please, please, please R and R folks! Thanks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Forest Angel**

**Wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**


	34. One on One

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**A/N: THANKS FOR ALL OF THE WELL WISHES FOR MY SON! HE'S STILL STRUGGLING TO GET BETTER, BUT HE'S GETTING THERE!**

* * *

**One on one**

"There's some things we don't talk about  
Rather do without  
And just hold the smile  
Falling in and out of love  
Ashamed and proud of  
Together all the while  
You can never say never  
Why we don't know when  
Time and time again  
Younger now than we were before  
Picture you're the queen of everything  
As far as the eye can see  
Under your command  
I will be your guardian  
When all is crumbling  
Steady your hand."  
-Never Say Never, The Fray

* * *

"Danny!" Lindsay called out to her boyfriend, as she spotted him rushing out of the trace lab, a determination and annoyance written all over his face, tests results clutched in one hand, a file folder in the other.

He stopped in his tracks and offered a tense smile as she hurried to catch up to him. "What's up, Montana?" he asked.

"What's up?" she responded, a perplexed look on her face. "What do you mean what's up? You must have opened the card I gave you by now. And all you can say the first time you see me after dropping a bomb like that is, What's up, Montana? I thought you'd react a little differently to finding out we're having a baby."

"Oh that," Danny said with a heavy sigh and turned abruptly on his heel and walked away swiftly.

"Oh that?" Lindsay fumed, her heart nearly shattering at his blatant indifference to what should have been the most amazing news he'd ever received. His disregard for her and their unborn child was shocking to say the least. She hadn't expected him to jump for joy and shower her with kisses and affection in the middle of the lab, but she had expected something different then what he was offering up. A 'this is awesome news' or even a 'can we talk about this later?' would have been more welcome then the cold shoulder she was receiving.

"I don't have time for this right now, Lindsay," he said. "I've got work coming out of my ass. Mac's got me running around like a chicken with its head cut off."

"And that's stopping you from saying something pleasant about our news? For acting like it's the most horrific thing you've ever heard in your life?"

"I've got other things on my mind right now," he told her, sounding more abrupt then he'd intended to.

"Work can't wait for five seconds?" she asked, near tears as she hurried along side of him. "I mean, this is life altering, Danny. This is our future. Our baby's future. Are you even listening to me?" she grabbed him by the sleeve of his lab coat, halting him in his tracks. "We're having a baby, Danny. A child. And this is how you're acting?"

"I'm not acting like anything," he replied. "You have no idea what's gone down around here in the past couple of hours that you've been off working on your case. No idea at all. I'm in the middle of running some major damage control here."

"Five minutes, Danny. All I'm asking for is five minutes to talk about us and our baby."

"I don't have five minutes, Montana! I'm lucky I even have five seconds! I have to re-run every test that Samantha did on our case before the IAB decides that none of her processed evidence is admissible in court. I've got to go to ballistics and do everything all over again. And I've got about an hour to do it before the brass lowers the boom on all of us."

"Ballistics?" Lindsay frowned as she released her boyfriend's arm and he began walking briskly down the hall once again. "IAB? What the hell is going on around here? Where's Sam? And why would her work be ruled inadmissible?"

"There's a conflict of interest issue," Danny told her. "I can't get into it right now. We'll be here forever if we get into it. Sam's been pulled off of our case and she's on her way down to talk to IAB. As far as I know, Flack's already talked to them."

"What is going on?" Lindsay pressed. "Why do they have to talk to IAB?"

"The ballistics evidence that Sam collected, was tied to Flack's father," Danny explained, as he used his hip to push his way into the empty ballistics lab. "She was able to identify one of the weapons used as a rare collector's item. Which just so happens, Flack's dad owns but had stolen out of his home two months ago."

"And why would they be in shit with IAB for that?"

"Because Flack was in the ballistics lab while Sam was processing everything. She showed him the gun. So IAB thinks that either Flack never told her about his dad owning the same kind of weapon to way lay the case, or that he told Sam and together they came up with an elaborate way to keep that news back."

"Sam and Flack would never do that," Lindsay argued, waiting outside of the weapons and ammunition locker while Danny stepped inside to collect the proper bullets and handguns. "Neither of them would lie to screw up in an investigation."

"We all know that," Danny said, as he stepped out of the locker with a basket of goods in his hands. "But IAB has been out to nail Flack since that Todd Flemming bullshit. They've given me one hour to re-run every test that Sam completed while she was in here. Sixty minutes or this case goes down the toilet. And if that isn't enough, we were also able to tie Flack's sister into the whole mess."

"Melanie?" Lindsay frowned. "How?"

"Her DNA was found on our dead guy," Danny said, as he set his things down on a work station. "She also perfectly matches the descriptions the witnesses gave of the girl that ran up the subway stairs earlier today after the first shooting. Flack and Sam, before either of them knew Mel was involved, were able to loosely place her with these guys and know she's involved in some kind of theft ring with them. Wallets, Ipods, shit like that."

"And Sam and Flack are in trouble with IAB over this because…."

"Because IAB thinks they're covering things up together. To protect each other," Danny concluded. "It's a huge fucking mess, Montana. Everyone around here knows that neither of them would impede a case like that. That they wouldn't lie to protect each other to the point it could cost both of them their badges. That's just not Sam and Flack."

"Where are they now? Have you talked to them?"

"As far as I know, Flack's already talked to IAB. I haven't heard from him, but I can imagine he's been taken off the case and has been told not to talk to anyone about it. Sam was called downstairs to talk to IAB about ten minutes ago. And now they're looking at Adam being involved too."

"Adam? What does Adam have to do with anything?"

"Adam was the one that found all this out about Flack Sr and Melanie," Danny explained. "It's a mess, okay? A fucking mess. So pardon me for not being able to take five minuets to worry about you and your problems."

"There's no reason to get nasty," Lindsay told him angrily. "I had no idea what was going on."

"No. And you didn't think of asking either. You just jumped right into your own problems. You always do that. Expect the whole world to come to a stand still just 'cause you've got some shit going on. Well for once, I have to put other people first for a change. A'right?"

"No, Danny. That's not alright!" Lindsay snapped. "I get that this is a huge deal! I get that you need to concentrate on work while you're at work. We've always tried to be as professional as possible while we're on the clock. But asking you to take five minutes out of work to discuss your baby isn't that much to ask."

"I don't want to talk about this right now!' Danny shot back. "I do not have the time to stand here and talk about nonsense crap with you!"

"Nonsense crap!" she fumed. "I'm nonsense crap! Our baby is nonsense crap! A life that we created together is nonsense crap!"

"I never said that," Danny sighed, stepping in front of her to lay the guns and ammunition on the table, and ultimately, turning his back completely on her. "I'm saying that there's a time and place for everything, and this is not the time, or the place, to talk about this. I've got more important things on my plate at the moment. And I'm not in the mood to discuss why having a baby right now is a huge mistake."

"A huge mistake!" tears threatened to burst from her eyes as Lindsay grabbed him by the lab coat and yanked him around to face her. "Our baby is a huge mistake?"

"I don't have time for this, Montana," he said. "So just chill a bit, go and do your own work and leave me to this, okay?"

"Go and chill out!" Lindsay laid her hands on his chest and shoved him backwards angrily. "Go and chill out! I'm your fiancee and the mother of your unborn child and you think you can talk to me like that? Just dismiss me like I'm not important to you?"

"I am not dismissing you! I am asking you to think about someone else for a change! To let me concentrate on my work! Mac needs me to do this! You're crossing that line, Linds. That one he warned us about. Personal on one side, professional on the other, remember? So let this go for now and go and do your thing will I do mine."

"All I wanted was for you to acknowledge the news, Danny!" Lindsay cried. "To say something about the fact that we're going to be parents! That we managed to create the miracle of life together. And what do I get from you? I get a 'having a baby is a huge mistake'.!"

Danny threw up his hands in surrender and turned his back on her once again. "I can't talk about this right now. We'll talk about this when I get home later. When you're more rational."

"When I'm more rational," Lindsay snorted. "Well guess what, Danny? The way you're acting about this? Treating news about our child as mistake? I'm never going to be rational over you feeling that way. So do me a favour. After you're finished your work? Don't bother coming home and expecting to talk about anything."

"Lindsay…" Danny briefly closed his eyes, listening to the click of her boot hells on the tiles behind him as she hurried for the door. "Don't be like that. You're blowing this way out of proportion."

"All I wanted from you was to share the news," she said from the doorway. "We're having a baby, Danny. I'm going to be a mommy and you're going to be a daddy and you're just acting like…I don't know….like it doesn't matter to you. Like you don' even want the baby."

He didn't respond.

"Well I guess that says it all," Lindsay said with a slight sniffle, and disappeared from the doorway.

Danny sighed heavily, his hands forming tight fists as he fought to compose himself. Telling himself that while he should be going after her, his priorities and loyalties lay within the confines of the ballistic lab. An entire case was hanging in the balance. People were relying on him to make things right again.

And yet, so was Lindsay and the baby. Relying him to take care of them and to love them. To provide for them. And the thought of letting them down nearly broke his heart.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before delving into the work in front of him.

Knowing that once he was finished, once the nightmare of the day was over, he had a mountain of apologizes to offer up, and a lifetime of sucking up to do.

_No rest for the weary,_ he thought, and prepared for the long haul.

Both professionally, and personally.

* * *

Samantha calmly and casually leaned back in her chair in interrogation. Her right leg draped over her left knee as she slowly sipped a take out cup of extremely weak and foul tasting tea. It was her first time in a meeting with IAB. Either in New York City or back in Phoenix. She had always managed to keep her nose clean, despite the occasional verbal disagreement with perps or co-workers. The closest she'd ever come to being in trouble with the department watch dogs was when she'd been on the receiving end of a suggestive and off colour email that Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair had sent her way. She hadn't been the only one. There'd been several other women. She had erased the message soon after she received it and brushed it off. It was of no great important and she hadn't seen the need to discuss it with anyone.

That decision had blown up in her face during the whole James Bond fiasco, as it was now known around the lab as. When Mac had called her into his office with a copy of that email in his hand, she'd nearly shit herself. The perps, aided by their hotwired tuxes, had unknowingly downloaded the email when they'd robbed Sinclair's apartment. Mac thankfully, had kept it hush-hush. But news of other incidences of sexual harassment on the Chief's behalf had managed to make it to the press. Sinclair had nearly hit the roof. Accusing her and Mac of leaking the incident to reporters.

It was still unclear how the information had gotten out. Just as it was unclear who was behind the mysterious disappearance of the Ann Steele flash drive. Something Sam could thankfully say she knew nothing about, and had never come in remote contact with.

Danny had told her -after they'd snuck into the same stall in the employee washroom together to avoid being seen by prying eyes - to stay calm and composed when facing the big, bad wolf, as he called IAB. To never let the investigator see you sweat. They smelled fear. And once they picked up on it, you were toast.

Surely and truly fucked.

She had been seen to the room by a uniform officer, given a tea on her request, and told that IAB would be a few minutes.

That had been a half an hour ago. She tapped the toe of her Doc Martin boot on the leg of the metal table and glanced down at her watch before issuing a heavy sigh. She was pissed that she'd not only been yanked off the case, but had found out from a third party not even relative to the lab instead of her own boss. Not only was that entirely unprofessional for someone like Mac Taylor who drilled professionalism and respect and integrity into his employees on a near hourly basis. She was pissed that she'd been yanked off an active investigation for what she felt were ridiculous, childish reasons. And that she had to bow to IAB on matters that were both out of her control, and none of her business.

She took a swig of her tea and glanced over as the door clicked open and Lieutenant John Malley slipped into the room, his eyes riveted on the case folder in his hands.

"Detective Samantha Ross," he said in way of greeting as he closed the door behind him.

"That would be me," she confirmed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just freshening up on your employee file sent down by your boss, Detective Mac Taylor. Very impressive. Your just going into your second year here and you're already third on the list of solved cases. Quit the departure from the nightmare that was the Phoenix Crime Lab."

"The Phoenix Crime Lab is hell on earth for employee morale," she said with a shrug of indifference. "I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I needed more of a challenge. It's why I wanted to come to the second best lab in the country."

"And I'm sure that well recorded issues with anger management and insubordination helped speed up your departure as well," Malley commented as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. "And I guess an abusive fiance doesn't help matters either."

"My past in Arizona is just that," she said calmly. "The past. It has no bearing on my life, professional or otherwise, in New York City."

"Well let me be the judge of that," Malley gave a polite smile. He sat a yellow legal pad on top of the folder and pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "You understand why you're here?" he asked.

"I understand that I was pulled off an investigation because of my closeness to a colleague whose family members may be involved with the crime in question," she replied.

Malley smirked. "Closeness. Now that's one way of putting it."

Sam shrugged. "Potato, potatoe," she said.

The investigator smirked. "Let's start at the very top. Tell me about the phone call you received this afternoon from a Detective Danny Messer."

"Detective Messer had called me to deliver some news about our case. And to tell me that as a result of the findings, our boss, Detective Taylor, wanted me to return to the crime lab as soon as possible."

"And what news was it that Detective Messer gave you?"

"He told me that a colleague of ours had a personal connection to the case. Two personal connections. That a as of yet missing murder weapon had been tied to our colleague's father, and that DNA found on our John Doe, belonged to the same colleague's sister."

"And this colleague would be…"

"Detective Don Flack."

"And you were with Detective Flack at the time you received this phone call?" Malley asked.

"We were returning from questioning a person of interest," Sam confirmed, sipping her tea.

"And did you happen to tell Detective Flack about the nature of Detective Messer's phone call?"

"I told him that I'd been given some pertinent information regarding the case and that Mac wanted me back at the lab ASAP."

"And did Detective Flack ask you to elaborate?"

"Yes."

"And did you?"

"I told him that Mac wanted to talk to me. That's all I said."

"Let's go backwards in the day a little," Malley suggested. "To when you were processing evidence in the ballistics lab. At any time did Detective Flack enter the ballistics lab while you were working?"

"He came to find out the progression of our case," Sam confirmed.

"And at any time did you discuss with him your findings or show him what you were working on?"

"I told him that I had managed to successfully identify both bullets pulled from our separate victims," Sam said. "I was, at the time he first arrived, waiting for results on a bullet I had test fired in hopes of matching it to a weapon. I had also previously identified a separate weapon used."

"As a…" Malley flipped through the pages of his legal pad before finding the information he wanted. ".45 Automatic Colt Pistol?"

"Yes."

"Did you at any time show Detective Flack the weapon?"

"I don't remember," she admitted.

Malley frowned and looked up from his notes and across the table at her. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember if I actually physically showed it to him or if he saw it sitting on the work station," she explained.

"But you verbally told him what kind of gun it was?"

"Yes."

"And what was Detective Flack's reaction to that?"

"His reaction?" she asked, perplexed.

"Yes, Detective," Malley gave an irritated sigh. "His reaction. Did he seem surprised? Concerned? Did he say anything? Do anything?"

"I don't know. He seemed…normal. He seemed like Don. He didn't really say anything or do anything. He asked me a couple of questions. Like how rare the gun was, what bullets were used in it. Stuff like that."

"And did he seem nervous or agitated? Did he seem as if he was hiding something? Keeping information back from you?" Malley asked,

"No. He seemed genuinely interested in every aspect of our case," Sam replied. "I didn't find anything unusual about his reaction or his behaviour."

"And did he happen to mention to you that the same kind of weapon in question was stolen from his father's home two months ago?"

"No. He never mentioned it. Maybe he didn't even realize his father owned a gun like that. And if he did, maybe he didn't see why that was important to our investigation. I didn't find out about it until Danny called me."

"Let's fast forward to that phone call from Detective Messer," Malley suggested. "After you hung up, did Detective Flack ask you about the call?"

"He was curious about it. I told him that Danny had called with some results and that Mac wanted me back at the lab ASAP."

"And you never once told Detective Flack anything about his father or his sister being persons of interest in the case?" Malley sounded, and looked sceptical.

"Didn't I already answer that same question? How many times do you have to ask me that?" Sam asked irritably.

"Yes or no, Detective Ross?"

"No," she answered. "I didn't feel it was my place to tell him."

"I see…" Malley said with a slow nod as he wrote everything down. "Now tell me this…do you and Detective Flack make it a habit of keeping things from each other? Or from other people?"

Sam frowned. "I'm not sure I understand what it is you're trying to get at with this."

"Detective Flack didn't tell you pertinent information regarding a case. You didn't tell him about his family members being involved. Do the two of you make it common practice hiding things from each other and the people around you?"

"I just told you that I didn't think it was my place to tell him!" Sam argued. "And like I've already said, maybe he didn't know about what kind of guns his father owns. Or which ones had been stolen."

"Answer my question," Malley demanded. "Do the two of you hide things from each other or other people? Yes or no?!"

Sam sighed heavily. "No," she responded.

"Interesting. Because I found out something completely opposite. It seems as if you and Detective Flack are very, very good at keeping things secret. Even from those that are closest and dearest to you. So tell me, how long have you and Detective Flack been close?" He made air quotes at the word close.

She stared long and hard at the man across from her before answering. "Detective Flack and I have been friends since I started here in the spring of 2007."

"Let me rephrase my question," Malley said. "How long have the two of you been romantically involved?"

"I don't see what my personal life has to do with anything," Sam remained defiant. "What does who I date have to do with what is going on with this case?"

"Answer the question, Detective Ross. How long?"

She picked up the cup of tea and took a long, slow sip. "Since the middle of November," she admitted.

"And I understand that you and Detective Flack agreed to keep that information back from people at work. Including your own brother."

"We agreed that it was best we kept our relationship to ourselves for the time being. He had just gotten out of another relationship, and he didn't want anyone gossiping about us or making things up about me. He was protecting me."

"And this prior relationship was with Detective Jessica Angell? Am I right?"

Sam nodded.

"Who just so happened to write a very interesting letter to Deputy Inspector Whitmore," Malley said and flipped open his folder. "This was sent, along with a request for a transfer, on Detective Angell's behalf. In it, she clearly states that Detective Flack and yourself were involved long before what you just told me."

"Well that's wrong," Sam told him. "We never…"

Malley slid the paper across the table. "Have a look for yourself," he encouraged. "I think you'll find that very interesting."

Sam sighed and picked the letter up and read it quietly. "This is a bunch of bullshit," she declared and tossed the paper down on the table. "Everything she wrote in that letter is crap. Detective Flack and I never had a relationship, of any kind, until the middle of November. Of 2008."

"Are you sure about that?" Malley asked.

"I know what year it was," Sam replied.

"Well, excuse me if I beg to differ," Malley said and reached into the folder once again. "Have a look at this picture, Detective Ross. And tell me the date at the bottom right corner."

Samantha accepted the photograph from the investigator, her eyes widening in surprise and horror. The black and white photograph had been taken long before November 2008. In the late evening, hours after Chrissy Watson and Louise Perry had washed up on the beach in Far Rockaway and the team had discovered that they, along with Ben Melvoy, a victim from months before, had been the prey of who would become known as the Cabbie Killer. The same evening when Flack had given her the Damiana laced chocolate as a joke. And things had gotten a little out of control when he drove her home.

The picture had been taken, at a moment of complete indiscretion, outside of her apartment. Her stomach churned at the sight before her and she swallowed noisily as she laid the photo face down on the table and pushed it towards Malley.

"That was one moment," she said, attempting to hide the unsteadiness in her voice. "It was the first time, and the last time anything ever happened between us until November 2008."

"There's other pictures if you'd like to see them," Malley offered. "Some tame, some more graphic. Taken by a private investigator named Anthony Martino. Who I believe you came in contact with many months ago during the Ann Steele case."

Sam nodded and took a sip of tea in order to rid herself of the bile that burned her throat.

"Did you not know about this pictures before hand?" Malley asked.

"Would I be this shocked if I did?" Sam countered.

"Hmmm…I would have thought your boyfriend would have told you about them. Considering he knew about them and even went as far as threatening Martino over them."

Sam blinked in surprise.

"So it seems as if you and Detective Flack keep more back from each other then you even realize. So it is quite possible that he kept the information about his father back from you in order to protect his family."

She shook her head. "Don wouldn't do that. He isn't that type of person."

"Do you really know what kind of person he is?" Malley asked. "He didn't bother telling you about the existence of very intimate photographs involving the two of you. He didn't even tell you there was a PI watching your every move. Now why would he keep that from you?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I honestly don't know."

"Let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say he did it to protect you. That he felt he could handle the situation on his own. And maybe that protection goes both ways. Maybe he did tell you about his father's stolen gun and his sister's involvement and you decided to keep all of that to yourself to protect him. Admirable. Extremely foolish, but admirable."

"He never told me anything," Sam remained adamant. "And I believe, in my heart of hearts, that he wasn't hiding anything from me. That he honestly didn't know."

Malley gave a small smile. "You're very loyal to him, aren't you, Detective Ross." It was a statement. Not a question.

Sam didn't respond. Instead she cleared her throat noisily and looked away. Uncomfortable and flustered under the man's heavy gaze.

"You are aware that dating a co-worker is against NYPD protocol are you not, Detective Ross?" Malley asked.

"Actually," she said and looked him dead in the eye. "It's against protocol if we work in the same squad room. So maybe that's a question Detective Angell should have been asked during her relationship with Detective Flack. This is how I look at office relationships. You don't want to be water cooler gossip? Don't get involved with someone you work with. You don't want to be known as the squad room skank? Don't date someone you share the squad room with."

"The protocol states…"

"No relationship with someone in your department or squad room," Sam finished. "I know. But guess what? That doesn't apply here. I'm Crime Lab, he's homicide. Plain and simple," she pushed the chair away from the table and stood up. "And we're done here," she announced and headed for the door.

"Do yourself a favour, Detective Ross," Malley called to her. "You value your job? Stay away from Detective Flack until this all blows over."

"You value your job? Come back and apologize to me when you realize what a pompous, judgemental prick you've been," she shot back. "In fact, come up to the lab, get on your knees and kiss my ass."

With that she tossed open the door and slammed it closed behind her.

* * *

Tears of fury pooled in her eyes as Sam stormed down the hallway from interrogation. Ignoring the curious, and for the most part concerned, glances that were cast her way from detectives and uniforms alike. Malley had shred every last nerve she had vowed to kept intact. The photos and the news that a PI had been hired to spy on her, made her feel sick to her stomach. But no more so then the realization that the one person she loved and trusted more then anything or anyone else in the world, had kept something like that back from her. That he'd known and not said a damn word about it. That he'd known about the pictures and hadn't felt it important enough to tell her about them.

It was inexcusable to keep information like that from someone. Someone that you declared to love more then life itself. A relationship was a two way street. They were both active participants in it. And there was no reason, or excuse, for why he kept the existence of photos of that nature from her. Hurt was not an accurate way to describe how she felt. It went far beyond disappointment even. She had been devastated when Malley had shoved the evidence in her face. And disgusted at the man's blatant disregard for her feelings.

Flack was at his desk, banished there by IAB and Inspector Whitmore, and caught sight of his girlfriend as she hurried through the busy squad room. Alarmed at the distraught look on her face and the tears that threatened to escape at any moment. He reached out to grab her by the wrist in an attempt to get her to stop and talk to him, but she yanked her hand away from him and kept on walking.

"Don't go it, Flack," Scagnetti warned from behind his own desk. "They're watching every move you make. Don't go after her. Don't do it."

The younger man ignored him. He pushed his chair away from his desk and hurried after his girlfriend.

"He did it," Scagnetti sighed and leaned back in his chair and tossed his pen angrily onto his desk.

"Sam!" Flack called after her, chasing her down to the elevator. "Sammie!…Samantha! Hold up!"

"What do you want, Don?" she asked, laying her finger on the up button.

"What the hell happened in there with IAB? Are you okay?"

"Just go back to work okay?" she refused to look at him. "Just do yourself, and me, a huge favour and go back to work."

"No. I'm not going to go back to work when you're this upset. What went on in there? What did that fucker Malley say to you?"

"I am not getting into this with you right now," she told him. "Please. Just leave me alone."

"I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me what the hell is going on. What did he say to you that's got you so upset?"

Sam shook her head. "You're a real fucking bastard, you know that?"

He frowned. "What? What did I do? I never said a goddamn word about you. Why are you…?"

"Why didn't you tell me about Anthony Martino?" she asked, turning her teary eyes up at him. "Why didn't you tell me about the pictures?"

Flack bit his bottom lip, pausing before answering. "He told you about that?"

"He didn't tell me! He showed me! Did you see them? Did you see the pictures?"

Flack nodded.

"And you think that's okay?" she asked in disbelief. "You think that it's okay that someone took pictures like that of us?"

"Of course not. But when I dragged Martino in here and confronted him about it, he told me that he'd destroy all of them."

"Well obviously he didn't," Sam huffed. "Because IAB managed to get a hold of them."

"Martino sent them to Whitmore after I threatened to break his arms and legs if he didn't leave you alone."

Sam gave a dry laugh. "As much as I appreciate you defending my honour…"

"What did you want me to do? Just let him get away with it? Let him pass those pictures around to whoever he wanted? Let them end up on some website or scattered around the department? Would you have rather I just sat back and let that happen?"

"I would have rather you told me!" she cried. "I would have rather you…"

She paused as two uniforms jumped them at the elevators. The young men smiling politely at both of them. She gave a small smile of her own and hung her head, hiding her tears from them as they waited for the elevator.

"She'll get the next one," Flack told the young officers when the elevator arrived, holding Sam back by the wrist before she could step inside.

"Don't you do this right now!" she hissed at him. "This is not…"

"Go ahead, guys," Flack encouraged the uniforms. "She'll get the next one."

One of the officers gave a smile and nod and allowed the elevator door to close.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sam fumed. "Do you not get it that we shouldn't be doing this right now? That IAB is watching our every move?"

"Fuck IAB!" he snapped. "This isn't about work. This about me and you some personal shit."

"Personal shit that effects both of us but you neglected to tell me about!" she shot back. "Why didn't you tell me about Anthony Martino?"

"We're not talking about this right here where everyone can hear us," Flack said.

"You're right. We aren't…we're going to…"

She didn't get the chance to finish. Instead she found herself being pulled down the hallway. Towards the employee locker room and down a narrow, out of the way corridor that lead to a janitor's closet and a photocopy room.

"Why didn't you tell me about the pictures?" she asked, as they stood in the small corridor. Speaking in hushed voices. "Why didn't you tell me that there was a PI following me?"

"I thought I could handle it myself," Flack reasoned. "I thought I could leave you out of it. I wanted to protect you. I thought that the less you knew, the better. And that if I could get Martino in here and threaten him a bit, I could keep those photos under wraps."

"And instead threatening him had the exact opposite effect," she huffed.

"He told me that those pictures would never, ever get out in public."

"And you just believed him?"

Flack sighed. "Obviously not the smartest decision I ever made."

"Obviously," she snorted. "You should have told me, Don! There's two of us in this relationship. It's both of us in those photos! Not just you!"

"I know. But like I said I…"

"You wanted to protect me," she said. "I get that. And I admire that quality about you. The way you always want to come to my aide and take care of me. Be my knight in shining armour. Trust me, Donnie, I appreciate that. I love that you want to keep me safe. But I'm a big girl who needs to make big girl mistakes and big girl decisions."

"I knew those pictures would upset you and I…"

"Upset me? I am far beyond being upset! I feel sick. When I saw that picture, of me and you outside of my apartment that night of that whole chocolate thing, I seriously wanted to throw up. Someone invaded my privacy! Our privacy! And you think that's okay?"

"Of course I don't think that's okay," he defended himself. "I feel sick about it too. I wanted to kill the guy when I found about it. But I thought I handled it."

"How long have you known about this? That there was a PI following me?" she asked.

"I've known since we went to see Terrence Davis."

Her eyes widened. "And you thought it was a good idea to not tell me?"

"I wanted to handle it on my own," he told her. "I already explained this to you."

"How did Terrence know about it?"

"He's my CI, Sammie. He hears things. And when he heard about Martino and the pictures, he told me."

"It was Zack. He hired a PI to keep tabs on me."

Flack nodded.

"And this is exactly why I told you to not get involved with me!" she cried. "Do you see now? Do you see the torment and the agony I'm causing you? Do you not see that me and you are just disastrous. We're just all wrong, Don! You must see that!"

"You're not causing me torment and agony. I found out about Martino and I went and took care of it. No big deal."

"No big deal? You think those pictures are no big deal? Did you see them?"

"I already said that I saw them."

"Then how can you stand here and tell me that sexually explicit photos of us aren't a big deal?" she asked. "You can't honestly think that someone doing this to us is okay."

"It's not okay. It fucking makes me sick. But Martino did it and he passed those photos along. I can't help that. I thought that I could trust him when he told me he'd get rid of them. After he left here that day, the situation was out of my hands, Sammie."

"You should have told me!" she spat.

"I realize that! And you keep telling me over and over again! I can't change it now, can I? If I could, I would. We're going around in circles here, Sammie. I'm an asshole for not telling you. I'm a prick for thinking that I was in the right for wanting to protect you."

She frowned. "I never said that."

"It's what you're trying to say."

"No it's not! What I'm trying to say is that I warned you about getting involved with me! That being with me would cause you problems! Don't you see that for yourself now?"

"Being with you isn't causing me problems. Your crazy ex is causing me problems. Actually, he's causing us problems. Because there's no me and you in this. It's us. He's fucking with both of us and it's not your fault, Sam."

She shook her head. "You should have walked away that night," she said. "Outside of my apartment. You should have just done what was best for you and walked away."

"What's best for me is being with you," he argued.

"Why are you being so goddamn stubborn?!"

"Why are you trying to push me away?" he countered. "I love you, Samantha. And if you think that walking away is so goddamn easy, then walk away right now. Turn around and walk away from me. If that's what you want and you think it's an easy thing to do, here's your opportunity. Just turn around and leave."

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked up at him.

"It's not that easy is it?" Flack asked. "To just turn your back on someone."

"Sometimes it's for the best," she told him. "Maybe not for yourself, but for the other person."

"Not in this case it isn't," he said.

She gave a sad smile. Her heart breaking. "I'm sorry, Don," she whispered, and turned on her heel and walked away.

He was stunned. Completely and utterly shocked as he watched her walk away and out of his life. Just like that. As if the last three months were nothing. That the time they'd spent together could easily be discarded and forgotten about. As if they'd meant absolutely nothing to her. And he realized, as she disappeard around the corner, leaving his shattered heart behind in the process, that there was no way in hell he was going to give up that easily. He wasn't going to let her walk away when there was still so much to say to her. So much they still needed to experience together. An entire lifetime ahead of them. Together.

He went after her, hurrying down the corrider and around to elevators where she waited, brushing frantically at her tears and tapping her foot impatiently on the tiles. And without a word and without reseveration, he grabbed a hold of her arm and yanked her towards him and into a long and intense kiss. One she resisted at first, attempting to push him away from her, her hands on his chest. Until she realized it was futile. That one, he was way to strong and powerful for her, and two, she was exactly where she was meant to be. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt desperately as she returned the kiss with fervor, both of them obvious to the stares and chagrin of everyone around them.

They broke apart when air became a necessity. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped both arms around her slender body, holding her tight to his chest.

"Me and you, Sammie," he whispered, stroking her hair, feeling her tears soak the front of his shirt. "It's always going to be me and you."

"You should have told me," she sniffled into his chest.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I wish I could take that back. But I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it was the best thing for us. I didn't do it to hurt you."

"Just promise me you won't keep stuff back from me again," she pleaded, lifting her head to look up at him. "That you won't keep things like that away from me."

"I promise you," he said and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. He cradled her face in his hands and cleared her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "As long as you promise not t scare the crap out of me like that again. Don't walk away like that again, okay? 'Cause I can't take shit like that. I can't lose you, Sam. I waited too long to get you to lose you that easily. Don't do that again, a'right?"

"Alright," she agreed.

He kissed her gently. "You should get back upstairs. So much for the whole staying away from you thing."

She gave a small laugh. "You were warned too, huh?"

"Went in one ear and out the other apparently," Flack said and pressed the button for the elevator. "I can just imagine what they'll write in my file. About my lack of respect for authority and failure to follow instructions."

"Hope they don't go all ape shit and demote you. Like all the way down to uniform or something," she mused.

Flack shrugged. "I kinda missed those days. You'd be the talk of the place for dating a lowly uni."

"Maybe," she said. "But I bet you look hot in that uniform."

"I can hold my own," he grinned.

The doors to the elevator opened and he kissed her one last time before she stepped inside.

"Hell of way to come out to everyone, huh?" he mused. "Nice make out session in front of the whole squad room?"

She just smiled. The doors closing between them.

Flack sighed heavily and ran a hand over his hair and turned to head back to his desk.

And found himself face to face with a furious Deputy Inspector Whitmore.

He gave a smirk and side stepped her and continued on his way.

Fuming, Whitmore turned and stared after him. Then turned back to the elevators and decided to take the issue to the one person she trusted to put an end to it.

Mac Taylor.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of my fans! Even the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! I am afraid this fic may be on borrowed time. I will see how I feel in the coming days. But thanks for all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Forest Angel**

**Afrozenheart412**

**New-york-babeee**

**wolfeylady**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Delko's Girl88**


	35. Hashing it out

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**SPECIAL WELCOME TO: DANAAA**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO LAURZZ. **

**ANY LAURZZ AND 'WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO' FANATICS READING THIS: PICK OUT THE SMALL HOMAGE TO MY FAVOURITE BRAND OF CRACK AND YOU WIN AN (UNFORTUNATELY) IMAGINARY TRIP TO HAWAII.**

* * *

**HASHING IT OUT**

"What day is it? And in what month?  
This clock never seemed so alive  
I can't keep up and I can't back down  
I've been losing so much time  
'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do  
Nothing to lose  
And it's you and me and all of the people  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you  
All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right  
I'm tripping on words  
You've got my head spinning  
I don't know where to go from here

There's something about you now  
I can't quite figure out  
Everything she does is beautiful  
Everything she does is right."  
-You and Me, Lifehouse

* * *

"We need to have a word, Detective Taylor," Inspector Gillian Whitmore announced as she boldly pushed open his closed office door and strolled in.

Mac glanced up from the stack of paper work in front of him. He was in a foul mood. The Sam and Flack fiasco as it was becoming known around the lab was grating on his last nerve. More because of the unfair treatment he felt the two were receiving on behalf of Internal Affairs then the fact the insanity was just proving what he long attested. Work and romance were a deadly combination. No matter how much you drilled the ground rules into someone's brain, the personal, in the end, always reared it's ugly head and got in the way of the professional. Intimacy between co-workers, while enjoyable and well intentioned, only served to throw a monkey wrench into the priorities of the job. Cases were put on the back burner, evidence was too often ignored or slipped through the cracks, and the rumours were nearly unbearable.

Instead of concentrating on work, others in the lab were more worried about who was sleeping with who or who was cheating on who or who wanted to be sleeping with who. It was bullshit and Mac didn't like it. He ran a well oiled machine. He wanted peoples' heads on straight. His workers to follow the protocol of the lab and forget everything but work the moment they stepped off the elevators at the beginning of the shift. He expected nothing but the best. And as budget cuts loomed once again and employee morale sank to an all time low, catching criminals seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind. Short of a staff meeting aimed at telling them all to leave their shit at the door on the way into work, there was little he could do to stop people from indulging in relationships that extended far beyond the professional realm of things. He could threaten action against anyone who spread rumours or knowingly inflicted grief on a co-worker, but that felt as if he was crossing the line from being a boss to being a school principal.

These people were adults. And each and every one that Mac had hauled into the office and gave 'the talk' to had promised the same thing. That they'd be able to successfully separate the two sides of their lives. Professional to the right, personal to the left. Mac had known that such promises were usually broken within at least several days of making them, so he'd been pleasantly surprised when Danny and Lindsay had not only managed to keep their relationship a secret for months, but also maintain their professionalism while on the clock. For a while, at least. The death of Ruben Sandoval and Danny's tendency to isolate himself and push away those that loved him the most, had brought him and Lindsay's professionalism to a screeching halt.

Thankfully, when the relationship got back on track, so had their work ethics. There'd been no Danny and Lindsay related issues were nearly a year and counting. In fact, their numbers of solved cases had nearly doubled, and they seemed more focused on their work then ever.

And now Samantha and Flack. Of all people, Mac had thought they'd be the ones to successfully carry on a workplace relationship. Mac sighed heavily as he thought about them and the dilemma he was faced with. IAB was pushing hard for one of them to transferred. Mac had no desire to send one of his best people to a different lab, and Chief Sinclair had no desire to ship the NYPD's golden boy to another precinct. Both were assets to their respective fields and people of that calibre were not easily replaced. A compromise needed to be made. And it was up to Mac to come up with one. No matter how much it pissed him off.

"Closed usually means knock before entering," Mac informed the Inspector as he turned his attention back to the work in front of him.

"I need a moment," Whitmore insisted. "I doubt a moment is too much to ask for."

"At this point in time, I don't have a moment. I have mountains of work to catch up on, a CSI that is busting his ass to re-run ballistics testing that you and your people say isn't good enough, and Melanie Flack downstairs in interrogation, refusing to talk to anyone unless her father and brother are in the room. Something you people are hedging on."

"Her brother has been pulled off the case and their father, although highly decorated, is no longer part of the NYPD," Whitmore argued. "There's no reason why either of them have to be in there with her."

"No reason? How about the fact that she'll give us both an ID on our John Doe, and cough up their partner in crime. Who, I may add, killed someone and is out there on the street somewhere armed and dangerous. Isn't locking someone like that up more important then the department's political and bureaucratic bullshit?"

"This has nothing to do with politic agendas and everything to do with weeding out the good cops from the bad cops," Whitmore responded.

"Bad cops?" Mac asked incredulously. "Are you insinuating that Samantha Ross and Don Flack are bad cops? I've worked with Detective Flack for years now. And I personally picked Detective Ross out of a pool of a hundred applicants for the open CSI position here. I picked her based on sheer merit and experience and education alone. I interviewed her over the telephone. Hired her ten minutes after I'd hung up. Hiring her was one of the best decisions I've ever made. And for you to stand there and question my ability to pick the best people for my lab…"

"No one is holding your decisions in question, Detective Taylor. But the fact remains, Detective Ross and Detective Flack kept back pertinent information to the case they were working on."

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Mac snapped. "There's no proof that Flack knew about his father's tie to that gun or that his sister was involved. And there's no proof that Samantha went along and withheld information to help him protect his family."

"There's no proof either way," Whitmore said. "We don't know if they did, or didn't."

"I trust my people," Mac told her. "And if Samantha and Flack say they didn't know, then they didn't. Plain and simple. I've never had a problem with either of them. They're honest and trust worthy. I would pick either of them to have my back going through the door on a raid any day. I've gotten nothing but the best out of both of them and at no point since I've know them have either of them lied or withheld information."

"There's a first time for anything, Detective Taylor. If they're romantically involved, then…"

"They know how to separate the business from the personal side of their lives," Mac cut the Inspector off. "I've already talked to both of when they came to tell me that they were together outside of work. I told them I expected nothing but professionalism and they promised me their personal feelings would never interfere with work. So far so good."

"The pictures. You saw the pictures and…."

"Those pictures were taken while they were both off the clock," Mac reasoned. "They weren't on the job. Someone invaded their privacy. That's what you and your people should be pissed off about. That someone like Anthony Martino is out there earning a living making other peoples' lives a living hell. And to be honest, the fact that the NYPD would even look at those pictures and toss them up in Samantha and Flack's faces makes me sick. It disgusts me that what went on during a personal moment between them gets brought up in the workplace."

"They're very explicit pictures, Detective Taylor."

"Very explicit pictures that are none of your business. They're no one's business. And the fact that you and IAB would stoop so low as to sit my CSI down and bring her personal life into question makes me physically ill."

"It becomes a problem with myself and IAB when her personal life starts affecting matters of the department," Whitmore argued.

"Whether or not Samantha and Flack are in a relationship has nothing to do with the department. It doesn't affect their work in the slightest. I believe both of them when they say they didn't lie or keep anything back. And from what I've heard, they're both manhandling this Lieutenant Malley. He can't prove they did anything wrong. The only thing he's succeeding in is making himself look like an incompetent ass. And from where I stand, this whole thing seems like a witch hunt."

"And how is that, Detective Taylor?" Whitmore asked, a smug smile on her face as she took a seat in the chair in front of his desk. "Enlighten me."

"During a case nearly two years ago, it was brought up that Chief of Detectives Sinclair sent Samantha Ross an email. That could easily be construed as sexual harassment. She erased the email. She didn't see it as a big deal and got rid of it. Only Sinclair in his infinite wisdom kept the draft in his sent box. And when his residence was robbed, the thieves, using wireless technology, were able to access his computer. That email, which suddenly seemed so harmless, reared its ugly head. And Sinclair blamed both myself and Samantha when it got out to the public."

"Well it had to be released somehow, Detective Taylor."

Mac smirked. "Why am I not surprised you'd take that stance?" he asked. "Instead of being ashamed and appalled that your direct supervisor was sending harassing emails to women, you're laying the blame on the women themselves. Re-victimizing them. What he did doesn't even bother you. It only bothers you that he was caught."

"Of course I care that he did something so insensitive and unbecoming," Whitmore attested. "But the incident neither harmed, or derailed Chief of Detective Sinclair's career. Or marriage for that matter."

"Well that's his wife's downfall isn't it," Mac retorted. "And if you came up here to try and validate the crap you're pulling with Samantha Ross and Don Flack, you're wasting your breath. I'm a busy man. I have no time to listen to this nonsense. So if you'll excuse me, there's the door."

Whitmore frowned as he went back to the paperwork in front of him. "Something needs to be done about Detectives Ross and Flack. ASAP."

"I already told you earlier that I'd talk to them about the fine line they're treading. I'm sure that once I lay things out to them, they'll realize their professional missteps and that it won't happen again on either of their parts. And in their defence, Kendall Novak isn't known for her credibility and she could have just made that story up to cause problems."

"I don't know what happened in the ballistics lab, Detective Taylor, but I know what I saw downstairs," Whitmore fumed. "And what I saw, was two members of the NYPD engaged in a very private, and highly inappropriate and unprofessional moment."

"And just what did you see?" Mac smirked. "What did you see that has you this upset that you'd come barging in, guns blazing, in complete disregard of me and my work?"

"I saw them kissing."

"And?" he asked.

"A very serious, intense kiss at that."

"And did their hands remain above the waist at all times?" he inquired.

Whitmore frowned. "Of course. But…."

"And did all items of clothing remain on?" Mac asked.

"Naturally. But…"

"Then quit wasting my time," he growled. "I don't have time or tolerance for this crap, Inspector. Unless they're engaging in lewd acts in the locker room or supply closets or the garage, I could care less about what they're up to. A small public display of affection is the least of my worries. Now please, see yourself out of my office."

"I want something done about this, Detective Taylor! I want something done about that girl!"

"That girl?" Mac couldn't help but laugh. "That girl happens to be a thirty-three year old woman, Inspector. She's not a girl. And she's not corrupting Detective Flack. They're in a committed, adult relationship. Which is none of our business. What is it you want me to do? Slap her on the wrists? Send her to detention for a week? Ground her? Take away her telephone and internet privileges?"

"Do not mock me, Detective Taylor!" Whitmore snapped.

He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands in surrender. "I am not mocking you," he assured the furious Inspector. "But in reality, what is it you want me to do? I can't stop my team from having relationships with your detectives."

"I want you to adjust your schedule," Whitmore said. "I want you to remove Detective Ross from the schedule she's currently on and do something else with her. Straight afternoons, straight nights. I really don't care. Just as long as she and Detective Flack are kept apart."

"I am not adjusting anything," Mac told her firmly. "I am not splitting my people up. Samantha Ross is an important member to the team. She's well respected and well loved, she gets along with all of her co-workers. She and Detective Danny Messer are my dream team of sorts. Their number solved cases since they've become partners is phenomenal. I'm not splitting them up."

"So then move both Detective Ross and Messer to a different shift so you don't have to split them up."

"I'm not moving anyone. No one needs to be moved. Things are working just fine the way they are. I don't come to your office and demand you to make changes with your people. So don't come here to mine and try to strong arm me into screwing things up. My schedule stays the way it is. You want them separated so bad? Move Flack to a different shift."

"You're out of your bloody mind," Whitmore huffed. "He's invaluable!"

"As are all of my people," Mac told her. "We're a team. Plain and simple. We're not individual units. We work together and we stick together. You don't like that, find another place for Flack."

"That's impossible," she argued. "You're impossible!"

"I'm the boss of the Crime Lab," Mac reminded her. "I call the shots. You simply oversee how it's run. And it's been running exceptionally well. Thanks to the people I have working for me. So unless you have a better argument then seeing them kissing, Samantha and Flack both stay right where they are."

"You're insufferable," Whitmore declared and jumped to her feet. "I am warning you right now, Detective Taylor," she said as she headed for the door. "If I see anymore behaviour like that from your CSI…"

"I will certainly handle it if she takes advantage of, or forces herself on, Detective Flack," he said snidely.

"I don't want to come back up here on this matter," she spat.

"Oh trust me Inspector, I don't want you to have to come back up here either," Mac retorted.

There was a loud tap on the glass door of the office. Danny Messer stood in the hallway, tests results in his hand.

Mac waved him in.

"Sorry to interrupt," Danny said, as he pulled open the door. Ignoring Whitmore's presence completely as he stepped into the office. "I've got all the results from the re-runs on those ballistics tests. You know, the ones IAB thought Sam may have fixed to help Flack cover his ass."

Mac couldn't help but smirk. He knew that was Danny's personal shot at the woman standing next to him. Everyone was furious with how Sam and Flack were being treated by the department. Just like they all knew there was no way either of them would ever lie or fuck up an investigation.

"And what did you find out Danny?" Mac asked.

"I found the exact same things that Sam did," the CSI replied. There was a cocky tone to his voice. As if he was getting immense pleasure in shoving the results in the Inspector's face. "I was able to confirm that all of her results were in fact, the correct ones. The gun that was used to kill Aaron Clarke was a rare .45 automatic colt pistol that used hallow point nine millimetre bullets. And our John Doe, was killed with a nine millimetre, .380 ACP. No doubt about either one of the weapons."

"And did you run the tests more then once?" Mac asked.

"I test fired each gun three times," Danny replied. "Each time the striations matched perfectly."

"Detective Messer, is it?' Inspector Whitmore asked curiously.

Danny nodded.

"You're very good friends with Detective Flack, are you not?"

"For the love of Christ," Mac groaned. "Give it up. Danny wouldn't fabricate evidence to cover for Flack."

"You know," Danny said to the Inspector, a grin on his face. "I had a feeling you'd pull that. So I asked Detective Stella Bonasera to oversee each and every test I did. She was right there beside me the whole time. She can vouch that all my work is on the up and up."

Mac couldn't keep the smirk from spreading across his face at the sight of a furious Gillian Whitmore. "Good work, Danny," he praised. "Thanks for taking the brunt of this."

"No problem," Danny handed Mac the test results and made for the door. "Never should have been a reason for it, but…"

"Thank you, Danny," Mac said dismissively. "I may need you for interrogation soon."

The CSI nodded and pulled open the door. "I'll be waiting," he said as he stepped out into the hall. "With bells on."

Mac looked down at the report in his hands, and then up at the Inspector with a victorious grin on his face. "I think you and I are done here," he said.

"For now," she told him. "Keep an eye on your employee, Detective Taylor. I'd hate to have her shipped off to another crime lab."

"Never going to happen," Mac retorted. "At least not on my watch. Have a good day, Inspector."

She snorted and stomped towards the door. Tossing it open and storming from the office without a further word.

Mac shook his head in disbelief of the day's events and returned to his desk. While it felt great to shove the results in Whitmore's face, he also knew that the woman was right in some respects. If Samantha and Flack's behaviour was indeed inappropriate and unprofessional on the job, then both had to be called on it.

But only one was under his direct command.

Picking up the phone on his desk, he dialled the familiar cell phone number. Leaving a short and not so sweet voice mail demanding her to show up at his office ASAP.

Then he hung up and thought long and hard about what he was going to say.

* * *

"Is it safe to come in?" Danny asked, as he lingered in the doorway of the office he shared with Sam.

Parked behind her desk, Sam glanced away from her computer screen and gave him a small smile. "Why wouldn't it be?" she asked in return, adjusting the blue tooth headset she wore over her left ear.

"I knew you were down talking to IAB earlier," Danny replied. "So I wasn't too sure what kind of mood you were in."

She shrugged and looked back at the computer screen. "I'm okay," she said. "Could be better, could be worse."

Danny nodded in understanding and journeyed into their office, closing the door behind him. "Just so you know, I rechecked all of your ballistics evidence and I came to the same conclusions that you did. So everything was on the up and up there. I just dropped the results off with Mac. All but shoved them into that bitch Inspector's face. Insubordination never felt so damn good."

"Did you really think they wouldn't be Danny?" Sam asked, her eyes riveted on the screen, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

"What's that?" he asked, plopping down on the couch he'd been passed out on that very morning.

"My results. Did you really think before you rechecked them that they weren't going to be on the up and up?"

He frowned. "That was not what I was trying to say," he assured her. "What I meant is that I did them over again and got the same results. Not that I didn't expect to. Just that I did."

She nodded.

"And between you and me, Melanie is downstairs sweating it out in interrogation. Apparently she's refusing to talk to anyone unless Flack and their dad is in the room at the time. The brass is dragging their heels on that one."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Sam said. "I mean, if that's the only way she'll cough up our shooter…"

"Mac's argument exactly. You're starting to sound more and more like him everyday. Who knows? Ten years down the road and maybe you'll be his first pick to take over running the crime lab when he moves on to bigger and better things."

Sam snorted at that.

"You never know," Danny said with a heavy sigh. He leaned back in the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. "You don't ever want to be a big boss?" he asked.

"Not here I don't," she replied. "I get bored way too easily. If I'm still here in ten years, shoot me."

"I'll remember that when we're busting out your tenth anniversary cake," he chuckled. "So how did it go? With IAB?"

"As well as I heard it went with you and Lindsay."

"She told you about that?"

Sam nodded. Then laughed out loud.

Danny arched an eyebrow. "What's so funny about my Montana dilemma?" he asked.

"I wasn't laughing about that. I was laughing at something my brother said."

"Are you addicted to instant messaging or something?" Danny asked. "Seriously Brooklyn. You're obsessed."

"It's not instant messaging," Sam informed him. "It's…never mind. Just know that it is keeping my sanity at the moment."

"So how much did Lindsay tell you?" Danny inquired. "And I know when you're lying, so don't bother doing it."

"She told me that she was pregnant and that she dropped this To My Daddy Valentine's Day card in your lap practically. Personally, I think that's an amazingly creative and beautiful way to tell someone you're knocked up. Remind me to do something like that when I break the news to Don."

"You're pregnant too?" Danny asked.

"Are you insane? No. I meant in the future. Anyway, she told me about the baby and there was the expected shrieking and squealing and jumping up and down. And then she let me know what an insensitive ass you were."

"In my defence, she did just drop the news in my lap. And that's not something to just dump on someone. And then she just ambushed me at a really, really, really bad time. All hell was breaking loose up here and you and Flack were in the process of being eaten alive by IAB and I had the brass up my ass about all that work. I mean, it just wasn't the right time and place to be talking about that kind of thing."

"Doesn't give you an excuse to be a complete tool," Sam said.

Danny sighed heavily. "What is it with you Brooklyn girls and brutal honest. Are you all born that way or is it something that you're all taught or what?"

"Actually," Sam said with a small laugh. "It's a gift. It came to me naturally somewhere in between training bras and menstruation."

He grimaced. "Some things I just do not need to hear about, okay? And you're right. Completely right. I did act like an insensitive ass."

"And a complete tool," Sam added.

"Don't push it Brooklyn."

"And did you hunt her down and make it up to her?"

"Not yet."

Sam frowned. "What the hell are you waiting for?" she asked. Then spoke to the computer screen. "What the hell are you thinking, Adam? Like seriously. Are you mental or something?"

"You actually have to ask that question?" Danny asked and swinging his legs off of the coffee table, jumped to his feet. "What the hell are you doing that's so important?" he inquired, as he crossed the office and slipped in between his friend's desk. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, and nearly double over with laughter when he saw what she was doing. "Are you kidding me? Second Life? You're a Second Lifer?"

"Just so you know, it's all Adam's fault," Sam defended herself. "He got me addicted to it when I was living with him."

"You're a geek," Danny roared, tears springing to his eyes. "Brooklyn's a closet geek! Does Flack know you play this?"

"Hell no. He'd shit himself and never stop teasing me about it. I wait until he's asleep and sneak out of bed to play it."

"This is just too much," Danny wheezed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his rust coloured shirt. "I can't believe this. You're a nerd. I never would have thought you'd be a nerd. You and Adam and Hawkes need to band together. So whose the cute little red head in the mini skirt and tank top?"

"That's me," Sam answered proudly.

"And whose the statuesque blond with the massive boobs?" Danny asked. "She's hot."

It was Sam's turn to laugh. "That's Adam!" she cried.

"Get outta here!" Danny grimaced. "What in the hell…his character is a woman?"

"It's an avatar," Sam corrected. "And no. He's usually a real bad boy type. All the ladies like him. But we're sort of running a covert operation. Totally unrelated to work. Trying to nail this asshole whose been going around harassing the Second Life girls. It's a long story. But it's a necessity we get him."

"So what do you do on Second Life?" Danny asked. "You there hooking up with a Mister TCB or a Don Juan whatever the hell his name was?"

"Actually, me and Taylor have been having a crazy, unadulterated, cyber sex fuelled relationship."

Danny stared at her long and hard. "You are seriously fucking disturbed," he declared. "Cyber sex. How does that even work?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "But next time you see Don, ask him to explain the ins and outs of IM sex. And no pun intended on the ins and outs."

"You and Flack have serious problems," Danny informed her. "Is there anything you two won't do?"

Sam considered it. "No," she answered. "Not really. We're easy."

"Obviously," Danny dead panned.

Sam's cell phone, resting on the top of her desk, rang noisily. Snatching it up, she checked the call display and sighed heavily as she sat the phone down once again.

"Speaking of your boy Taylor," Danny said, as he caught sight of the name on the screen of the phone. "Aren't you going to take his call?"

"He'll leave a message. I just know I'm going to be heading down there to face his wrath. I'm just stalling at the moment."

"Sooner you do it, the sooner it's over with," Danny reasoned.

"I know…it's just…I'm not ready to face him. Not yet. There was an incident downstairs. Between Don and I. And I'm pretty sure Whitmore has already run to Mac and squealed on us. I'm just not ready to hear about it just yet."

"What did you guys do? Have a massive blow out or something?"

"Or something. We had a mini makeout session in front of the elevators."

Danny raised both eyebrows.

"Well maybe it wasn't that scandalous," Sam said, as she bid her brother farewell and logged off of Second Life. "We got into a small fight and we sort of broke up for about five minutes. If that. Don chased me down and kissed me."

"Five minutes?" Danny grinned. "Two of you can't even stand being apart that long, huh? It's like an obsession for both of you. You're both incapable of being without each other. And forget about staying away from each other. Not possible."

"Hmmm…there's a comment about you flying all the way to Montana to be with someone that wasn't even your girlfriend at the time just dying to get out. But I'll hold it in."

"She just tells you everything, doesn't she."

Sam gave a smile. "It's what best friends do, Daniel."

"Flack and I don't tell each other everything," he said, stepping out of her way as she pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up.

Sam rolled her eyes at that. "You and Don just indulge in locker room talk. And don't deny it. Don't lie and tell me you two don't talk about Lindsay and I in a sexual way."

Danny didn't respond.

"Pigs," Sam huffed. "I better go. Get my twenty lashings or whatever Mac has in store for me."

"Judging from what Flack's told me," Danny called to her as he moved to his own desk and sat down. "You're into that sort of thing."

"Yeah? If that's what he's said, he's only told you that tame stuff. And do you think you could do me a favour while I'm out getting in trouble?"

"Depends what it is," Danny told her, looking across the room as she paused in the doorway.

"Go and find Lindsay. Apologize to her. She's pregnant and she's probably hormonal already. And she's my best friend. You guys are my best friends. And I can't take it when there's so much angst and drama going on. I want you two to be happy and in love and enjoying life together. The way things have been around here for you two....I don't know. It's like watching a poorly written CBS show."

"Yeah Flack told me that you watch that crap and then have crazy ass dreams afterwards. Wake him up at three in the morning and everything to talk about it."

"Nothing is sacred to that man, I swear. But seriously Danny. Hunt Lindsay down. Say you're sorry. Get down on your knees and kiss her ass. I don't care how you do it. Just do it."

Danny smirked and snapped off a crisp salute. "Yes, m'am!"

Sam winked and held up her hand in the Vulcan Salute.

"Live long and prosper," Danny chuckled as he turned on his computer. "She's such a goddamn nerd."

* * *

"Sammie!" Adam called, as he caught site of her breezing past the AV lab. He pushed his chair away from his work station and jumped to his feet and went after her. "Sammie! Got a second?!"

"Not really Peanut," she responded reluctantly. "I have to go and see Mac. And we both know that's only going to go one way."

"Frighteningly horrible," Adam concluded.

Sam glared at him.

He gave an apologetic smile and a shrug and fell in step alongside of her.

"Did you catch the guy?" she asked.

"I managed to find out who he was. I enticed him with my smoking hot body and my glowing personality and I sucked him right in. Only he wanted a little more then what I was up for and he called my game and took off. But I managed to get his IP and real world address. Because I'm sneaky like that and they pay me to track people down. Just call me a Cyber-Sleuther."

Sam grinned.

"Anyhow, I decided the best course of action at the moment was to sick a Graffer on his sorry ass. See if that doesn't get him to knock it out. In the meantime, I sent him a nasty email, from my personal account, telling him to stay away from my sister or pay the price. We'll see if I get a response. How did it go with IAB?"

"It went," she sighed. "I can't really talk about it. You know, the whole confidentiality issue."

Adam nodded in understanding. "You don't think that they'll want to talk to me do you?"

"Why would they want to talk to you?"

"Well I am your brother. And Flack's your boyfriend and it's his family that's involved. It's like that six degrees of Kevin Bacon game we play when we're drunk and there's nothing good on tv. Everything ties back to you. Flack's sister, Flack's father, then me 'cause I talked to his father and then Flack whose his father's son, Melanie's brother and your boyfriend. See where I'm coming from?"

"You lost me somewhere around Flack's father."

"Well it's all connected to you in a way. And you have no idea how badly it hurt to refer to Flack as your boyfriend."

"Get a grip, Adam," she said, and paused to take a drink at the water fountain three doors away from Mac's office.

"Seriously though. Do you think they'll want to talk to me?" Adam asked, worry in his eyes and lining his face.

"You're a civillian employee. I don't even think IAB has any jurisdiction over you. And even if they do, trust me, they would have found you by now. But just in case, I'll hunt you down some garlic, some holy water, and a sharp, pointed stake you can drive into his heart. I bet you that's why it was so dark in interrogation. Sunlight will kill him."

Adam gave a nervous chuckle.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Sam reached out to rub his arm reassuringly. "I think they used up their nastiness for the day on Don and I. So you're safe."

"Good," Adam breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Well not good that they were that nasty with you guys. But good they might stay away from me. And what I really was running out to tell you about, was that I just got a really weird phone call."

"From who?" Sam asked, lingering outside of Mac's door.

"Angel of Mercy Hospital. A nurse there said that she came across your business card on one of her patients. I guess it was in this guy's personal belongings or something. Only when they called the extension written on it, it was your old extension which now belongs to the Trace Lab. Anyhow, they mentioned Samantha Ross and Frank in trace told them to hold up and ran down to get me and I took the call."

"And?" Sam asked, waiting patiently for the rest of the story.

"And it turns out the patient was Zack. Which totally threw me because for one, I had no clue that he was even in New York City, and two, how would he get a hold of a business card of yours from when you first started? The only logical explanation I came up with is that maybe you sent the business card back to Phoenix to someone and he got a hold of it. But that's neither here nor there. The real issue is that he's here in the city."

"I already knew Zack was here," Sam admitted. "He paid Don a visit at his desk about a week and a half ago."

Adam's eyes widened.

"Don told me it was just a lot of bullshit and threats on Zack's part. Nothing major."

Sam wasn't about to tell her brother that Zack had shown up at her apartment looking to get back together, and that things had turned real ugly, real fast. Nor was she about to tell him about seeking out a convicted criminal's help in punishing her ex for the years of torment he'd inflicted on her. The less Adam knew, the better. For everyone involved.

"So what did this nurse want?" she asked, getting the conversation back on track.

"I guess Zack was mugged or something when he was leaving his apartment yesterday. And apparently whoever did it, really messed him up bad. She didn't go into the exact extent of his injuries, but she told me that he was going to be okay. And that he was asking for you."

Sam sighed heavily and briefly closed her eyes.

"He wants to see you," Adam said. "I told the nurse I'd talk to you, but that I wasn't making any promises. That I didn't think you'd want to go there after all the crap he put you through."

"Did you write down the room number and all of that?" she asked.

Adam nodded and reached into the back pocket of his cargo style pants and pulled out a folded piece of scrap paper. "Are you actually going to go and see him?" he asked, holding the paper out.

"I don't know," Sam replied and took the information from her brother. "We'll see."

"Well you can't go alone," Adam told her. "That would just be insane. If you want me to go with you, so that you have someone there for moral support, I'm off at six."

Sam smiled and nodded. "I'll buy dinner?" she asked.

"About time you treated," he replied with a grin. "I should let you go talk to Mac. You need to talk afterwards, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Peanut," she said, and kissed in unshaven cheek in gratitude. And affection.

"I'm going to go back on line and see if I can't find that jackass," Adam said as he walked backwards down the hall. He placed a finger over his lips. "Our little secret."

Sam grinned and watched as he turned around and sauntered down the hall with his hands shoved in his pockets. Waiting until he disappeared into the AV room before taking a deep breath. Steeling herself, she released the breath slowly and then curled her fingers around the handle on Mac's office door.

_Now or never._

* * *

Lindsay felt sick to her stomach. She'd been queasy every day, all day, for nearly three weeks straight. It had been a difficult thing to keep from everyone. At first the constant runs to the washroom at work or around the corner at a crime scene were easy to blame on a self diagnosis of the flu. But the longer it went on so did the mystery as to why those around here didn't come down with it as well. Especially Danny, considering the depth of their intimacy. He couldn't quite seem to figure out how they could share a bed and live in such close quarters and exchange bodily fluids, but not come down with her illness.

She had had the explanation all along. The true culprit behind her misery. She had missed two periods by the time she actually summoned enough courage to purchase a home pregnancy test a week ago. She hadn't considered the missed cycles anything to be alarmed about. Her system was notoriously screwed up when it came to dealing with highly stressful situations. And with planning a wedding and coping with issues at work and the general gruesomeness and nastiness of the job, she'd been a near basket case for a couple of months. But paired together with then uncharacteristic weak stomach, and she knew there was a slight problem.

It had thrown her for a loop when she'd seen that positive result on the home test. She had waited until Danny was fast asleep until she slipped out of bed and crept into the bathroom to pee on the plastic stick. She still remembered sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, her hand trembling and tears spiling down her cheeks as she stared down at the results before her. She was scared at the prospect of becoming a mother. Terrified in fact. She was pretty sure that neither she, or Danny, were at a place in their lives where they were ready for a baby. A big wedding was in the works. A baby would screw with that totally.

Yet at the same time, she'd been ecstatic at the surprising news. She was going to be a mom. There was a baby inside of her. She and Danny had created a life together. Unplanned and shocking, but not unwanted. That baby was already very much loved and she knew that it was blessing. A child for them to love and care for and make their strong bond and love even more powerful. For half an hour she'd sat in that bathroom, crying tears of joy and fright, before she wrapped the test in toilet paper and stashed it at the bottom of the full waste paper basket. Then she'd cleaned herself up and crept back to bed. Climbing back under the covers and cuddling up to the man she loved, who continued to sleep, none the wiser.

She'd held off on telling him until she had her first check up and ultrasound. She'd wanted to make sure everything was okay before dropping the bomb on him. She didn't want to get his hopes up -and hers for that matter- only to have them dashed by bad news.

She realized now, as she sat at her desk, nursing a lemon tea in hopes of quelling her persistent morning sickness, that she had handled the news of the baby all wrong. While she stood by her decision to tell him through the Valentine's Day card, she knew she'd overstepped her boundaries by insisting he talk about the baby when his mind was preoccupied on work. It was quite obvious, by his agitation, that he had had huge issues on his mind and she hadn't let things go and hadn't shown him the smallest ounce of respect by putting her needs on the back burner in order to support him.

It hadn't given him the right to be an asshole. It had hurt to see him, and hear him, being so cold and callous. Yet at the same time, she realized that was often the way with Danny. When he couldn't cope with something, he pushed those closest to him away. And it took the stronger ones to push back to help him deal.

They were both at fault. Lindsay knew that. And she knew that Danny was just too damn stubborn and proud to make the first move towards reconciliation.

Always up to the woman, she thought with a heavy sigh and reached for her cell phone. She hadn't gotten even half the number punched in before she sensed someone watching her from across the room. And as she glanced over to the door, a smile tugged at her lips at the sight of the love of her life standing there. A container of milk and a small paper bag in one hand, a single red rose in the other.

"Friends?" he asked, a teasing glitter to his eyes.

"Are those your peace offerings?" she inquired in return.

Danny nodded.

She smiled and waved him inside.

"I guess I should be thankful that you're letting me anywhere near you," he commented, as he walked into the office, closing the door behind him.

"I'm still pretty pissed at you," Lindsay admitted. "But not as pissed as I was."

"What's cooled your jets a bit?" he asked, setting the milk and bag down on her desk before gallantly presenting her with the rose.

"The realization that I crossed our line between professional and personal," she replied, holding the flower close to her nose and breathing in it's intoxicating scent. "I realized that there's a time and place for everything. And I should have respected that. And you're issues. And I'm sorry for that."

"Apology accepted," he said and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"Not that that gives you free reign to be a tool," Lindsay informed him. "Because by no means am I going to sit back and let you act like a completle tool."

Danny smirked as he grabbed Hawkes' chair from behind his empty desk and wheeled it over and placed it beside Lindsay. "You're hanging around Brooklyn way too much," he said as he sat down. "You're starting to use your vocabulary."

She's definitely rubbing off on me. I didn't swear like a drunken sailor until she arrived."

"Her language is definitely colourful," Danny agreed. "Look, Montana…" he sighed heavily and laying a hand on the back of her neck, kneaded it gently. "I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I shouldn't have pushed you, or the news about the baby away like I did. I was just stressed with this whole Sam and Flack IAB shit and I…"

Lindsay laid a finger over his lips to silence him. "Let's just both say sorry and let bygones be bygones? Okay?"

He smiled and kissed her fingertip. "Okay," he agreed. "And for the record, I didn't mean I thought the baby was a mistake. I just meant…I don't know what I meant. I just know I was stunned and having a hard time processing it. But I love you. And anything that's part of you. And so it's a little shocking and unexpected. We'll deal. We always do."

"We always come out on top," she agreed. "We'll be okay, Danny. All of us."

"Damn right we will," he said confidently and ran a gentle hand over her hair and along her face. "Go on," he nodded at the paper bag. "Open your surprise."

"An early Valentine's present?" she asked, her eyes sparkling as she picked up the bag and opened it.

"A just because present," he replied.

"Just because? You're hanging around Flack way too much."

"Guy has some good ideas," Danny reasoned with a shrug. "And we both worship the ground our girls walk on."

"And so you guys rightfully should," she teased, and reaching into the bag, pulled out a blueberry muffin. She arched an eyebrow at her fiance.

"A muffin for my muffin," he announced, and pecked the end of her nose.

"You're kidding, right? Muffin?"

"My two muffins actually," he said, and laid his free hand on her stomach.

"Have you been spending too much time breathing in some fumes down in tox or something?" she joked, and breaking a piece of muffin off the top, popped it into her mouth.

"Naw…I just happen to be madly and crazily in love with the most amazing woman in the world," he declared.

Lindsay beamed.

Danny winked at her and pressed his lips to her temple before placing a hand on the back of her head and drawing it down to his shoulder.

And there they sat. Basking in the silence that suddenly enveloped them. Hearts beating in unison as the craziness of life went on beyond the office walls. Spending a small shred of their hectic lives together.

As a family.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. Things have been R and R wise and I hope it's not 'cause this story is that awful and just that y'all are having issues at school and such. So I am looking forward to hearing for you guys! Thanks for the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**afrozenheart412**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Wolfeylady**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Forest Angel**

**Danaaa**


	36. The final straw

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI: NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**A/N: CHECK OUT THE NEW POLL ON MY PROFILE! CAST YOUR VOTE! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF A DIFFERENT SAM HOOK UP!**

* * *

**The Final Straw**

"I found God  
On the corner of first and Amistad  
Where the west was all but won  
All alone, smoking his last cigarette  
I said where you been, he said ask anything  
Where were you?  
When everything was falling apart?  
All my days were spent by the telephone  
It never rang  
And all I needed was a call  
That never came  
To the corner of first and Amistad  
Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lying on the floor  
Surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait?  
Where were you?  
Where were you?  
Just a little late  
You found me, you found me  
In the end everyone ends up alone  
Losing her, the only one who's ever known  
Who I am, who I'm not, who I want to be  
No way to know how long she will be next to me."  
-You Found Me, The Fray

* * *

Mac looked up from his paperwork as his office door swung open, offering up a tense smile as Samantha poked her head into the room. Before she had the opportunity to open her mouth and ask if it was alright to disturb him, he motioned for her to enter, then nodded towards an empty chair parked in front of his desk.

"Do you want me to…"

"Close the door," Mac instructed, finishing the sentence for her.

Sam gave a small, barely audible sigh and did as she was told. She knew that what had gone on downstairs in the squad room had been completely uncalled for and disgustingly unprofessional. That not only should have Flack never kissed her like that in front of his superior officers and colleagues, especially at a time when their every move was being scrutinized, but that she never should have responded she effortlessly and eagerly. That she should have composed herself from their earlier incident and simply gone back up to the lab as if nothing had ever transpired. That time apart would have probably done more good then engaging in a PDA while at work. That walking away would have meant more work on her part at the end of the day to set things right in her relationship again, but would have spared her the reaming out she knew she was about to endure.

But when affairs of the heart were involved, all of that was easier said then done. Love had a way of screwing with your head. Or turning a highly educated, dedicated and independent woman into a pathetic pile of mush. It broke your heart and made you walk on clouds all within moments of each other. It made you realize that despite all the times the person in your life drove you insane, you simply couldn't fathom an existence without them. That walking away from them wasn't an option. Because you'd rather spend your life partly miserable with them, then your life completely miserable and alone. That the one person who drove you insane was also the one person that made you the happiest.

And who put up with your shit with no reservations or regrets. Who looked at you as if you were the most important people on earth. That they'd never loved anyone as much as they did you. And with one simple kiss, let you know that they couldn't imagine their life without you in it.

So she was ready to face the consequences of that kiss. Because that one kiss had saved her life. It had made her realize that this was the man she was going to spend her existence with. That he loved her regardless of how wild and crazy she got sometime. That he could push past the mountains of personal baggage and accept her the way she was.

She slipped into the chair and crossed one leg over the other. Clasping her hands over her knee, Sam fought with herself to remain calm and composed. It wasn't her first time being called into Mac's office. The first had been over the Chief Sinclair email. Mac had been furious that she hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Especially her direct superior. Sam's argument had been that she could handle things like that one her own. She didn't need anyone fighting her battles for her. She had kept the message to herself in hopes that it would never happen again. She had given the Chief the benefit of the doubt that he wasn't the slimy prick he came across as. Her plan had been to wait it out. To see if any other emails came through. And if they did, to save them and then report the sonofabitch to the proper people.

The James Bond wanna-be's had screwed that plan all to hell. And before she knew it, Mac was hauling her ass into his office and all but shoving a copy of the email in her face.

Mac was intimidating. There were no two ways about it. He had a steely resolve and cold and often callous demeanour that scared the living shit out of her. He was a great boss however. Fair, yet iron-fisted. He ran the lab like a well oiled machine and expected nothing but the best from his people. And it was rare that he didn't get it. You respected him, and he passed it back. You stepped on his toes and questioned his authority and you may as well write out your own pink slip.

"How did things go with IAB?" Mac asked. "I was worried about how things might have went down."

Sam blinked. Taken back by the simple question. Concern for her well being was the last thing she had expected from her boss. She knew he was furious about what had gone down. That he was using up valuable people and valuable hours re-checking tests results that should have never been in question in the first place. And she was certain that Whitmore had already made a beeline to his office about the incident down in the squad room.

"I held my own," she responded after a couple of minutes. "I came out of it relatively unscathed. Although I don't think Lieutenant will be sending in for a membership to my fan club anytime soon."

The corners of Mac's mouth twitched as a smile threatened. "Without getting into what went on or what was said between the two of you, I want you to know that I saw the pictures. And if you feel that you need to talk to someone about it, I can put in a request to get you some time with a department counsellor."

Sam waved it off. "I can deal with stuff like that on my own," she said.

"It's a pretty traumatic thing," Mac reasoned. "Someone violating your privacy like that. Violating you, in a sense."

"So there's some amateur porn of me out there," Sam shrugged. "I can't do much about it now. I'm hoping it doesn't circulate on the internet or anything like that. I hope that Martino sent them to the department and it's going to end there. But I don't need to talk to anyone about it. Sure it sucks and it makes me sick to my stomach to think someone spied on me and Don at intimate times, but it happened. Nothing I can do about it."

Mac nodded slowly, considering her words. "The offer is on the table if you ever change your mind," he told her.

"Thank you. I appreciate it. But I can deal with how I feel on my own. Don and I can deal with it. Together. It's a personal thing, right? Those pictures involve our personal life. So we can cope with it in our personal life."

"I get concerned when your personal life starts affecting your professional one," Mac said casually. "These photographs, showing up on Inspector Whitmore's desk? They clearly crossed the line that you and Flack so adamantly vowed to uphold."

"Well in our defence, we didn't exactly know someone was taking sex pictures of us," Sam retorted. "We're adults in an adult relationship. We didn't think someone was spying on us. And we certainly didn't have any control over Martino sending those pictures. Don said he yanked him in and threatened him and everything. Martino promised those photos would never get out. Well I guess we know what his word is worth."

"Regardless of what you did, or didn't know, as a member of the NYPD, you're expected to uphold a certain level of standards," Mac informed her sternly. "And those photos clearly suggest that…"

"That we're two adults in an adult relationship," Sam butted in. "What Don and I do in the privacy of our own homes, is no ones business. And Martino had no right whatsoever to violate either of us by taking those pictures while we were behind closed doors."

"One of those photos was taken on a public street," Mac reminded her.

"Like I'm the first girl in the world to ever give someone head in a car?" Sam asked snidely. "Give me a break. Other people are doing far worse things in alleys and in school playgrounds and public bathrooms. I'm sorry that those pictures got out. I'm sorry someone felt that my sex life was worthy of such attention. But Don and I are the victims here. Do you know how we feel, Mac? How dirty and violated you feel when you see yourself like that?"

"And Martino will hear about it," he assured her. "But if he was hired by a client to investigate you…"

"Of course he was," she snorted. "Zack hired him. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out."

"…then there's not much that can really be done about it," Mac finished. "The only thing we can look into is if there were any copies of the pictures made and then convince him to toss them and destroy either the negatives or if it was a digital camera, erase the memory card."

"And what do we do about Zack?" she asked. "He's in New York City. Living here and working here. He's a US Marshal now. What do we do about him?"

"That's a bridge we'll cross if and when we get to it," Mac responded. "For now, my main concern is what went today. First, let me tell you that Danny went and re-tested everything in ballistics and all of your findings were accurate."

"Was there ever a doubt they would be Mac?" she asked. Visibly hurt by the lack of confidence he had in her. "Or did you think that I'd purposefully screw up an investigation? That I'd lie and cover something up?"

Mac sighed heavily and leaned forward in his chair. Laying his forearms on top of his desk, he clasped his hands together tightly and fixed his eyes on the young woman in front of him. "Let me make something very clear to you, Samantha. I'm on your side. And I'm a very powerful ally to have. I never once suspected you or accused you of any wrong doing. So do yourself a favour and get that chip on your shoulder the hell off of there and listen very closely to what I have to say."

She held up her hands in surrender and leaned back in her chair.

"I hired you because of your education and your experience within the Phoenix PD. I hired you because all of your superiors praised your skills, especially in ballistics. They all spoke highly of your integrity and honesty and hard work. Three things that I value greatly. However, in hiring you, I also overlooked some glaring negativity against you. I was warned to exercise caution when bringing you aboard. I was told about your attitude problem and your anger management issues and your seemingly startling lack of respect for anyone in authority. Yet I ignored all of that and I still employed you. Don't make me regret my decision or make me have to hear I told you so from other people."

She didn't respond. She sat there silently and nervously, her eyes locked on her boss.

"You've been an asset to this lab," Mac continued. "The team loves you. You're tenacious and reliable. Victims' families adore you because you're empathetic. Almost to a fault sometimes. Perps underestimate you and other cops trust you with their lives. But don't think for a second I'll tolerate what your bosses in Phoenix did. Understand me?"

She nodded.

"Understand me?" Mac repeated firmly.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"I never once doubted you or Flack," he told her. "I've known him for a long time and I trust him explicitly. And I knew neither of you would do what IAB is accusing you of. And as for what Kendall told Inspector Whitmore, IAB and myself…"

Sam sighed heavily and fought the urge to roll her eyes at the sheer mention of Kendall's name.

"…I don't care what did, or didn't happen in the ballistics lab between you and Flack," Mac finished. "If it didn't happen, then I'm glad that the two of you managed to stay professional and focused on the task at hand. And I also apologize for Kendall making something like that up. But if it did happen, I'm disappointed in both of you and I expect it to never, ever happen again. Am I clear?"

Sam nodded.

"On top of all that, Inspector Whitmore informed me of an incident that took place between you and Flack downstairs. What the two of you did was unprofessional and I hope nothing like that happens again while you're on the clock."

"It won't," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

Mac nodded in satisfaction. "I have to tell you that Inspector Whitmore was very adamant about having you either switched to a different shift or removed from this lab altogether."

Sam's eyes widened.

"That won't be happening. At least not this time. I am convinced that it was a one time thing. A moment between you and Flack brought on by the stress of the day. But if it happens again, I will indulge the Inspector and split up the team. Understand me?"

"Loud and clear," she said.

"You know, Samantha. I thought the worst when Flack came to me and told me about your relationship. Because I was worried about the affect it would have on your job, and I worried about the drama it may cause within the lab. And both of you promised that you were both more then capable of staying professional. And something like this…this tarnishes any happiness I had for both of you."

"I'm sorry, Mac," she said sincerely. "You're right. About what you said earlier. It was a moment. It won't happen again. But in our defence, it was just that. A moment. We've never crossed that line before. And we're also not the only couple in this place."

"I understand that. But…"

"And I love Danny and Lindsay to death, but they've had enough drama to do all of us. Their relationship problems caused a lot of issues in the lab. Tension, gossip. Evidence left out."

Mac nodded in acknowledgement of the fact.

"But not once were they threatened with being separated from the team. Yet something happens once between Don and I, and it's the end of the world. It's like the sky is falling or something. And I just can't quite wrap my head around why it's such a massive deal."

"Well maybe it's because I expect so much more from the two of you. And maybe because sexually explicit photographs of Danny and Lindsay weren't delivered to the department."

"But that's our private life!" Sam argued. "Off the clock! And that asshole Martino violated us! Do you think we wanted pictures like that taken of us? We didn't want that and we didn't deserve it!"

"No one said you did," Mac retorted. "All I'm saying is…"

He was interrupted mid sentence by a loud knock on his office door and glanced over to see an apologetic Stella looking in at them. He waved her inside.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mac," Stella said. "But the department finally relented on allowing Flack and his dad in the room with Melanie while she's being questioned. And Flack Sr is apparently asking for you to run the interrogation."

"Call downstairs and tell them I'll be right down," he responded.

Stella gave a small nod and offered Sam a sympathetic smile and a light squeeze on the shoulder and left the office.

"I'm hoping that something like this will never happen again," Mac said dismissively to Sam, as he pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up.

"Well I certainly plan on putting curtains on my windows to avoid anyone taking any more dirty pictures of me," she sighed, getting to her feet as well.

"No repeats of what went on downstairs," he told her, as they walked to the door together. "I expect both you and Flack to tow the line."

"I hope he's going to get a chewing out too," Sam commented, as Mac opened the door and motioned for her to step out into the hall ahead of him.

"I'm sure Inspector Whitmore will haul him into her office," Mac said. "But it was my job to talk to you. And I hope that it didn't go in one ear and out the other."

"Of course not," she responded. "I'm sorry things had to come to this."

"We all make choices and actions that aren't for the best," he said. "It's how we deal with and accept the consequences that matter the most. Now I could use your help in trace for the rest of the day. They're swamped. If any ballistics evidence comes in…"

"I'm on it," she chirped and headed down the hall. "You can count on me, Mac," she said, smiling over her shoulder.

He returned the smile with a tense one of his own before turning on his heel and going in the opposite direction.

_I sure hope so, _he thought.

* * *

Melanie Flack hadn't gone down without a fight. When uniform officers had arrived at the rat and cockroach invested dive apartment she called home, she'd been in the midst of getting high on meth -her current drug of choice- and pounding back a bottle of Jack Daniels. They'd kicked her door down when she began warning the officers she'd either do harm to herself if they came into her apartment, or do physical damage to them. So they'd smashed their way in, guns drawn, and unceremoniously tossed her face first onto her dirty living room floor and cuffed her. She'd been dragged out of the apartment kicking and screaming. A psychotic, out of control mess tossing out profanities and racial insults. Spewing hatred and issuing threats about having the officers' badges because of what her last name was. Laughing as she told them her father and brother would never stand for her being treated like a common criminal.

Flack thought being treated like a common criminal was better then what his sister actually deserved. When he'd stepped into the room and saw her sitting at the interrogation table, one hand cuffed to the arm of her chair as her other hand -trembling uncontrollably- nursed a black coffee, he felt physical ill. Her hair was lank and dull and clung to her perspiration soaked face. Her skin was grey and her cheeks sunk in. She looked like a hooker brought in straight off the street in her barely there skirt and tank top and knee high leather boots. Drugs and alcohol had taken a once vibrant and beautiful young woman and turned her into a hallow, pitiful excuse of her former self. And he didn't feel sorry for her. She'd turned down the offers of help several times. The only thing he felt, as he slid into a chair across for her, was the utmost disgust and pity.

"How did things go earlier?" their father asked, as he pulled a take out cup of coffee from the carry tray in front of him and slid it across the table towards his son.

Flack shrugged and nodded his appreciation as he picked up the steaming beverage. "Best to be expected I guess. Last I heard, IAB was satisfied with what Sammie and I told them and her evidence was going to be allowed. Mind you, they made another CSI go over everything with a fine tooth comb to make sure she wasn't covering anything up."

"They honestly think she'd do something like that?"

"Apparently they don't have much faith in the crime lab," Flack said as he sipped his coffee. "I mean, in a way, I can see where they were coming from. But some of the things that were brought up…" he shrugged. "There was just no reason for some of that stuff."

"Personal stuff?" his father asked.

Flack nodded. "Sam and I are going to have to work through them on our own. Away from work. This place is like poison on the best of days."

"Best to keep personal relationships far away," his dad sighed. "Work will wreck it before it even has the chance to really get off the ground."

"Yeah…and sometimes the people who are the closest to you are guilty of that too," Flack said, staring pointedly at his sister.

"Is that all you care about?" Melanie asked. "Your life? You can't even come in here and ask how I am?"

"I know how you are, Mel," he replied. "And it makes me sick. You really think you could get away with shit just because of who you're related to? You didn't think we'd find out you were involved? How stupid do you think we are?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" she asked snidely.

Flack smirked. "You're the one sitting there looking like a crack whore. Not me. So just keep it shut until Detective Taylor gets here."

"Oooo, you and your big threats," she mocked. "You're just so scary. I am just shaking in my boots here."

"You should be," Flack told her. "You fucked up huge, Mel. You're going to go away for a long while this time. No more get out of jail free cards. Two people died today. One was a complete stranger. A good Samaritan who was coming to your aide because he thought some guy was going to start beating on his girlfriend. How long have you and your buddies been running this little operation? How many people have you fucked over?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," she hissed. "Your threats don't work on me, Donnie. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not going to let my big brother bully me around like he did when we were growing up."

"We have your DNA, Mel. We also were able to match your prints from when you were brought in, to an Ipod that was stolen a few days ago. So cut the innocent little girl act and think long and hard about what you've done. 'Cause dad and I can't help you this time."

"We'll see about that," she sing-songed.

The door to the interrogation room clicked open. Flack glanced over his shoulder as Mac slipped into the room, a case folder clutched tightly in his hand and his lips pursed together angrily. He had his game face on. And Flack was grateful for that. Especially when he noticed the way his sister completely blanched as she realized she was completely and utterly screwed.

"Mr Flack," Mac spoke to the patriarch of the family, his hand offered in greeting.

"Detective Taylor," Flack Sr said, as he stood up and shook the other man's hand. "It's been a long time. Last time I saw you, my son was still in the hospital after the bombing."

"It's been a long time," Mac nodded in agreement. "And I wish we were seeing each other under much better circumstances. I would have been down here sooner, but I had to attend to some matters with some of my staff. And I had to have a CSI re-test evidence found a scene today thanks to the ordeal IAB has put us all through."

"Just something else my daughter has managed to screw up," Flack Sr commented.

"Well let's get down to business on her first screw up," Mac said, motioning for the older man to return to his seat before pulling a photograph from the folder in his hands and tossing it on the table. "First, I want to know the name of that guy right there," he demanded. "He was found beaten and shot to death on the eighty-seventh street subway tracks this afternoon."

"How should I know who that is?" Melanie asked, pushing the photo away from her.

"Why don't you try taking a look and cooperating," Flack snapped, shoving the picture back across the table.

Mac held his hand up, pleading for patience. And for the detective to just stay out of it and keep quiet. "Your DNA was found on him," he explained to Melanie. "Specifically a pubic hair containing your DNA. And the only way it could have gotten there is if you know him very, very well."

She sighed heavily and flipped the picture face down. "He's just some guy I know."

"How do you know him?" Mac asked. "Boyfriend?"

"Just a guy I sleep with. For shits and giggles. To scratch an itch when one needs scratching. A fuck buddy."

"And does this fuck buddy have a name?" Flack asked. "Or are you not big on knowing names of the guys you screw for money?"

"Don, please," their father remained calm and composed. "Just let Detective Taylor handle this."

Flack held up his hands and surrender and angrily pushed his chair away from the table. The legs screeching across the scuffed and dirty floor. He couldn't sit across from his sister and not take part in the interrogation, or at least reach across the table and smack the shit out of her. Ignorant, obnoxious bitch, he thought, and began pacing the room, one hand on his hip, the other to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"A name," Mac demanded, as he took a seat in the chair vacated by Flack. "Now."

"His name's Tim. Tim Kingsley," Melanie told him. "I met him about six months ago when I tended bar at the my last job. He was one of my regular customers. We hit it off, began hanging out. We had the same interests."

Flack laughed. "Meth and booze, huh? Or have you moved on to something bigger and better? Shooting up? Smoking crack?"

"He sold me my drugs from time to time," Melanie responded. "Meth. Strictly meth. And every so often we had fun."

"And when was the last time you had this 'fun'?" Mac asked.

"This morning," she replied. "Before we went to work."

"Work as in scamming people at subway stations?" Flack inquired. "Stealing their wallets? Personal effects?"

Mac shot Flack a warning glare before turning back to the young woman in front of him. "We know that you and your friend have been running sort of theft ring. We also know, based on fingerprints that were lifted at the scene of the break in at your parents' place two months ago, that you and your friend and another identified male were behind the theft and pawning of your father's weapons."

Flack Sr sighed heavily and shook his head in disappointment.

"We also know that you were at the eighty-seventh street subway station earlier today," Mac continued. "Witnesses and surveillance cameras put you there. We know that you ran off when your 'friend' killed an innocent man on the platform. What we don't know, is the identity of who killed him."

"I'm not ratting on anybody," Melanie declared. "No way."

"We've talked about this," her father told her. "You agreed to help out. Now start helping out."

"Dad, you don't understand…"

"Now!" he bellowed. "Don't make this worse on yourself! Tell them what they need to know before you find your ass sitting in Sing Sing for the next twenty years!"

"If I tell, I lose out on business. And if I lose out on business…"

"What kind of business?" Mac asked. "Is he your dealer?"

"No," Melanie replied. "He handles the other professional aspects of my life."

Flack couldn't help but laugh. "He's her pimp, Mac. Come on. You know how to read between the lines. He's her pimp. And if you bust him, the clients disappear. Plain and simple."

"You cooperating means the difference between the proper person spending time in jail for the crime, or you going down for it," Mac informed the young woman. "From where I sit, that should be an easy decision to make. If he cared that much about you, for one he wouldn't be making you sell yourself for sex, and two, he never would have gotten you involved in ripping off your parents or killing your friend."

"You don't seem to upset about it, Mel," Flack commented. "You don't seem the least bit torn up over the fact your boyfriend died."

"I told you," she spat. "He's just my…"

"Fuck buddy," Flack concluded. "I heard ya. You don't seem too upset he offed your fuck buddy. But then in your line of work, it's not like you're starving for that kind of attention."

"Whoever your protecting, he's out there armed and dangerous," Mac said to Melanie. "He's in possession of weapons. One of them that used to belong to your father and could have very well have spelt disaster for your entire family. This person is victimizing you and other women by allowing them to sell themselves for sex. How can you just sit there and allow someone like that to walk around scott free?"

"Because she doesn't care," Flack spoke up. "She doesn't care about anyone but herself. It's always been that way. I say we just cut our losses, let this guy go on with his life and lock her ass up. I'm sure we could find a way to charge her for two murders. Not to mention the time she'd serve for breaking into our folks' place and ripping all kinds of other people off."

"You said that you'd cooperate," Flack Sr snarled at his daughter. "You said that if I arranged things, you'd come in here and give Detective Taylor all the information he needed."

"She changed her mind, dad," his son said. "Let her serve the time she deserves to serve. Get up and walk out of here and leave her to it. She wants to play stupid little games with everyone, that's her business. She doesn't need you, she doesn't need me. She's a big girl. Thinks she's all tough. I'm not going to sit around and let her jerk us around like this. I'm through. For good. I'm through offering to help her out and bailing her out of messes. That's it for me. Never again."

"His name's Dave Wilson!" Melanie cried, as her brother made for the door. The thought of going through her life without having him to fall back on terrified her. Because once he turned his back and abandoned her, she knew it wouldn't be long until her parents followed suit. She needed them. For purely selfish and devious reasons.

"And?" Flack asked, pausing at the door and turning to face her.

"And you're right. He's my pimp."

He shook his head in disgust.

"An address," Mac said, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Pulling out his pen, he twisted it open before tossing it on the table and sliding the case folder towards Melanie.

She picked up the pen. Staring at it for a moment as she considered her options.

"We're waiting," Flack said from the doorway.

Melanie sighed heavily and leaned over the table as she scrawled the address down on the front of the folder. Twisting the pen closed, she dropped it onto the table with a clatter and shoved the file back at Mac. "Are we done here?" she asked.

"Are we done here," Flack laughed as he reached for the door handle. "Your long from done. The day's just started for you, Mel. Lock her up and take her to a holding cell," he instructed one of the female uniforms lingering in the room.

"I'm not going anywhere," Melanie informed her. "That wasn't part of the deal."

Flack stepped away from he door and turned to face his sister. Blue eyes flashing in anger. "What deal?" he asked.

"You didn't tell him, dad?" she asked their father sweetly. "You didn't tell him that we cut a deal?"

"What the hell is she talking about dad?" Flack asked, storming across the room and slamming his hands down on the table. "What the hell is she talking about?"

"Daddy got me off," Melanie said with a cocky smile as she leaned back in her seat. "It was my freedom in exchange for my cooperation."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Flack snapped. "You can't be fucking serious!"

"Donnie, it was the only way to…"

"The only way to what, dad? Make yourself and me look like complete morons? To let her spit in our faces? To laugh at us! She was there when an innocent person was killed! She broke into your house and stole your things! She's a dirty, nasty crack whore who sells herself for money!"

"And she's my daughter and your sister," Flack Sr responded. "She's family. And we do things for family."

"We've been doing nothing but bend over backwards for her!" Flack raged. "For years we've just sat back and let her shit all over us! She's done nothing but give you and mom grief! She's a drug addict, a prostitute and now an accessory after the fact! And you cut a deal for her?"

"Amazing what the family name can do for you," Melanie mused.

Mac was on his feet and in between the homicide detective and the table as Flack made as if to pounce on his sister.

"Easy, Don…" Mac said. "Easy…"

"This is fucking crazy!" Flack bellowed. "She busted into her own parents' house and stole shit! She's been ripping people off and she was there when an innocent person was killed! And she just gets to walk out of here?! That's not right, Mac!"

"No. It's not," he agreed. "But we got what we wanted. The name and address of a murderer. And that will be one less felon on the street."

"And one more nasty ass bitch let back on it!" Flack argued. "She needs to be locked up! Sent to re-hab! She doesn't deserve to just walk out of here!"

"She's your sister, Don," his father reminded him. "She's your blood."

"Not anymore," Flack said. "Not anymore. I'm done. That's it. You allow this to happen dad and I'm done. With both of you. How the hell can you let her do that to you! How can you just sit there and think that's okay?"

"She's my daughter," he reasoned.

"She's a piece of shit!" Flack yelled. "And she deserves to be locked up! If you do this, dad, both of you are finished. Dead to me. If you let her get away with this we're done. You hear me?"

Neither Melanie or Flack Sr responded.

"Well I guess I know where I stand then," Flack concluded, shaking his head in disbelief as he turned his back oin them and headed for the door. "You're both pathetic. Utterly, fucking pathetic."

"Family help each other," his father said.

"Then that's one family I want no part of," Flack declared, as he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, with enough force to rattle the glass.

"Your loss!" Melanie called after him.

Mac shook his head in disgust of the entire situation. "This all could have been handled a lot better," he said, as he walked towards the door. "And with all due respect to you, Mr Flack, you're a far cry from the hard nosed cop that once patrolled our streets. Kept the residents of this city safe from people like your daughter and her friends."

"Do you have children, Detective Taylor?" he asked.

Mac shook his head.

"Parents will do anything to protect their children," Flack Sr informed him. "I did what I had to do for my children."

"For your child," Mac corrected him. "Because you just let your son, your namesake, wash his hands of you and walk out of here. All because your daughter was never brought up to accept the consequences of her actions. All because she never grew up to be half the person your son is.. I hope losing your son was worth teaching your daughter a lesson."

Flack Sr sighed heavily and stared down at his weathered hands clasped tightly on the table top.

Mac shook his head in disbelief. "Seems like you both could stand to learn a thing or two," he said, and calmly exited the room.

* * *

Flack surveyed the paperwork scattered across his desk with the utmost contempt and disdain. It was six-thirty in the evening and he had at least two hours, if not more, of work ahead of him. Now that Malley had abandoned his witch hunt and departed peacefully -without even so much of an I'm sorry for making your lives a living hell- Whitmore had decided to live up to her billing as a complete bitch and demand that all his cases be up to date, and all outgoing paper work be finished and on his captain's desk before he clocked out for the night. And he was told, despite asking for, and receiving the next two days off, that he was on call and to not even think about ignoring any cases that crossed his path. All he could do was hope, and pray, that his services wouldn't be needed. That he could spend Valentine's Day evening at the St Regis hotel without having his mind consumed by thoughts of work.

"You need a better filing system," a soft voice commented from in front of his desk. "Or a secretary."

He smiled and looked up at his girlfriend. "Position's open if you want it," he said, as she draped her winter jacket over the back of the empty chair next to his desk before sitting down in it and settling her purse in her lap.

"It all depends. What is my job description?" she asked.

"Keep my stuff organized, answer all my phone calls," he replied. "Get me coffee whenever I want it. Wear low cut blouses and mini skirts and service me whatever way I tell you too."

"Oh you mean it's just like being your girlfriend," she chided. "Only I get paid for it!"

He smirked. "You just always have a smart ass comment, don't you." It was more a statement then a question.

"I am way too quick for you, Don," Sam declared. "You can try your hardest to keep up to me in the smart ass comment department, but the truth of the matter is, I'm just better at it then you are."

"Maybe you just caught me at a bad time," he said. "Maybe I'm just not at my witty best."

"Witty," she laughed. "Is that what we're calling off handed and sarcastic now?"

"You're lucky I'm in a better mood," he said. "Because if you'd come around about an hour ago talking like this…"

"I'm just teasing you," she assured him. "You know that. I'm trying to lighten things up for you a bit. I heard about your father and Melanie. Their deal."

He snorted and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," she said, and stretching out her left leg, ran the toe of her boot lightly against the back of his calf affectionately. "I didn't think that all of this would happen."

"Who did?" Flack sighed. "It never should have gotten as out of hand as it did. But we can thank IAB for that."

"Have you talked to your dad since?" Sam asked. "Have you tried calling him or has he called you or…"

"He came by my desk as he was taking Melanie home. Apparently he thinks he can save her from all her demons. She's going to be staying at my folks' place. They're going to try and get her some help. Clean her up."

"You don't sound too optimistic about that prospect," Sam commented.

"We've been through this more than a dozen times with her," Flack said. "It's never worked before. Sure, they get her off the booze and drugs and things are good for about a month or two. And then she hooks back up with her old friends and ends up right back where she was. She's a lost cause."

"Well maybe this time will do the trick," Sam tried to remain positive.

"Maybe," he said, and ran a hand over his weary face. "I'm sorry," he told her. "That we have to take a rain check on the whole take out and candles and romance thing."

"That's okay," she chirped. "It's Valentine's Day tomorrow. You can make it up to me. I'm going to go and have dinner with Adam. Hang out with him for a bit. Do you know how long you're going to be?"

"Couple of hours?" Flack guessed, looking at the mess on his desk. "Maybe more?"

"Well just come to my place whenever you're done," she said. "I'll make you something to eat and we can still do the whole wine and candles and romance thing. Even if it is midnight when you come around. You're not getting away from your promise of hot extracurricular activities, you know."

"Trust me, babe. Those extracurricular activities are seriously going to help me relieve some stress later. And I've to a lot of stress. So prepare yourself."

She laughed. That musical laugh that never failed to brighten up his day. He cocked his head to the side and smiled at. His blue eyes sparkling, and betraying every emotion and feeling that was surging through his body at that very moment.

"I know," she told him. "Me too."

She had to fight the urge to kiss him silly. He didn't need to tell her. She knew how he felt. There was no denying the way he looked at her. She would have had to have been a fool not to notice.

"You're okay?" he asked. "I mean, after everything that went down today…"

"I'm still reeling over those pictures," she replied. "That would be a shock to anyone."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Sammie. I never should have kept that back from you."

"I understand why you did," she said. "You wanted to protect me. And if I was being completely honest, I'd admit to you that I like it when you protect me. I like the way you take control and handle things. You make me feel safe and secure, Donnie. And I've never felt that before. Ever. So it's all new to me. And more than a little overwhelming."

"I know," he said. "I guess I'm a far cry to how you felt when you were with Zack."

"Two completely different ends of the spectrum," she told him. "But that's okay. Because I love the way you are. With me. Because I know the way you are, even if it is overbearing sometimes and I complain about feeling smothered and babied, I know that you have the best of intentions. You're not doing it to be mean and controlling. You're doing it because you love me and want me safe."

"You mean too much to me to lose you, Sammie," he said. "I waited more than a year to get you. There's no way I can let you go now."

"Ever?" she asked brightly.

"Ever," he replied.

"Good," she said, and rubbed his leg with her foot once again before standing up. "Because I am never letting you let me go," she informed him, as she grabbed her jacket and shrugged into it. "You'll walk me out?" she asked hopefully. "Adam's waiting for me at TGIF's."

"I'm going to go out for a cancer stick anyway, I'm due," he pushed his chair away from his desk and snagged a pack of smokes and a lighter from the top drawer. "And before you say it, yes, I know I promised to quit. That it was my New Year's resolution."

"I didn't say anything," she said, as she buttoned her coat and they headed through the quiet squad room together, his hand on the small of her back as she pulled her mitts and hat from her pockets and tugged them on.

"You don't have to," Flack told her. "It's this look you give me."

"What look?" she asked innocently. "I don't have a look."

He arched an eyebrow and stared down at her.

"You'd miss my looks," she declared and pushed open the door of the squad room. "Your life would be empty and meaningless without them."

"Without you it would be," he said, winking down at her as they crossed the small vestibule and she used her hip to shove open the door that lead to the street.

"Sappy," she giggled. "Completely and utterly sappy."

He gave a grin and a shrug as they stepped out into the frigid night air. The snow had abated. For now. Leaving several inches in its wake.

"You're walking over?" Flack asked, eyeing her apparel.

She nodded and sniffled noisily. The cold night air tickling her nose. "It's just a couple of blocks. I'll be fine."

"You're going to freeze," he informed her, and proceeded to reach out and take a hold of the black and pink stripped scarf hanging loosely around her neck. He tied it securely and then used it to pull her towards him and into a long, soft and warm kiss.

"Call me if you're going to be really late," she said.

"I will," he promised. "You need anything, just call. Okay?"

She nodded and stood on her tiptoes and kissed him chastely. "I'm sorry. About the fight we had earlier today and…"

He silenced her by capturing her mouth with his. "Let's pretend that never happened," he said, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Let's treat it as a brain fart," she giggled.

He laughed as well. "Have fun with your brother. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, and smiling up at him, ran a hand over his face. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

"I'll try," he promised, and leaned against the bricks behind him and shook a smoke from the pack of his hand. Watching as she headed off down the slippery, snow covered sidewalk. He'd just lit his cigarette when he saw her stop, her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed, and then turn and walk back towards him.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

"Okay…"

"I'm going to see Zack," she blurted out. "The hospital called. They found my card on him. I don't know why he had it or how he got it. But he's asking to see me. And I think it's best that I go."

"Why?" Flack asked, trying to remain calm and composed.

"I think seeing him will help me put my past where it belongs. In the past. And there's some things I need to say to him, and if I say them, I think it will be better for us. Because I will be completely over and Zack will be history and I can concentrate slowly on us. Because that's all I want to do, Donnie. Concentrate on us. Start a future with you. Start forever with you. And if I see Zack and say what I gotta say to him then I can…"

He reached out and laid two fingers over her lips. "I understand, Samantha. And I want that too. To be able to start forever. With you. And I trust you to do the right thing."

She pressed a kiss to his finger before he removed it.

"Just be careful," he said. "That's all ask. Promise me you'll be careful."

"Always," she vowed and with a bright smile, turned and headed down the sidewalk again.

Flack sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall and lit his smoke. Inhaling deeply, he watched as she departed, her figure getting smaller and smaller until it eventually disappeared around a corner.

_There goes my future_, he thought with a smile. _My everything._

_My life._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers. But please, please R and R folks. Makes my day!!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**wolfeylady**


	37. For the love of Peanut

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS AND ANYONE ELSE NOT RELATED TO THE SHOW.**

**A/N: THE VOTES ARE IN AND WE HAVE A WINNER! DANNY TOOK THE CONTEST BY A PRETTY WIDE MARGIN OVER NICK STOKES. THE FIRST CHAPTER HAS BEEN POSTED AND I HOPE YOU ALL WILL CHECK IT OUT AND ENJOY IT.**

**NOW HOW'S THAT FOR SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION?**

* * *

**For the love of Peanut**

"Tap on my window knock on my door  
I want to make you feel beautiful  
I know I tend to get so insecure  
It doesn't matter anymore  
It's not always rainbows and butterflies  
It's compromise that moves us along, yeah  
My heart is full and my door's always open  
You can come anytime you want  
I don't mind spending everyday  
Out on your corner in the pouring rain  
Look for the girl with the broken smile  
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile  
And she will be loved."  
-She Will Be Loved, Maroon 5

* * *

_"The NYPD continues their search tonight for David Wilson. A twenty-eight year old unemployed city contractor wanted for the murder of his friend, Tim Kingsley, who was found beaten and shot death this afternoon in the Eighty-seventh street subway tunnel. Police say that moments before his death, Kingsley himself had shot and killed Aaron Clarke. A Chelsea University student who attempted to break up an apparently staged fight between Wilson and Kingsley. A spokesman with the NYPD says that the two men were running a petty robbery scheme out of various subway stations along with an unidentified female…"_

Sam snorted at the last two words as they left the reporter's mouth and took a long sip of from the small straw poking out of her JD and Coke. Double the JD at that. After the day she'd endured and thoughts regarding her upcoming visit with sake infecting her brain, she felt she deserved something strong. And as she sat at the crowded bar at TGIF's, casting glances at the television mounted above the bar while waiting for her brother to return from the washroom, she felt physically ill. It was nauseating to think that an innocent young man with a bright future ahead of him, eager to play Good Samaritan, was currently lying in the freezer at the ME's office. While someone like Dave Wilson, taking a coward's way out, was running from the cops and so far, evading capture. And that Melanie Flack, an alcoholic, meth addicted, two bit hooker got off without even a slap on the wrist.

Jaded. She was incredibly jaded. There was no other way to describe the mental state she'd found herself in the moment she'd stepped foot outside of the twelfth precinct. After she'd walked away from the building the final time and disappeared around the corner, she'd promptly dissolved into tears. Large, hot tears that completely blinded her. Sobs that escaped from her lips that she hid behind the sleeve of her coat as she leaned against the bricks behind her and stifled the noise with her forearm. All the emotions from the day surging out of her at a startling, overwhelming pace. The injustice of Aaron Clarke's death. The shocking realization that someone had invaded your privacy and tossed around intimate pictures of you like trading cards. The scrutiny of IAB and the gentle, yet authoritative reaming out by your superior. Topped off by the news that someone who had ripped her own parents off, stole from strangers and the stood by while an innocent man was murdered, had walked out of the precinct a free woman. Instead of being forced to face time or to serve a court mandated stay in rehab, Melanie was allowed to continue on with her miserable, pitiful existence. There was nothing worse than someone who desperately needed assistance and refused to get it. It was impossible to help someone who didn't want to help themselves. And instead of doing her penance, she was allowed to walk around free and easy.

Something Aaron Clarke had had so viciously ripped away from him.

The moment had last no longer then a ten minutes. Long enough to shed the tears that needed to be shed and rant and rave inside of her pounding head. She was thankful that no one had been around to witness her emotional meltdown. Not even the man that she loved more than life. It had been a private moment. Something that rarely happened but she had long ago learned to cope with on her own. The near panic that over took her. The constant flow of tears and the hammering of her heart and the way her lungs struggled to draw breath. No one needed to see that. Or have to deal with it.

When her heart had returned to its normal rhythm and her breathing evened out, she'd wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her coat and sniffled noisily and simply went on her way. Cursing the unfairness and inequality of the world. Questioning whether or not she had chosen the right profession. If doing what she did for a living, and being part of a bigger picture and bringing closer to a handful of grieving families, was really what she wanted to be doing for the rest of her life. What was she achieving? What good had she done when Melanie could walk and an innocent man lay stone dead in the morgue?

By the time she'd walked through the front door of the noisy, packed restaurant, she'd managed to plaster a smile on her face and push all memories of the day to the back of her mind. She had met up with Adam at the bar, where he was biding his time waiting for her -and their table- by nursing a pint of beer and munching on a small basket of complimentary tortilla chips. He'd slipped off his stool and greeted her with a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek, and then helped her remove her coat. If their step father had taught a teen-aged Adam Ross anything back in the day, it was how to be a gentleman. And Sam was convinced that whoever managed to snag her brother, was one hell of a lucky girl.

She had climbed up onto the stool beside him. And Adam, with one long, curious look at her, had realized that something was wrong. Their bond, formed through years of torment and agony ad relying on each other to survive emotionally, was so strong that he could her expressions of lack there of. He could decode her body language. Even finish her sentences. And instead of forcing her to talk about whatever was bothering her, he'd simply laid a hand on the top of her head, ran it down the length of her hair, and the pressed a tender and comforting kiss to her temple.

Then he'd ordered her a stiff drink.

Best damn little brother ever, Sam now mused, and helped herself to a tortilla chip.

"Any news on our guy?" Adam asked, as he returned from the washroom, nodding in the direction of the television as he slid back onto his stool.

"No sign of him," Sam replied. "Still on the lam. Still armed and dangerous."

"They'll find him," Adam said confidently. "They always get their man."

Sam laughed and bit into her chip. "I had to burst your bubble when it comes to law enforcement, Peanut, but they don't."

"Well I for one shall remain optimistic and un-jaded," Adam declared. "The NYPD will catch up to him and he'll pay for what he did. He deserves to pay."

"So do some other people that shall remain nameless," Sam sighed and sipped her drink.

"I still can't believe Flack's dad would cut a deal like that," Adam lamented. "That he'd actually let his daughter get away with everything she's done. Helping her friends break into her parents' home. Stealing and selling some of her father's things. Robbing people on the street. Standing by while an innocent person was murdered."

"And let's not forget how she's a nasty ass meth head who makes a living turning tricks," Sam added.

Adam stared at her, the pint poised near his lips.

"What?" she asked innocently. "Was I too harsh?"

"You?" he asked and swallowed back some beer. "Never."

"I'm sorry if I speak the truth. That's exactly what she is. And the fact that her family has tried time and time again to get her help, to clean her up, and all she does is shit on them, pisses me off. And now her father tosses his name around to save her ass? Don and I go through hell with IAB and for what? So his sister can practically spit in our faces? That bitch deserves to be locked up. Plain and simple."

"Maybe this time the intervention will work," Adam said.

"Sure," Sam snorted. "And tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and discover I can walk on water and cure people of horrific ailments by simply touching their foreheads."

"Two talents that will look absolutely fantastic on your resume, Miss Ross," a familiar voice chimed in from behind them.

Adam and Sam turned in their seats and found Sid smiling warmly at him, and accompanied by a female companion. A strikingly beautiful, statuesque middle aged woman with porcelain skin and vibrant green eyes. Her full lips were painted a rich red and her jet black hair was styled in a harsh bob, the blunt bangs showcasing her features. Both Adam and Sam recognized her. Not as a friend or family member of Sid's. But someone they'd come in contact with before.

"You really do function outside of the dungeon," Adam said. "Here I always though the rumours were true. That you perished the moment you breathed fresh air and saw moon or sunlight."

"Very funny, Mister Ross," Sid said with a smirk. "And here I was thinking the same thing about you and your computers and chemical components."

"Touche," Sam giggled.

"What brings the two of you out on a cold winter's night?" Sid asked

Sam held up her drink.

"We were craving sustenance," Adam replied. "Of the alcoholic persuasion. See, we're Ross'. It comes along with the last name. A weakness for sustenance. Of the alcoholic persuasion."

"We're lushes," Sam concluded. "Only tonight we're blending our need for booze with our need for food. What are you up to tonight?"

"My lady friend and I…" Sid nodded and smiled down at the woman on his arm. "…are having a date night. Dinner and drinks before we catch an old black and white B movie over at the Revival Theatre on East 78th. This happens to be one of our favourite places to visit."

"It's the margaritas." the woman spoke up. "They're fantastic."

"Especially the key lime ones," Sam said. "To die for. And the extra large size. The bigger the better. And that's my motto on many things. Especially men."

"Ignore my sister," Adam told them. "She has a bit of a problem," he added, then put his thump near his mouth and mimicked someone taking a swig from a bottle.

"And who would your lady friend be Sid?" Sam asked.

"How rude of me!" he exclaimed. "Introductions should have been the first thing on my mind. Although I'm surprised neither of you remember her. This is Ilona Hastings. Or should I say Doctor Ilona Hastings."

"Of course!" Sam cried and slid off her stool, a hand outstretched. "You took over Sid's care when he was moved to recovery after that nasty scare he gave all of us. I had no idea the two of you…"

"It took us by surprise as well," Sid said. "But it was a very pleasant surprise."

"Somewhere between care and discharge we managed to find something so much more," Ilona gushed, shaking Sam's hand before hugging Sid's arm to her. "Isn't love grand?"

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes in response.

Sam smiled brightly. "It definitely is," she agreed.

"These are the infamous Ross siblings," Sid introduced. "Adam is a criminalist and works, for the most part, soley in the lab. Samantha is a crime scene investigator."

"I'm a scientist without the badge and gun," Adam said, shaking the woman's hand. "I also happen to be the genius out of the two of us."

"He got the brains, I got the looks," Sam declared.

Adam shot her a foul look.

Sam shrugged. As if to say 'Well it's true'.

"I heard you made quite the impression on my not so new ME," Sid said to her.

"We had a personality clash," Sam confirmed. "But it's all good now. He made it up to my by hand delivering the autopsy results and buying me a banana muffin and a latte. We're besties now. As long as he keeps his hands to himself it's all good. My boyfriend has a small jealousy issue. It's best not to get him riled."

"And where would Detective Flack be this fine evening?" Sid asked.

"He's at his desk, slaving away. He was banished there. For being a bad boy. He's being punished."

"Ross!" the hostess cried above the din. "Booth for Ross!"

"We always reserve a booth," Sam explained as she grabbed her drink. "More room. Would the two of you like to join us?"

Sid looked down at his girlfriend. "If it's okay with you, honey bunch…"

Adam nearly spit out his mouthful of beer at the use of the pet name.

"I think that would be lovely," Ilona said, and linking her arm through Sam's, gently led the young woman away. "You can tell me all about your boyfriend and what kind f punishment you plan on handing out later."

Adam sighed heavily and gathered up his sister's coat and purse, along with his own jacket and his drink.

"Looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Sid commented, as he and the lab tech followed dutifully behind the two chatty, giggling women.

* * *

Samantha knew half way through dinner that she would never make it to the hospital to see Zack. At least not on that night. Somewhere between sharing a massive plate of fully loaded nachos and an order of chicken wings with her brother and downing her third double JD and Coke of the night, her logical side had decided that walking into a hospital slightly loaded was not a good idea. Besides, Zack would still be a resident in a couple days time. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere or being released for a while. That thought had brought an evil, satisfied smile to her face as she happily dug into a piece of Turtles cheesecake.

The thought that Zack had been punished and was suffering to some extent had banished the heavy, dark cloud that seemed to be hanging over her head since she'd high tailed it out of Phoenix. In the back of her mind, she had always wondered when the day would arrive that Zack would come looking for her. She had never imagined it would have taken him more then a year. And when he'd shown up at her door, she had realized how much of a legitimate threat he still was. Her first thought had been to run away. To pack whatever she could carry and take off.

But she had way too much to lose. A job that she loved in the city she belonged in. Amazing friends. A brother that she simply couldn't live without. And a man that was quickly becoming the love of her life. And of all the people around her, it was Flack that she couldn't walk away from. Because of the intensity of her feelings for him. The desire to have forever with him. The overwhelming, frightening way in which she needed him. So instead she had taken whatever steps she had needed to ensure that Zack Tanner didn't ruin her life. And Terrence Davis had been the one person she felt she could turn to. The person who could make Zack pay, and ensure that nothing ever led back to her. She didn't make cavorting with convicted felons a habit. But she knew that she could trust him.

"So do you two have any plans on getting married?" Adam asked their dinner companions, snapping Sam out of the daze she'd drifted into. Across from them, Sid and his girlfriend sipped white wine and shared a piece of molten chocolate fudge cake.

"I have played the marriage game twice," Sid replied. "And this time I have no plans on rolling those dice again. So I will not pass go nor collect my two hundred dollars and simply accept things the way they are. We're enjoying each other's company and having a lot of fun and living life to the fullest. We're happy with the way things are going."

"Disgustingly happy," Ilona declared, and looked at her man with a bright smile on her face and love in her eyes.

Sid returned the smile and kissed her softly.

Adam gagged on his Irish coffee.

Sam grinned at the blatant displays of public affection taking place in front of her. "Well I guess it's a good thing you aren't getting married a third time, Sid," she said, as she dug into her cheesecake.

He gave a slight frown. "And why's that?" he asked curiously.

"Because I'd hate for something to go wrong and then for you to get totally polluted and fall down the stairs for a second time," Sam replied.

The entire table laugh.

"I don't remember ever telling you that story," Sid said.

She nodded and licked stray caramel off of the end of her fork. "You told me twice. Once when I first started and a vic of mine was three times over the legal limit and the second time when you and I were doing those Grey Goose shots at Hawkes' birthday party."

"Which would be why I don't remember telling you," he said. "At least the second time. If I do remember correctly, we polished off an entire bottle on our own. And after that you did that very lovely and highly entertaining impersonation of a Coyote Ugly girl on the bar."

Adam rolled his eyes and grimaced at the memory.

"Don't knock it," Sam said, using the tip of her tongue to clean the fork off. "I made nearly eighty bucks off of Don and Danny tucking bills into my skirt."

Sid and Ilona laughed at that.

"I always wondered what that would feel like to have it done," Ilona said to Sam. "Did it hurt to get your tongue pierced?" she asked.

"It wasn't too bad," Sam replied, sipping her drink. "I mean, it wasn't comfortable. They make you stick out our tongue and then they put this clamp around it and there's a hole on top and bottom of it and that's where they are piercing you. Then they shoved what looks like a short knitting needle through the holes. Bottom to top."

"And have you ever had any problems with it?" Sid asked. "Infection?"

She shook her head. "It's the healing process that bothered me. I had to gargle with peroxide mixed with water for three weeks and my tongue swelled up so bad that I could barely talk for about a week and a half. And then it was no solid foods or drinking alcohol or performing oral sex for about a month after."

Adam nearly spit his beer across the table at the mention of oral sex.

"I've heard that it makes the art of giving so much better," Ilona commented.

"Detective Flack must find that very…appealing," Sid added.

"Oh he has no complaints," Sam chirped. "Exact opposite, actually. He loves it."

"Do you mind?" Adam asked. "Like do you seriously mind? I don't want to hear about you and Don doing anything remotely sexual."

"Oh relax, Peanut," she responded. "So we have sex. Lots of sex. It's natural."

"It's also good for your health," Sid said. "It burns calories and having an orgasm is known to cure a number of ailments."

"Then I am going to live until I'm a hundred," Sam declared. "And speaking of getting things pierced. I was thinking of getting my c.."

"Don't say it!" Adam cried. "Oh my God don't even finish that sentence! You're my sister! You should not be talking about stuff like that in front of me!"

Sam snorted. "You didn't see me going all skittish when you told me about your Prince Albert piercing."

Adam flushed furiously from head to toe.

"A what?" Sid asked. "I'm not familiar with that term."

"It's the most common male genital piercing," Sam explained. "It goes from the outside of the frenulum and into the urethra."

Ilona's eyes widened.

Adam put his face in his hands and shook his head in disbelief. Appalled by his sister's loose lips when intoxicated.

"Really…" Sid said with a slow nod. Neither embarrassed or horrified by the conversation. "Intriguing."

"He even has a few tattoos and a nipple piercing too!" Sam announced.

"Sammie!" Adam cried. "Seriously…do you mind?"

"You'd never know it would you," she said, popping a piece of cheesecake into her mouth. "I mean, looking at him you might suspect the tattoos. But you wouldn't think that sweet little Adam Ross would have his nipple and his d…"

"Can you talk about something else?" Adam asked. "Please? I'll pay you to talk about something else. Twenty bucks? Forty even? Fifty? Fifty's my final offer."

"This ex girlfriend of his got him into it," Sam explained to their companions. "She was a Suicide Girl. She got him into all the weird shit."

"And what was your excuse?" Adam retorted. "What is your excuse for being such a nut job?"

She smiled sweetly and tapped the end of his nose with her caramel covered fork. "Demented genes," she declared. "It's the only excuse."

"Personally, I find body piercing and tattooing alluring," Sid told them. "I don't have any myself, and I doubt I'd ever get any considering my age. But Ilona has several beautiful and elaborate pieces decorating her body. And a piercing in a rather delicate private place."

Sam's eyes widened. "Get outta town…"

"Mild mannered and conservative doctor by day, wild child by night," Ilona declared.

Sam grinned broadly and pointed her fork at Sid. "You are one damn lucky man, Doctor Hammerback."

"Yes," he said, beaming proudly at his girlfriend before kissing her long and soft. "I definitely am."

Adam shook his head, both slightly disgusted and slightly amused and sipped at his beer.

_If it can happen to Sid, _he thought, _it can happen to anyone._

* * *

It was shortly after nine when Sam and Adam, arm and arm, made their way through the gently falling snow down Broadway towards the subway station that served as the last leg home for both of them. Once there, Adam would take the north train and head uptown, Sam would board the southbound train and head into the lower Manhattan and then either take a cab or walk the four blocks to her apartment on the west side. They had had such a good time -after Adam's initial humiliation- with Sid and Ilona, that they had abandoned their plans of paying Zack his visit and concentrated on having some fun instead. It was a treat to sit around and talk about everything and anything outside of work. To enjoy good conversation and good people and to feel totally relaxed and at ease.

Of course the amount of alcohol they had consumed had played a huge role in that as well.

"I need some caffeine," Sam announced, as they neared the Starbucks both she and Adam frequented. Either together or alone. But ninety per cent of the time they found themselves taking up a table near the back, sipping lattes and munching on biscotti and either chatting or reading the left behind newspapers.

"Come on, Sammie," Adam groaned. "I'm tired. I just want to go home and go to bed."

"It's only nine!" she cried. "If you're that tired and it's only nine, then you need some caffeine too!"

"I need sleep!" he argued, digging his heels into the snow covered sidewalk as she attempted to yank him towards the coffee shop. "My pillow is calling me! My bed is beckoning!"

"A cup of coffee or a latte or hot chocolate won't keep you up all night," she assured him. "Come on, Peanut. I'm dying for some caffeine. I desperately need my fix!"

"Well go and get your fix then! I'll wait here! I go in and we'll end sitting down and it will be another two hours before I get home. I want to get to bed sometime tonight. So go ahead and get your fix and I'll wait here."

"Fine," she huffed dramatically and abandoned her attempt at pulling him along. "Could I at least have a few bucks?" she asked hopefully, holding her hand out.

Adam sighed heavily and reached around to remove his wallet from the back pocket of his pants. "Are you like this with Flack?" he asked curiously, as he plucked out a ten and placed it in her palm.

"Worse," she declared, and clutching the bill tightly in her hand, stood on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. "You want anything?" she asked, walking backwards towards the Starbucks front entrance.

"I'm good," he assured her. "Just make it quick. I need my beauty sleep."

"You're going to have to put aside a couple of decades for that," Sam teased, and sticking her tongue out at her younger brother, turned and continued on her way to the front door of the coffee shop.

Frowning, Adam bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. Packing it into a tight ball, he brought his arm back and fired. Catching his older sister square in the middle of her shoulders. "That's what you get for picking on me mercilessly since I was six years old!" he shouted after her, laughing as she turned to flip him the middle finger before stepping into the Starbucks.

He smiled to himself. Wondering how in the hell he'd ever survived so long in New York City without her.

The Starbucks was quiet and remotely empty. A young man in a Chelsea University sweatshirt and baggy jeans typed busily on a lap top at a table near the back. Various text books and binders and an extra large beverage scattered across the table and a winter jacket and open back pack taking up the chair beside him. At a table for two near the front, a couple held hands on the table top and chatted over steaming cups of coffee and double fudge brownies. Soft music was piped through the speakers mounted in the ceiling as a lone employee leaned over the counter, her elbow on the formica, chin in her upturned hand as she indulged herself in a little light reading in the form of Cosmopolitan.

"Howdy, Paisley," Sam greeted cheerfully, smiling at the sight of her favourite barista.

Paisley Daniels was twenty-two and studying Kiniesiology at Columbia. What she really wanted to do be doing, was painting for a living. The girl had brought in several water colour pieces to show her favourite customers. One of which, of the Central Park fountain in the night time, now hung on Sam's living room wall. She'd given the young woman sixty bucks for it. Paisley hadn't wanted to take the cash, but Sam had literally leaned over the counter and showed the three twenties in the girl's pocket. Paisley's works were worth far more then that. Exquisite and brilliant were the two best words to describe them. And it was a shame that she couldn't seem to find an audience for her work.

Adam, through being a regular customer with his sister on Paisley's usual evening shift, had developed a school boy type crush on the young woman Sam referred to as 'coffee girl'. He was constantly staring at the petite and slightly chunky girl with her shoulder length black hair that boasted a chunk of bright pink along the left hand side. Despite her lip and eyebrow rings and the hoop that travelled from one nostril to the other, Paisley was a beautiful young woman. And had a warm and engaging personality second to no one. Adam simply couldn't get enough of her. Although he'd yet to get up the balls to actually talk to her and turned a dozen shades of red if she simply looked in his direction.

Sam didn't even think Paisley was aware of his name. The two had never spoken and Sam herself couldn't recall ever mentioning her brother by name. Or even telling the girl that he was her brother to begin with.

"Howdy, pard-ner," Paisley chirped back in a faux Southern Twang. "What brings a fine young lady like yourself to these parts at this time of night?"

"A grande caramel latte," Sam said with a giggle. "With an extra shot of espresso…"

"And no foam," Paisley concluded, turning her book over on the counter and making her way over to the cappuccino machine. "You do realize that you don't have to tell me anymore, right? I've only been making you the same thing for nearly seven months."

"Well how did you know I wasn't going to order something different?" Sam asked, as she moved to the self serve coffee urns and grabbed an empty cup that she filled with the house special.

"Because you, my dear, are completely predictable," Paisley declared, as she opened the bar fridge behind her and snagged a container of skimmed milk and proceeded to pour some into the stainless steel mixing mug resting beside the cappuccino machine.

Sam laughed at that. "Don't ever say that to my boyfriend," she said, placing a lid on the coffee and carrying it to the register. "He'd ask you what planet you're living on. How goes things tonight?"

"They go," the young woman sighed, grabbing an empty grande cup from a stack near the register and getting to work. "I think I may have an art showing coming up," she shouted over noise of the cappuccino machine as she steamed the milk.

"That's awesome!" Sam cried. "How did you come up with that?"

"One of the girls during the day bought one of my paintings and a customer saw. Well he knows someone who knows someone else who knows the owner of a small, independent gallery on the lower east side. He's got some show openings coming up and by the sounds of things, he's very interested."

"Well you'll have to keep me posted," Sam yelled back, then pulled the Cosmo magazine towards her and turned it around to face her.

"That's the new one," Paisley told her, speaking in her normal volume of voice as she prepared the latte and snapped a plastic lid on top of it and carried it over. "I saw some of the topics advertised on the front and I couldn't resist."

Sam grinned at the article in front of her. "The ten things men desperately want in bed but are too shy to ask for," she read aloud. "My kind of article. Most of them my man's either asked me to do already or I've just gone ahead and tried out on him myself. But I can guarantee you that number six is not one of the things he's desperate for."

Paisley turned the magazine back and around and checked out number six. "So he's not into the whole finger up the butt, huh?" she laughed.

"Are you insane? He is way too alpha male for that sort of thing. He'd kill me if he knew how many times I've considered just springing it on him in the middle of things."

"Hey, you never know. He could like it."

"Somehow I doubt that," Sam said, as she helped herself to a chocolate dipped almond biscotti from the jar on the counter.

"So where is the lucky man tonight?" Paisley asked as she rang in the purchases.

"At work as far as I know," Sam replied. "But who knows? He could be out cavorting with some stripper."

"Yeah right. He knows you'd rip his cajones off and feed them to him," Paisley laughed. "He's such a nice guy. Cute as a bug in a rug, too."

Sam frowned. "Are we talking about the same person? Because 'cute as bug in rug' are not the first words that spring to mind when describing him. Come to think of it, not too many people use the words nice guy when referring to him either."

"I don't know about that. He's always such a sweetie when he comes in here. Doesn't say much though. I guess he's just the strong, silent type, huh? I never got the chance to thank him for clearing those tables for me last Friday night when that rush came in. Or for leaving me that ten dollar tip. One minute he was slaving away, the next I turned around and he was gone."

"Oh my God!" Sam cried when she clued in to what, and who, the young woman was referring to. "Jesus, no! That's not my boyfriend! That's my little brother!"

"Seriously?" Paisley asked.

"That was my younger brother Adam," Sam told her.

"I just assumed 'cause of the two of you are together so much that…"

Sam shook her head. "No. That's my brother. My boyfriend was the one that came in with me last Saturday night."

"Really tall, kind of big? Blue eyes you can see clear across the room? Had on a Mets cap? That one?"

"The one and only," Sam said.

"You're damn lucky," Paisley declared. "He's a hottie."

Sam just smiled and nodded in agreement and handed the younger woman the ten dollar bill.

"So your brother, huh?" Paisley asked as she accepted the money.

"Younger brother. Adam. He works at the crime lab too. As a criminalist. Or a lab rat as some people like to call him."

"So he has a steady job, doesn't live at home with mommy and daddy…"

"Daddy is dead," Sam said. "Mommy and step-dad lives thousands of miles away. Thank Christ. And before you ask, no. He doesn't have a girlfriend."

Paisley's brown eyes sparkled with excitement. And hope.

"Got a pen?" Sam asked. "And a piece of paper?"

The young woman nodded and snagged a pen from a cup sitting near the register, then tore a piece of receipt paper out.

"This is the name of a little Italian bistro that is just to die for over on Lex and West 67th," Sam said as she jotted the information down. "Adam is off next Friday. I will make a reservation for the two of you. Seven o'clock sharp. All you have to do, my dear, is show up. Think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely. But why…"

"Because my brother is too chicken shit to make a move," Sam declared, tucking the piece of paper and the change from her ten into Paisley's hand. "Sometimes, I have to take matters into my own hands. You'll be there?"

Paisley nodded energetically.

"And so will he," Sam promised and gathered up her drinks. "Ciao, bella. Same time tomorrow night."

"Thanks, copper!" Paisley called out with a giggle as the petite brunette breezed out of the shop. "And thanks! You know, for your brother and all..."

"Anytime!" Sam shouted back and pushed her way out onto the snowy street. Where her brother was pacing the sidewalk, shivering furiously, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Cupcake," she said and handed him his coffee.

"Does Danny tell you everything?" Adam asked, accepting the drink and nodding his appreciation.

"Our pillow talk gets quite intense," Sam joked. "By the way," she looped her arm through his and sipped her latte. "You've got a date next Friday."

"I've got a what?" he asked, gagging on his coffee and coughing noisily. "With who?"

"Just call me Little Miss Matchmaker," Sam chirped. "Consider it your Valentine's Day present. I've set you up. Dinner at La Cantina. Seven pm."

"With who?" Adam asked. "Don't tell me that…"

"With coffee girl," Sam replied cheerfully. "Who else would it be?"

"Sammie, you didn't…"

She beamed up at her brother and stopped walking and kissed his cheek noisily. "I love you, Peanut," she said. "I just want you to be happy."

"I appreciate that and I want to be happy, too. But you didn't have to…"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I did. I did it for you."

"You little shit," he grumbled.

"You'll call me to thank me next Sunday morning," Sam told him. "After she's practiced numbers one through ten on you."

Adam frowned and stopped in his tracks. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"It means be prepared. Play safe. I don't want to be an auntie anytime soon."

"Okay…but what do numbers one through ten mean?"

Sam grinned and released her arm from his and turned to face him. "That's for me to know, and you to find out," she said as she walked backwards. "And trust me, Peanut. You WILL thank me."

And with that she gave a loud, piercing giggle and turned her back on him and started off down the sidewalk. "You coming or am I walking alone here?" she called out.

Adam sighed heavily and took a swig of coffee before doing the only thing he could do in response.

Follow dutifully behind.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Please R and R folks! It makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Soul of the Evenstar**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Bluehaven4220**

**Delko's Girl88**

**Forest Angel**


	38. Of jewellery boxes and candy hearts

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: I'M PIMPING MY NEW STORY. I KNOW IT'S NOT FOR EVERYTHING, BUT THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE WHO ARE CHECKING IT OUT. IT'S CALLED TOGETHER WE'LL FALL. AND IT'S MY SECOND BABY AT THE MOMENT.**

**LOTS OF DL IN THIS ONE. SO ENJOY ALL MY DL GALZ!**

_**I FORGOT: THANKS TO DAYTIME DRAMA FOR POINTING OUT MY HUGE ERROR IN NOT MENTIONING THAT THE DL JEWELLERY BOX IDEA WAS TAKEN FROM A COMMERICAL THAT IS PLAYING RIGHT NOW. I SIMPLY ADDED LINDSAY'S SPIN TO IT WITH HER OWN PERSONAL STORY TO WHY IT MEANT A LOT TO HER. JUST LIKE WE ALL PUT OUR OWN SPIN TO THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND IDEAS THAT ARE FEATURED ON THE SHOW. SORRY TO ANYONE THIS MIGHT HAVE OFFENDED.**_

* * *

**Of jewellery boxes and candy hearts**

"And I know she's not perfect but she tries so hard for me  
and I thank god that she isn't 'cause how boring would that be  
it's the little imperfections, it's the sudden change in plans  
When she misreads the directions and we're lost but holding hands  
Yeah, I live for little moments like that  
When she's layin' on my shoulder on the sofa in the dark  
And about the time she falls asleep so does my right arm  
And I want so bad to move it cause it's tingling and it's numb  
But she looks so much like an angel that I don't want to wake her up  
Yeah I live for little moments  
when she steals my heart again and doesn't even know it  
Yeah, I live for little moments like that."  
-Little Moments, Brad Paisley

* * *

Danny Messer stared down at the lovingly, but not so neatly, wrapped present in his hands. The thought had been there. He'd chosen the wrapping paper out of a thousand of other choices at the stationery and party store a block from the lab. The moment he had seen it -a shimmering light blue covered in white daises- he knew it was a sign. That it was a way of making the moment he planned even more perfect and special because of the significance that daises held for the two of them. He could remember it as if it was yesterday. Leaving her peacefully sleeping, the memories of their night of passion and the pleasure still lingering in his mind and through his body, as he placed that single little daisy in his Giants mug and then scrawled a short and simple message on the chalkboard mounted on his kitchen wall.

Of course, the decision to be a nice guy and take her shift in exchange of letting her sleep longer had turned out to be a complete disaster. Unfortunately, the horrific memories of the events of that day seemed to overshadow the fact that despite being three sheets to the wind the night before, he had fallen madly and crazily in love with his little country girl. Up until that night, he'd harboured a strong and impenetrable attraction to her. It hadn't developed into love yet. Mostly because he'd been trying to goddamn hard to convince her that he was the right guy for her. He'd been pissed off when she stood him up for dinner, but he'd been unable to hold a grudge for long, or shake the interest he had in her. The more she closed herself off and pushed him away, the more he wanted her. Normally, if a woman brushed him off that many times, he would have simply just given up and walked away. Cut his loses and moved on to someone else.

But it was impossible. Something about Lindsay Monroe made giving up an invalid option. He'd worked harder to get her then he'd ever toiled for anything else in his entire life. He would, and still would for that matter, walk through hell to get to her. There was nothing too big or too small that he wouldn't do for that woman. She was his everything. The love of his life. And in her eyes and in her kiss, he saw and felt his forever. With Lindsay he was a better person. He forgave easy and loved harder. He anxiously counted the days until he was able to call himself her husband. And now, he could barely contain the excitement at the thought of his child thriving inside of her.

He had been an ass earlier in the day. The stress of the bullshit at the work and the announcement of a baby -out of the blue, completely unplanned and shocking- had all mixed together and caused him to completely snap. The pressures of IAB and the injustice of everything that his best friends were up again, had caused Danny to lash out on the one person that he was the closest to. And that hadn't been fair of him. Having a baby, despite it being so close to their wedding, wasn't a mistake. Compromises could be made and plans altered. Lindsay had no problems in either getting her dress re-made or simply selling it and buying a more mommy to be friendly style. "

It's just a dress, Danny," she'd said, when he'd lamented the fact that a baby bump would seriously affect how the dress would fit. If it even would at all come August. "I don't mind either getting it re-made or selling it and just getting a different one. It's no huge deal."

And she was right. It wasn't. The huge deal was the fact that they were having a child together. They'd created life. So what if they had to drastically change plans and cancel their honeymoon? Their baby was far more important and precious then anything materialistic. And so was Lindsay's health and well being. Danny was determined to make the pregnancy as easy and smooth for her as possible. Make sure she got the proper nutrition and adequate rest. Make sure she avoided stress as much as possible and got the right amount of exercise. Because there wasn't anyone, or anything, that was going to get in the way of their happiness.

He finally felt completely. Perfectly whole. The realization that he was going to be a father, had made Danny believe in little miracles again. Because through all the heart ache and misery that he and Lindsay had endured -mostly due to his own stupidity- they had emerged relatively unscathed. They were disgustingly content and deeply in love. All the sins of the past were just that. They were finally able to put it all behind them and concentrate on them.

And now their unborn child.

He smiled as he thought about that ultrasound picture. He'd taped it to the corner of the screen of his PC at work until he could get a proper frame for it and he could display it proudly on his desk. The Valentines Day card, his first from his son or daughter, he'd brought home and tucked away into an old shoe box full of personal and treasured mementos that he'd been gathering since the day he and Lindsay first met. A newspaper clipping about the Bobby Venetti case. He'd cut it out as a reminder of the first crime scene together. A beer coaster from Cozy's the night that he'd gone to meet Lindsay and they'd listened to Mac play with his band. The stub from his plane ticket to Montana when he'd gone there to support her. To hold her hand in the courtroom as the guilty verdict was read. To come 'this close' to kissing her and having the reporters ruin it for them.

The box was full of memories from their days together. And he had smiled as he'd added the Valentines card to the collection before putting the lid back on the box and returning it to it's safe storage place in the back of their closet.

Now, he stood at the side of their bed, holding that present in hand and staring down at the mess he'd made out of their queen sized bed. The expensive down filled comforter was rumbled and covered in pieces of wrinkled wrapping paper that he'd cut too small and had found completely using for the task at hand. The scissors had clumps of Scotch Tape stick to the blades and the tape roll itself, which had started out completely full at the beginning of his project, was now tossed aside, completely empty. The present itself was a disastrous looking mess. He'd used way too much tape. Mostly to cover the tears he'd made in the paper while losing his patience with his gift wrapping technique.

_But at least I took the initiative,_ Danny thought and headed for the bedroom door. _That's gotta count for something._

* * *

Lindsay Monroe was completely and utterly relaxed as she lounged on her couch in a pair of flannel Care Bears pyjamas and her favourite fluffy pink slippers. Both a Christmas gift from her best friend. Sam, notorious for her cartoon character pyjamas, had packaged them in a Victoria's Secret box and wrapped them in scarlet red wrapping paper and a sultry bow she'd made out a black lace. It still made Lindsay laugh to think about Boxing Day morning. Sam and Flack had come over Christmas evening and stayed overnight. The two couples had stayed up until nearly three and the morning, eating junk food and getting slightly pickled on gin and tonic and rum and eggnog. They had played cards for a couple of hours and then the girls had sat around chatting and giggling while their men played with Danny's Nintendo Wii. Sam and Flack had crashed on the pull out and quickly complained the next day how uncomfortable it was and how they didn't appreciate listening to the drunkards in the next rooming 'getting busy' as Flack had so eloquently put it.

Danny had made them all breakfast and then they'd sat down and opened the presents they'd bought each other. Sam had kept hers for Lindsay until the very last. She'd kept the identity of the present a complete secret. Not even Flack knew what it was. Lindsay could still see the way the feisty Brooklyn girl bounced up in down in anticipation as she sat on her heels, watching impatiently as Lindsay tore into the artfully wrapped gift. And she could also still see the way both Danny and Flack's eyes widen as they caught sight of the Victoria's Secret gift. Flack was horrified at the thought of Lindsay opening up some kind of 'skanky thing Sam picked out' while Danny was ready to toss his arms around the tiny brunette and declare his undying love and gratitude for her.

Only to have his dreams of a steamy night dashed when Lindsay opened that box and pulled out the Care Bears pyjamas and neon pink slippers.

"Go figure," Flack had said with a smirk. "That's all Sam wears. I warn you now, Dan-o, sleeping beside her with those things on? Like sleeping next to a goddamn furnace."

Lindsay giggled even now at the memory, especially the foul look Sam had shot her still relatively new boyfriend and then asked him if he wanted to sleep outside for the next month.

"How ya feelin', Montana?" Danny asked, as he journeyed into the living room, the present hidden behind his back.

"Nice and relaxed," she replied with a long, content sigh. "Sam's right. There is nothing like a steamy candlelit bubble bath to help you completely unwind. What were you doing in the bedroom? When you said you were going in there to take care of some business, I didn't realize you'd be gone so long. Did you fall asleep?"

"My business took longer then expected," he told her as he approached the couch.

She pouted dramatically and cast a glance down at his crotch. "Did the stress from the day catch up to you? Couldn't you get in the mood for rightie, baby?"

Danny frowned. "Very funny wiseass. You keep up with comments like that and I'm never going to let you hang around Brooklyn again. She's a bad influence. And we all know that never seeing her again would be like the end of civilization to you. So behave."

Lindsay playfully stuck her tongue out at him.

"I've got something I want to give you," Danny said.

"A surprise?" Lindsay asked, her brown eyes sparkling up at him as a smile spread from ear to ear.

He nodded and brought the present out of hiding. "Now I know it's the best wrapping job in the world," he said as he held it out to her. "But I seriously tried my best. It's not my fault the Scotch Tape and I had a few minor disagreements and I had to play hard ball in the end."

"I think it looks beautiful," she gushed as she accepted the gift. "The paper is perfect. It's our daisies."

"As soon as I saw it, I thought of you," he told her and took a seat on the couch beside her.

"What is it?" Lindsay asked, curiously shaking the present.

"For me to know and you to find out," Danny teased, pressed a kiss to her temple. "Go on…open it."

"It doesn't feel right opening a Valentines Gift before Valentines Day," she complained. "You know how I feel about stuff like that. How I can't even open presents on Christmas Eve because I feel like it ruins my entire Christmas day."

"Well.." Danny consulted his watch. "It's quarter to ten. If you ask me, an hour and forty five minutes until the fourteenth is close enough to Valentine's Day."

"It just doesn't feel right," she sighed. "I feel like I'm ruining my Valentines Day."

"You're not ruining anything," he assured her, rubbing her back softly. "And if it makes you feel better, consider that a just because gift."

Lindsay grinned as she leaned into him. "You're quoting Flack again," she said.

"Like I told you earlier, the man has great ideas. He may have the worst game in the world, but he comes up with some fantastic ways to spoil his girl. So go on. Open it. You've got other Valentines gifts coming tomorrow. Opening one isn't going to kill you."

"Okay…" she agreed reluctantly and attempted to tear into the gift. And finding it nearly impossible. "How much tape did you use?" she asked with a laugh. "This thing is like Fort Knox."

"The tape was being a bitch, a'right? I taught it a lesson. Took it to school. Just keep working on it."

She tore into the present with enthusiasm. Finally managing to get a finger under one corner and tearing the paper off from there. Raising her eyebrows in curiosity at the sight of a plain cardboard box underneath.

"Danny…what…?"

"Just open it," he urged. "The hard work is all worth it. Trust me."

She sighed heavily and pried to box open, then had to dig through what seemed like an endless amount of packing peanuts shoved into such a small space, until she actually came to what she was looking for. Pulling the item out carefully, a tender smile of fond remembrance appeared on her face as she gazed upon the wooden jewellery box that now sat in her hands. It was painted a glossy pink -Princess Pink, if she could remember her daddy telling her as a child- with tiny white flowers painted along the top edge and on the drawers, and small brass handles. Resting the item on her thighs, she Lindsay gently lifted the lid.

The inside was lined with rich burgundy velvet. A slender figurine of a ballerina began to twirl as the strains of Moonlight Sonata emitted from the box.

Danny watched his fiancee intently. Touched by the delicate way she handled the precious item, and the tears that sparkled in her eyes as she ran her fingertips along the wood.

"Danny…" her voice quivered with emotion. "I used to have one just like this when I was a little girl. My dad gave it to me for my eighth birthday. My parents were going through a really bad time. They'd separated and my dad was staying with my grandparents. I used to cry myself to sleep every night because I missed him so much. I used to pray and pray and beg God to make everything okay. To bring daddy home. And my dad came to my birthday party and he…" she took a deep breath and let it out slowly as tears spilled down her cheeks. "He gave me a jewellery box just like this. How'd…"

"That's the same one, baby," he said, stroking her shoulders and back. "I called your folks and I asked your mom for something that meant the world to you as a kid. And that's what she sent me."

"I love it," she whispered and leaned sideways to kiss him gently. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"There's more to it," he told her, clearing her tears away with gentle fingertips. "Here…I'll show you…" reaching out, he pulled open the bottom drawer on the jewellery box. Revealing a small blue velvet box.

"You're just full of surprises tonight," Lindsay said, sniffling noisily.

"This is just a little something extra," Danny told her, and plucking out the tiny box, opened the lid to reveal a pair of sparkling princess cut diamond stud earrings.

"Oh Danny…" she breathed, laying a hand over her heart. "They're beautiful…I never…I never expected something like that."

"Hence why it's called a surprise," he teased. "Do you like them? I know you're not that into jewellery. But I wanted to buy you something extra special. Something that you could wear every day and maybe even on our wedding day."

"They're perfect," she gushed and clutched the earrings to her chest. "Beyond perfect. All of this is just so…there are no words to describe how I'm feeling right at this moment. Especially how I'm feeling about you."

"You don't have to say anything, Montana," he said, pushing her hair behind her ear and pressing a tender kiss to her temple. "It's all in your eyes. It's written all over your face. And seeing that first hand? Trust me, that's better than any words."

Beaming, she laid a hand on the side of his face and covered his lips with hers in a feathery kiss. "I love you so much," she said, her brown eyes staring straight into his soul. "We've been through so much and fought so hard to get where we are. And sometimes, that seems to good to be true."

"Never say that," Danny lightly scolded her. "Never, ever say that. Because we deserve this. We deserve to be this much in love and this happy. We deserve our forever. Our happy ending. To shove all the negativity and the nastiness people have tossed our way over the years back up their asses and rub their face into the fact that we're still here. That we're still standing. And that we always will be. No matter what they say about us, no matter how many times they try to rip us apart. It's me and you, Montana. Whether they like it or not."

"You've always had faith in us, Danny. In me. You never gave up."

"It's because I love you. Wholly and completely. I was gone the moment I laid eyes on you. Nothing was going to stop me from making you mine. Nothing or no one."

She slid her hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him into her, kissing him hungrily and passionately. "I am yours, Danny Messer," she declared, her forehead resting against his. "I always will be."

He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I just want to make you happy."

"You have no idea how happy I am," Lindsay said.

"Who would have thought this would ever happened?" Danny chuckled. "The big, bad New York City boy successfully wooing the innocent little country girl."

"Wooing?" Lindsay asked and playfully pushed him away. "Have you been talking to my grandfather? Isn't that the word he used when I brought you to meet them after the trial? What was it he said? 'How do you plan on wooing my grandbaby, young man'?"

"Actually, what he said, and this is after he took me out to the wood shed and threatened me with a two by four in one hand and a sawed off shot gun in the other…"

"He did not!" she laughed. "Don't make up stories now."

"Montana, I am telling you, he took me out back and handed me a beer and pointed to this old tree stump and said, 'Sit down big city boy. I got some things to discuss with you.' And then he proceeded to warn me if I didn't treat his precious granddaughter right, he'd hunt me down and do unspeakable, horrendously painful things to me."

"Had I known you'd be scared of an eighty-six year old man in overalls and a plaid shirt and no teeth, I would have went out with Flack that time he asked me out and took the unshakable, tough as nails homicide detective home to meet my family."

Danny frowned. "Now that was just a little harsh, don't you think?"

"Oh come here," she said, pouting dramatically as she reached for him. "Come here, you big baby. I didn't mean that. You know how much I love you. How I think you single-handedly hung the moon and the stars for me. How you're the most amazing man in the world."

"Now that's much better," Danny declared, allowing her to pull her into his arms before embracing her tightly.

"Besides," she said. "Flack and I never would have worked out. He's just too aggressive and assertive for me. It takes a special kind of person to handle him."

"True," Danny agreed. "Who knew he'd be so terrified of someone that barely comes up to his elbows and weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet."

"She's small but mighty," Lindsay said. "If you ask me, she's done wonders with him. Since they've been together, like together together, he's been this completely different person outside of work. I can't really describe it. It's just like he's softer."

"Oh my God. Do not ever let Flack hear you call him soft."

"I don't mean soft as in less masculine. Because I doubt there's anything that could ever make him less masculine. He just…I don't know. You're his best friend. You can't tell me you don't see the difference in him."

"I know he's genuinely happy," Danny said. "I know that he laughs more and smiles more. I know that when he's around her, he's more gentle and caring and patience. I also know that he loves her to death. And that he sees himself spending the rest of his life with her. And he's never, ever felt that way about anyone before."

Lindsay smiled and laid her head on her fiance's shoulder. "Do you think that will ever happen? Them spending the rest of their lives together? Because I know how much she loves him and adores him. Do you ever see them married and with kids?"

"Honestly?" Danny asked. "You want me to answer that honestly?"

Lindsay nodded.

He sighed heavily and bit his lip. "No," he admitted. "I don't see that ever happening."

Lindsay pulled back and stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You asked me to be honest and I'm being honest. I don't ever see that happening."

"Why the hell not?" she challenged.

"Because as much as they love each other, sometimes they hate each other even more. They've got a lot of issues and I don't see how anyone can go into a marriage being that way. And trust me, I want them to have a happily ever after. But the way they are? I don't see that ever happening."

"But they love each other," Lindsay argued.

"And sometimes love isn't enough," Danny said. "You can't tell me the way they are is healthy. For either of them."

"I agree, they've got some things they need to get past. But Danny, we've had our issues and our problems too. And it was love that got us through them"

He held his hands up in surrender. "You asked me to be honest and I was honest."

"And I appreciate that. But sometimes you just need to…" Lindsay sighed heavily. "Forget it. Never mind. Let's agree to disagree. Because Flack is your best friend and Sam is mine. And if we keep going on about this, you're going to say something really nasty about my best friend. And trust me, it's best if you don't go there."

"I'd never say anything bad about Brooklyn. You know that. She's my friend, too. And I don't think she's solely to blame for her and Flack's problems. Maybe eighty percent to blame, but…"

"Oh hell no," Lindsay jumped up and glared down at him, hands on her hips. "I told you not to do it and you went there anyway! What the hell is that suppose to mean? Eighty percent to blame? It wasn't Sam's fault that Zack was a psychotic asshole and fucked her up completely! It wasn't her fault that Flack couldn't make up his fucking mind who he wanted more! It's not her fault he couldn't be a fucking man and get the balls and tell her how he felt! That he walked around with his finger up his ass wanting to have his cake and eat it too. He screwed around with her feelings for over a year! So he's not the innocent party you think he is!"

"I never said that…"

"First there was Devon. Then there was Angell. And he flaunted both of them in her fucking face! He knew how she felt about him and he shoved those two women in her face like he got some perverse pleasure out of seeing her suffer! Do you think that's okay, Danny? Do you think that it's okay he made her feel like that?"

"They're together now. What does it matter what he did before now?"

"You know why it matters? Because shit like that messes a woman up completely. Because it's sad that she loved him so much that she'd put up with that shit and even wanted something to do with him afterwards! Because honestly, as much as I like Flack as a friend, I would have told him to go fuck himself that night he shoved up at her place. I would have told him if I wasn't good enough for him in the last year and a half, then I wasn't good enough for him now. Plain and simple. I would have told him to take whatever sick and twisted game he was playing with my mind and shove it up his ass."

"Easy, Montana. Easy…"

"No! I won't take it easy. Samantha is my best friend. She was there for me, Danny. When it felt as if my whole world was falling apart. She was there for me. She never judged me or criticized me. She listened to me and gave me a shoulder to cry on. She was there. And when you and Flack and all the other men on the planet decide that the grass is always greener and you fuck off, you know who is always there to pick up the pieces? Your best friend. And for you to sit there and talk about her like that, the one person who stood by me through all your shit, well it makes me sick!"

"Look, I never meant to insinuate that she was a bad person. I just meant that…"

"I know what you meant. You meant that Flack is fucking perfect because he's saved your ass time and time again. Well guess what, Danny? He's human. He's far from perfect!"

"I know that. But just like Sam is your best friend, he's mine. And when I'm worried about him getting hurt…"

"You're worried about him getting hurt? You have got to be kidding me. I think Flack is more then capable of taking care of himself. He's a big boy. You know what I really think your problem is Danny?"

He sighed heavily and shook his head.

"It totally burns your ass that he's with her and you're not."

Danny snorted. "Give me a break. I don't want to be with Samantha Ross."

"Really? You've been batting your fuck me eyes at her since she started at the lab."

"What?" he laughed. "Are you serious? Sam is my friend. Nothing more and nothing less. She's a nice girl and we laugh a lot and have a lot of fun together. She's fun to be around. She's great to work with. We gel. We kick ass on cases. But friendship is where it ends. She's Flack's girl. She loves him. And you're my girl and I love you."

"And I love you, too. But to hear you say things like that…"

"I'm sorry," he reached for her hand. "You asked me to be honest and I was. I said how I feel. You just jumped on me for no reason. I know that pregnancy hormones can make a woman crazy, but…"

"Pregnancy hormones!" she yelled and yanked her hand away from him. "How about Danny's being a tool hormones!"

"Lindsay Anne Monroe, listen to me…"

"You listen to me Daniel Anthony Messer! I can't believe you can do something like this…" she gestured to her gifts sitting on the couch. "…something so amazing and wonderful. And then turn around five minutes later and do something so…so…so YOU!"

Danny sighed heavily. Silently admitting defeat.

"You, Danny are a…a…a…I don't even know what you are! I'm going to bed!" she huffed and stomped through the living room and down the hall towards their bedroom.

"I'll be in a while, babe," he called.

"Like hell you will! Have fun on the couch!"

He winced at the sound of the door slamming.

Several silent minutes went by. He was sure that she would have come up and apologized for her irrational behaviour. When she didn't emerge from the bedroom and he didn't have the courage to get off the couch and go and say sorry himself, Danny Messer did the next best thing.

He turned on ESPN and stretched out on the sofa and made himself comfortable.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Flack yawned noisily as he slipped his key into the lock of his girlfriend's apartment. It was ten thirty and he was ready for bed. Actual sleeping to be exact. He'd finished his paperwork at eight o'clock and had had a quick bite to eat at an all night dinner across the street from the precinct before heading to the gym. He knew that Sam was likely out longer then she anticipated with her brother. When the two of them got together, especially when there was alcohol involved, she always seemed to lose track of time.

So he was somewhat surprised- albeit pleasantly- when he let himself into the apartment and was greeted by the sounds of the television and every possible light in the place blazing brightly. He tossed his duffel bag in the corner by the closet before toeing off his sneakers, locking the door and tossing his keys on the hall table.

"What's with all the lights?" he asked as he headed for the living room. "You worried the bogeyman is going to come and snatch you or something?"

"I may have slightly scared myself," Sam admitted, smiling at him as he entered the room.

"Slightly?" he asked and took in her appearance. Her long dark hair had been pulled into two thick, braided pig tails and her face was completely devoid of any makeup. Clad in one of his dress shirts and a pair of his gym socks as she ate a heaping bowl of chocolate ice cream. With what looked like candy hearts mixed in with it. A huge plastic tumbler of chocolate milk -and some kind of alcohol he was betting- sitting on the coffee table.

"Okay…so I may have terrified myself and probably won't be able to go into a dark room alone or sleep for the next week," she told him. "And I'll probably be asking you to check behind the shower curtain and under the bed and in the closet for quite a long while."

"You were watching that Paranormal State again weren't you," he said accusingly, standing behind the couch and playfully yanking at one of her pig tails before she tilted her head back and he kissed her softly in greeting.

"I was," she sheepishly admitted.

"I told you about a hundred times not to watch that stuff on your own," Flack said, walking around the couch and plopping down beside her.

"I know…but you know what I'm like Donnie! I flick it on and can't turn it off! It sucks me in! And oh my fucking god! They went to this house in upstate New York that seriously could rival the Amityville horror house! The thing was possessed by over twenty spirits! I guess this home was built where a psychiatric hospital was a long time ago. And apparently this place used to beat and torture patients and tons of them died there. So everyone whose lived in this house has been terrorized! And you know what happened?"

"What?" he asked with a grin, humouring her and her childlike exuberance.

"You know how they go in at night and they get the infrared cameras and shit? And tape recorders?"

He nodded.

"Well goddamnit if in the one room, the head guy is sitting on this bed and it starts to shake! And it shakes so bad it tosses him clear off! And then they hear footsteps on the stairs and doors start slamming and they see shadows in the hall! At that point I was nearly pissing myself. I almost called you to come home right away because I was so scared!"

"And you honestly believe that all of that was true?" he asked, biting his bottom lip to keep his amusement contained.

She nodded.

Flack couldn't help but laugh hysterically. "Babe, it's fake! All of it is fake! It's all staged!"

"No it's not!" she argued. "All of it is true! All of it!"

"Sammie, there is no such thing as ghosts. I can't believe how damn gullible you are."

"Oh that's rich! Coming from a guy that was terrified to go into some old monestary in Staten Island because someone found a severed hand and apparently the cops and people around there always heard strange noises coming from there at night. I believe your friend, what was her name? Aiden? I believe she even offered to hold your hand? Called you a scardey-cat?"

"She did call me that. But Stella suggested to Aiden that she hold my hand. And how the hell did you know about that anyway?"

"I have my ways," Sam said and spooned some ice cream into her mouth. "Come on . Did you honestly think I wouldn't hit Stella up for some blackmail material on you once we started kicking it?"

"Kicking it?" he laughed again. "Where are we? In Crown Heights? You need to bust out your ghetto speak on me?"

"Better then sitting here waiting for you to bust out your game on me," she said nonchalantly.

"Oh come on now. That is just plain harsh."

She smiled and shrugged and proceeded to dab the end of his nose with her ice cream covered spoon.

"What are you?" Flack asked, reaching out to wipe the ice cream away. "Ten?"

"And a half," she replied, and knocked his hand away and licked the chocolate off of the end of his nose.

"You're immature," he scolded her and moved away. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm slightly polluted," she admitted. "Adam and I got carried away and then I came home and made myself some chocolate moo juice with Kahlua."

"You're a goddamn drunk is what you are," he said. "And what? Just plain chocolate ice cream? No mint chocolate chip?"

"Just plain chocolate," she sighed. "Sorry, babe. They were all sold out of our favourite flavour of foreplay."

He grinned, his cheeks turning a soft shade of red.

"Oh my God!" she laughed. "Are you blushing? Please tell me you're not blushing! You don't blush! Who are you? Adam?"

"Piss off," Flack said and moved away from her. "You don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Kapish?"

"Actually, I do have something nice to say," she told him. "Two things."

"Yeah? What's that?" he asked.

She plucked a candy heart from her ice cream and held it out to him. "First thing," she said.

He sighed, humouring her as he took the piece of candy. "I love you," he read out loud. "That's sweet. I love you too," he said and popped the candy into his mouth.

"Second thing." she told him, handing him the other heart.

"Kiss me," he read, and ate that candy as well.

She stared at him, a frown on her face.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"That was a goddamn invitation!" she cried.

"How am I suppose to know that? I don't know the rules of these cute little games you come up with."

She sighed heavily. "No game, Flack. Absolutely no game."

"You know what?" he asked, laughing as he grabbed her, sending the bowl of ice cream tumbling to the floor. "Did you just call me by my last name?"

"I did," she giggled, struggling against his strong grasp. "Is that not what your last name is?"

"You've never called me by my last name. Ever. I thought it was just too impersonal."

"It is," she laughed. "Maybe I felt like being impersonal."

"Yeah? You want to be impersonal, Ross? How about I throw you down right here and now and reacquaint you with Donnie? Would you like that?"

"That would be the thrill of my night," she declared.

He grinned and covered her lips with his in a long and steamy kiss that left them both breathless.

"You're such a damn brat," Flack informed her, kissing her forehead before releasing her.

"But you love me," she said. "Look at this mess you made of my floor," she sighed as she leaned over to pick up her bowl and spoon. "Thank God you didn't wreck most of my ice cream."

"Now that could be a tragedy," he told her, and leaning forward, snagged a large novel from the coffee table. His eyes widening at the title. "What To Expect When You're Expecting?" he asked. "Ummm…is there something you need to tell me?"

"It's for Lindsay," Sam told him and snatched the book from him and dropped it back on the table.

"Why would you buy Lindsay that?" he asked.

"Maybe because she's expecting?" she replied with a sigh.

"Lindsay's pregnant? Lindsay Monroe? Our Lindsay? Danny's Lindsay?"

Sam frowned. "You mean you didn't know?"

"Does this look like the face of someone who knew something like that?"

"It looks like the face of someone who just found out his best friend is going to be a dad in the most unusual and unfortunate fashion," Sam responded. "Oooops."

"How did you know?" Flack asked.

"Lindsay told me."

"And you didn't tell me because…?"

"Because I thought Danny told you. Is that not what best friends do? Tell each other things?"

"Yeah…which is why I am going to seriously kick his ass tomorrow. I can't believe he didn't tell me something like that."

"Well in his defence," Sam said as she returned to her seat beside him after cleaning her floor with a handful of Kleenexes from the box on the coffee table. "It was a rather fucked up day. I guess he just figured you had bigger issues on your plate."

"Nothing is as big as him having a kid," Flack told her.

"True…but I think he figured you needed time to deal with your own stuff before dumping some of his on you. I'm sure he's going to tell you first thing tomorrow. I wouldn't take it personally. You went to the gym?" she asked, taking in his NYPD sweat pants and sweat soaked t-shirt."

Flack nodded and yawned noisily and wrapped his arm around her as he leaned back against the couch. "I needed to get rid of some of my stress," he said, pulling her close.

"I thought you were going to do that when you got home. I thought we were going to do that together?"

"Don't worry, Sammie. Lots of stress inside me, babe. I'll take care of mine."

"Good," she declared and leaned her head against him. "Because I…" she frowned and sat up. Leaning down, she sniffed his shirt. "Oh my God, Donnie! I love you but you fucking stink!"

He laughed and pulled her back into him. "You love my stink."

"I do not!" she cried and struggled to get away. "You couldn't have taken a shower before you came home?"

"I wanted to take one here," he reasoned. "So we could take one together. Relieve some stress in the shower."

"Well I just had a bath a half an hour ago so you're shit out of luck. And if you think I'm doing anything with you smelling like that…"

"You love my stink!" he insisted and grabbed a hold of her once more and tossed her down onto the couch. Pinning her there with his strong, heavy body, his hands on either side of her head. "Admit it! It turns you on!"

"It doesn't!" she shrieked. "Get off of me and go and shower!"

"Come on, Sammie. Admit it. You're getting all hot and bothered right now 'cause of my smell. Admit it!"

"I will not admit it!" she cried and catching him off guard, flipped him over onto his back.

"That was a smooth move, Ross. They teach you that in the Phoenix Academy? You use that move on all your perps?"

"Just the really cute ones," she said and pinned his wrists to the couch with her hands as she placed a knee on either side of him.

"Is it wrong that you being like this completely turns me on?" Flack asked.

"It's about time I got to have some control," she said.

"Yeah…right," he laughed. "You know what they teach here in the academy?"

"How to get your ass handed to you by a girl?" she asked sweetly.

"Smart ass No…they teach you to always regain control."

"I think not…" she said. Only to find herself knocked off balance when he managed to free his wrists and move quickly underneath her.

And then finding herself flat on her back on the floor in between the couch and coffee table, her boyfriend's heavy body on top of her as they tumbled clear off the sofa.

"Heavy!" Sam cried. "You're heavy!"

"Never mind that!" Flack winced as he propped himself on one arm above her, using the other hand to wipe at a bloody mouth. "You split my lip with your forehead."

"Well it was your fault!" she cried. "Why couldn't you just let me have control for once?"

"I never relinquish control," he informed her. "Ever. You okay?"

She nodded. "Are you?"

"Not really," he said and removed his hand to show her his bloody lip.

"Oh poor baby," she frowned and brought her head up to kiss him passionately. Drawing his lip between her teeth and sucking it lightly. "Is that better?" she asked.

"That was so fucking hot," Flack replied and crushed her mouth with his in a savage and impatient kiss.

She melted completely into that kiss. Allowing his tongue easy access to her mouth as her arms curled around his neck. Shivering as his hand travelled from her shoulder, over the side of her breast and down to her hip while her hands yanked his t-shirt up and over his head.

"Wait a second…" she said breathlessly. "Can you wait a second, Donnie?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"I have to get something," she told him. "Can you stop? Just for a minute?"

He sighed heavily and moved off of her reluctantly.

She got to her knees and rummaged under one of the couch cushions. "I bought you something," she said, her hand emerging with a box of condoms.

"I thought we weren't going to use these things anymore," he told her. "That you said that ring thing you used was good enough."

"I did say that," she said, hurriedly divesting herself off her socks and dress shirt. "Until I read that two out of ten women can still get pregnant. And knowing my luck…"

"Good call," he said and tore into the box. "So where are we going to do this? You wanna go into the bedroom or…"

All words, and breath for that matter, were knocked out of him as he found himself tackled onto his back.

"I think here is as good a place as any," she said with a devilish grin and climbed astride him. "Don't you?" she asked, and leaned down to kiss him.

Donald Flack Jr found no reason to argue with her.

And surrendered himself completely as he lost himself in that kiss. And in her.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Please, please R and R folks! Thanks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**much madness**

**wolfeylady**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	39. On the floor and at the door

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! **

* * *

**On the floor and at the door**

"There's a new wind blowin' like I've never known.  
I'm breathin' deeper than I've ever known  
And it sure feels good, to finally feel the way I do  
I wanna love somebody,  
Love somebody like you  
I'm lettin' go of all my lonely yesterdays  
I've forgiven myself for the mistakes I've made  
And there's just one thing, the only thing I wanna do,  
I wanna love somebody,  
Love somebody like you.  
I wanna feel the sunshine,  
Shinin' down on me and you  
When put your arms around me,  
You let me know there's nothing in this world I can't do."  
-Somebody Like You, Keith Urban

* * *

Flack lay on his back in the middle of the living room floor. Despite the fact that the hardwood was freezing cold and sticking to his bare back, he had never been more comfortable in his entire life. His entire body and mind were perfectly sated. All the stress and aggravation and utter bullshit from the day had evaporated thanks to twenty odd minutes of nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure. It had been several minutes until he had managed to get his thundering heart under control and his lungs finally regained the capability of drawing breath following the intense, raw and emotional love making. Then he had pulled himself up off of the floor long enough to dispose of the used condom, snag two bottles of water from the fridge before returning to the living room and grabbing the throw pillows and the blanket from the couch. He'd arranged them neatly on the floor before lying back down. Drawing the wool blanket over their sweaty, slightly trembling bodies.

Neither were in a hurry to move. They lay contently and silently together. Flack's left arm around his girlfriend's slender body as she rested on her side, tucked tightly into him. Her face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder. One of her legs draped loosely over his thighs as her hand rested on his chest. He could hear her heart beating in unison with his, and feel her soft, warm breath tickle his skin. A mix of sweat and her gardenia scented shampoo permeated his senses. Her fingers were gentle and soothing as they combed through the hair on his chest and her nails drifted along his collarbone. Over and over again. The repetitive motion lulling him to sleep. Until his peaceful, pre-slumber was so rudely interrupted as Sam's fingers suddenly stilled and she let out a loud giggle.

He cracked an eye open and looked down at her. "What's so funny, babe?" he asked.

"I was just thinking about something," she replied, running her hand across his chest. "Something really, really stupid."

"About…?"

"Did I ever tell you that my brother has his you know what pierced?" she inquired.

Flack grimaced. Pain shooting through groin at the mere thought of any man intentionally, and willingly, doing that to himself. "Yeah…you told me about a month ago. I am just as horrified now as I was then. Because that is just not right. Your brother is a complete wackadoo for doing something like that to himself. I mean a ring through your…" he shuddered. "That is just completely fucked up."

"Apparently, every girlfriend he's had just raves about. Kendall was going on about it once in the locker room. How it rubs you right in the…"

"Sammie, please. The thought of your brother having sex is enough to give me nightmares. Never mind what it does to me to hear about him doing that to himself. And I can't believe you'd be thinking about something like that after what just went down between us. There's something slightly disturbing about you thinking about your brother's genital piercing after we've had sex."

"It was just a thought that crossed my mind," she defended herself. "Don't be so sensitive."

"We really need to work on your pillow talk. You realize that, right?"

"And what should we be talking about?" Sam asked, pressing kisses along his jaw line as her hand trailed lazily over his chest and down onto his stomach. A fingertip lightly trailing around his navel as her lips grazed the sensitive spot below his ear. "To you have a topic of conversation in mind? Is there something pressing you'd like to discuss?"

"Yeah. I was thinking we could talk about when we're going to put curtains on your windows to avoid any further x-rated photographs to be taken of us."

"I've already figured all of that out," she said, shifting beside him so that she was propped on her elbow and her chin rested on his chest. "I decided that I'm not going to be living here that much longer."

"We haven't even found a place yet," Flack reminded her, reaching up to stroke the top of her head. "We need to find some time to go and look at some of those that you circled in the paper."

"Well here's the thing. We can take it easy on the actual looking for a while," she told him, twirling his thick, white gold chain around her finger. "Because Adam came up with the most amazing idea ever."

Flack cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, apparently, my step father got a transfer with the airline and he's going to be working out of New York City. So Adam figured, instead of causing my parents a whole lot of migraines by forcing them to actually find their own place, and sparing us from the torture of them staying with one of us until they do find a place…"

"You're rambling, babe. Spit it out."

"…Adam came up with the genius idea of me letting them take over my lease. And then that means that we, as in me and you, can move in together sooner then planned. Into your apartment. Which already has blinds on the windows. Sound like a plan?"

He smiled and twisted a pig tail around his hand and pulled her down towards him, covering her lips with his in a long, soft kiss. "Sounds like a plan," he said. "When are you folks moving to New York?" he asked, settling back down on the floor and bringing her head down to rest on his shoulder.

"A couple of weeks," she replied, giving a loud, long yawn followed by a heavy sigh. "Can you tell I'm just so thrilled at the thought of them, especially my mother coming here to brighten my life?"

"Babe, how many times do I have to tell you?" Flack asked. "Sarcasm is MY specialty."

"Oh I'm sorry. I forgot," she said, as she lightly raked her fingernails down his chest and over his stomach. "And what is my specialty?"

He thought for a moment. Then chuckled.

Sam laughed as well. "Pervert," she scolded, and press a kiss to his shoulder.

"What?" he asked innocently. "I never said anything."

"You didn't have to. I can read your mind. 'Cause I'm cool like that. And you have a very, very dirty mind."

"Yeah…I do. But when my dirty mind and my body mix it up? Well I don't exactly hear you complaining. Or protesting. In fact, those were anything but complaints and protests coming out of your mouth while I was f-"

She laid two fingers over his lips. "I know full well what your body is capable of, baby. And you're right. I wasn't putting up a fight or bitching. Far from it."

"Just stating the facts. In case there's ever a doubt over whether or not I take care of business adequately enough. So…your parents."

"And you complain about my horrible pillow talk," she laughed, nuzzling his neck with her nose. "What about them?"

"I was just wondering if they knew about me. If they knew we were seeing each other."

She rolled her eyes and kissed his chin. "What is it with you and the whole 'seeing each other' thing? Do you really have to use that term?"

"Why do those words offend you so much?" he asked.

"We've already been through this," Sam told him, sighing heavily as she sat up. "It seems so…cold and impersonal. And you and I are far from impersonal. Or at least I thought we were."

"Of course we are, babe. I mean, do you really think I'd be lying on a hardwood floor causing my back all kinds of agony for just anyone?"

She frowned and reached behind her for the discarded dress shirt.

"That was meant to be a joke," Flack told her.

"Well maybe I'm not in the mood for joking," she said and slipped into the shirt.

"You're not going anywhere," he informed her, and laying a hand on the back of her neck, gently pulled her back down. So that she lay on her stomach with her chin resting on his chest, her golden brown eyes focused intently on him. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. It isn't the proper term for us. But what else am I suppose to call it? Would you rather I said, 'do they know you're fucking someone?'"

"How about 'do they know you have a boyfriend?'. Or maybe 'do they know you're dating someone?'. Or how about 'do they know you're in a relationship?'. All of those are great options."

"You're right. I'm sorry," he kissed her forehead. "Sometimes I'm an insensitive ass. I don't think before I speak. But you know that our relationship means more to me then just seeing each other. So I don't know why you get so bent out of shape about me saying those words."

"Maybe I'm just overly sensitive," she reasoned. "Or maybe I'm self conscious and I worry that it's not more serious to you and that in three months you're going to find something better and you're going to…"

He pulled her into a long, hard kiss. "Never going to happen," he told her. "You need to relax a little and trust me more. Trust yourself more."

She nodded in agreement.

* * *

"So your parents," he pressed.

"My parents know that I'm with somebody. That I have someone in my life. Adam opened his big trap and told my mother."

"And what did he tell her?"

"That I have a boyfriend and that he's a cop. A homicide detective. And that he's a really nice guy who treats me good. And that I'm happy. That we're happy."

"Are you?" Flack asked. "Happy?"

She raised her head and stared down at him, her eyes narrowed. "You have to ask me that?" she inquired.

"Sometimes…yeah," he admitted.

"Well I guess that means I'm not the only one with confidence issues," she said, as her fingertips drifted over the thick, jagged scar on his stomach. "I'm very happy. You make me happy. Please don't ever doubt that."

"Hard not to when you were so willing to walk away from me this afternoon."

"Donnie…I was freaked out. And stressed. I'd just been shown sexually explicit photos of us. I was just reacting to the situation. And I reacted badly. But that's the way I am. Things get out of control and my first response is to run away from it all. That's just me."

"You can't go through your whole life running away from things, Sammie. What does it solve? All you achieve is hurting yourself. I mean, you realize that right?"

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"Just say that I'd let you have things your way. That I had let you walk away from me and that I hadn't bothered going after you. If I'd just throw my hands in air and said, 'Fine, if that's what you want, we're done.'? How would you have reacted to that?"

"You wouldn't have done that," she said.

"Okay, so it's a hypothetical question. What would you have done if I had have just let you walk away?"

"I don't know," she replied, voice quiet.

"What do you mean you don't know?" he snapped, pushing her off of him and sitting up, "How can you not know? It should be a simple goddamn answer! You mean that would have been it? It would have been over? Just like that? What we have doesn't mean enough to you to actually swallow your pride and fight to keep it together?"

"You know I'd do anything to save us!" she retorted.

"Would you? Because this afternoon you were so willing to throw it away. And now you're telling me that you don't know what you would have done if I hadn't have reacted the way I did!"

"I guess I would have waited a little while until we both calmed down," she said. "I guess I would have…"

Flack held up a hand to silence her. "You guess? You shouldn't have to fucking guess!"

"I don't know what I would have done. Okay? I just know that I would have done something to get you back. I don't know exactly what. But something. You know I love you, Don. You know you're my everything."

"Most of the time…yeah, I do know."

"Most of the time?" she cried. "What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"Eighty percent of the time I know you love me. I hear it in your voice. I see it in your eyes. It's in the way you touch me. The other twenty percent? That's me trying to boost your self esteem. Always having to reassure you that you're beautiful and you're smart and that I love you and there's no one else in the world I want. No one should have to work that goddamn hard at loving someone! And it feels like I'm putting more into us then you are. I'm laying it all out there. All my feelings and my thoughts and my heart. I give a hundred percent all the time and it seems like you're holding all of that back still."

"I agree," she said calmly. "And that's something I need to work on. Because I've always had to hold something back in order to protect myself."

"And what have I told you a million times? That I'm not going to hurt you!"

"I know…I know…it's just…" she sighed and raked her hand through her hair. "Old habits die hard. Please don't be mad at me."

"I am not…" Flack took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. Releasing his breath, he opened his eyes and looked at her and reached for her hand. "I am not mad at you. And that's another thing, Samantha. Just because we argue and I'm being totally honest with you and it comes out harsh? That does not mean I'm mad at you. Frustrated with you. Irritated even. But not mad. I can be harsh, I admit it. It's just the way I am. I've always been that way."

"And I've always been overly sensitive."

"So then we need to work on things," he concluded. "You notice I said we? I no way am I laying the blame for our issues solely on you. I've got lots to work on too. I need to learn to be a little more gentle with you. To turn off that aggressive, assertive cop side of me when we're dealing with personal things. I've never been able to do that. My cop side, as you call it? It's always been at the forefront of everything. Which is probably why I've had so many shit ass relationships. I can't turn that off. I can't put someone before the job. And with you I want to. Badly. I don't want to be all cop, all the time. I want my job to always come first. Because we both know, there's going to be times that it does take centre stage."

She nodded in agreement.

"But I want to change. Trust me. I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be…" he sighed. "You make me want to be a better man."

She smiled and leaned into him and kissed him softly.

"And you…I don't know. The Samantha Ross that I got to know first is the Sam Ross that's at work. Feisty and aggressive and tenacious. Hard ass sometimes. Sarcastic to a fault. That's the Sam Ross that I was attracted to. And when we got together…I don't know. Outside of work you're just so different."

"And you don't like the me outside of work," she concluded.

"What? No. That's not what I was trying to say at all. I love all the different parts of you. Every single one of them. But I just wish that someone of that on the job Sam Ross would mix in with the out of work Sam Ross. At work you're confidant and you take no shit. And outside of it? You're completely different. And then there's me and I'm exactly the same as I am on the job and that's not good either."

"So we're just two completely messed up people," she said, buttoning up her shirt. "And we mess each other up even more by being together. Maybe we're both just better off apart. Has that thought ever occurred to you, Donnie? That maybe you and just don't work?"

He shook his head. "We do work, Sammie. It just takes us a hell of a long time to make us work."

"And do you think it's worth it?" she asked. "Do you think that I'm worth all the aggravation and irritation and the pure and utter bullshit that I bring into this relationship?"

"Samantha, I would walk through hell for you. I would lie down and die for you. I'd take a fucking bullet for you. Understand me? So don't ever ask me something like that ever again. Why? You don't think I'm worth all the bullshit I bring into your life?"

"I will gladly accept your bullshit and then some," she declared, pulling her pig tails out of the back of her shirt.

"You know," he said, taking one of the pig tails in his hand, a slow grin spreading across his face. "There's something insanely sexy about the whole Pippi Longstocking persona you've got going on right now."

"Pippi Longstocking?" she laughed. "What do you know about Pippi Longstocking?"

"Mel used to love stuff like that. How else did you think I came up with the nicknames of Thumbelina and Rapunzel for you? I remembered them all from things my sister used to read or watch. You know, before she went mental and became a mangy crack whore."

"She's still your sister, Donnie," Sam reminded him, her knees cracking as she stood up and moved to the couch. Sitting down, she picked up her now lukewarm drink and took a sip. "She's got some massive issues and deserves to be locked up, but she is still your sister."

"That's not my sister," he said, shaking his head as he stood up and grabbed his sweats and slipped into them. "She stopped being my sister a long time ago. The old Melanie is gone. This Melanie…" he sighed and gathered up the pillows and blanket and carried them to the couch. "I don't even know this Melanie. And honestly, I don't want to."

"Maybe one day, she'll be the old Melanie again," Sam said, frowning down at the bowl of melted ice cream.

"Maybe," Flack agreed, as he plopped down on the couch beside her. "But I'm not holding my breath."

"Melanie and my mother would get along quite splendidly," Sam declared, grabbing her bag of candy hearts. Plucking one out, she laid it on his stomach, just above the navel and bent over to scoop it up with the tip of her tongue.

"Now if that was a completely random thing to do," he grinned.

"My mind is all sorts of twisted," she giggled, and proceeded to lay more candy out along his body. From his belly button and up in a straight line all the way to the middle of his chest.

He watched, both amused and completely turned on, her warm mouth and moist tongue travelled up his body, 'cleaning up' all of the treats. Shivering at the sensation of the metal of her tongue ring sliding across his skin.

She sucked the last candy into her mouth and gave him a sly smile before kissing him. Long and passionate. Transferring the tiny, sugary heart from her mouth to his. "Mmm…" she said and sat back. "Nice and sweet."

"As bizarre as that was, it totally turned me on," Flack informed her.

She looked down at his crotch and smiled broadly. "So I see Detective. I thought you said you were tired."

"I am," he said. "You know, that whole candy heart thing you did reminds me of this case Danny told me about a long time ago. I don't remember the exact story behind it, but the evidence led him back to this sushi place. A naked sushi place, actually. Hot girls letting people eat off of them."

Sam grimaced. "That must have turned Danny on. But how do men know when to stop eating? How do they know when the sushi is finished and they're suppose to stop and they see her…"

"You're goddamn warped," Flack told her. "You realize that? I can't believe you'd think something like that."

Sam shrugged. "I bet you would just love to have me lie down and eat food off of me. You can combine the two loves of your life into one. Food and sex. Too bad you don't like sushi. Somehow I don't think pizza and chicken wings has the same effect."

He frowned. Twisting sideways, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up and settled her on the lap. "Maybe I'll just drizzle melted cheese all over you and add some pepperoni slices and make a pizza out of you," he teased, tickling her sides, just below her ribs. "Would you like that?"

"No!" she squealed, giggling hysterically as his fingers mercilessly assaulted her.

"I bet it would completely turn you on," he laughed, moving her so that she sat astride his lap, not relenting in the tickling. "You'd probably get all hot and bothered if I was to lick cheese and eat pepperoni off of you. You'd probably love it."

"No I wouldn't!" she insisted, struggling to escape his clutches. "Oh my God! Stop, Donnie! You're going to make me piss myself! Stop it!"

"Beg!" he demanded. "Beg me to stop the same way that an hour ago you begged me to…"

"STOP!" she shrieked, tears spilling down her cheeks. "PLEASE STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME PEE!"

He laughed and finally stopped the tickling and wrapped his arms around her slender body.

She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt before curling her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulders.

"I love you, baby," he said, his lips against her temple. "So much."

"I love you, too," she told him. "I just wish we didn't fight so much."

"It's what we do, Sammie. It's who we are. We fight. And it's all about me being an arrogant sonofabitch and you being a total pain in the ass."

With a grin she sat up and looked at him. "Nice adlibbing, Donnie. I knew you were paying attention to The Notebook at least one of the six times I forced you to watch it."

"It wasn't that I was paying attention. It was that I heard that one part and couldn't help but think how that one quote perfectly describes us."

"Still can't be healthy that we fight as much as we do," she said.

"Actually, I pick fights for a reason," Flack told her. "There's a method to my madness."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I start shit with you just so we can get to the make up sex," he admitted.

"Is that all you think of?" she asked.

"You actually have to ask me that question?" he retorted.

She smiled and covered his lips in a long and steamy kiss.

"I'm starving," Flack announced at the end of the moment. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. You want to order something? Pizza? Chinese? Thai? My treat?"

Sam picked up his right hand and turned it around to look at his watch. "It's after midnight," she said, climbing off of him. "Will they still deliver?"

"You have been out of the city way too long," Flack informed her, grabbing the cordless phone that sat on the coffee table, "This is the city that never sleeps. You can get anything delivered at any time of the day."

"You know you eat a lot of take out when you have the numbers stores in your brain," she laughed, nodding at the phone. "I think we should get cleaned up first though. We both stink now. Sweat and sex. What a lovely combination. I'll have to leave the windows in here open tonight. I'm going to go and run a bath for us."

"Just no bubbles," he pleaded. "Please just no bubbles."

"Go and ruin all my fun," she sighed, picking up her drink and finishing it. "I'll be back," she said, and leaning over him, kissed him chastely.

"I'm just going to grab another drink," Flack told her. "And something quick to eat. So I don't wilt away from starving because you won't let me eat before we clean up."

"I think you'll survive," Sam laughed and headed from the living room.

"Well if you come out here and I'm skin and bones, you'll know how wrong you were about that statement," Flack called to her.

"Something tells me you're going to be just fine," she laughed. "But I'd definitely cry if your love handles suddenly ceased to exist."

"Love handles," he snorted. "I don't have love handles."

She didn't respond.

Flack glanced down at his stomach. "Okay…maybe I do!" he yelled through the apartment. "But they're just little ones!"

"Whatever you say, honey!" she shouted back, before turning on the taps in the bathroom to fill the tub.

"What are you going to do when I'm fifty five and have a middle aged spread?" he asked, stretching out his legs and putting his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes.

"Fifty five!" she laughed hysterically from where she stood in the bathroom doorway brushing her teeth. "Baby, no one lives to be a hundred and ten."

"Not true. I heard about some guy in China celebrating his hundred and thirteenth birthday."

"And he probably lived this squeaky clean life. No drugs, no booze, no smoking. Lots of physical exercise and a great diet."

"Wow…if those are the requirements for living a long life, technically I should have been dead about a decade ago."

"Gives you incentive to start going to the gym more and eating better and not drink so much beer," Sam said, winking at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

"You've got another thing coming if you think I'm giving up my Guinness," Flack told her, closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the back of the couch. "You'll just have to learn to live with the beer gut I'll have in five years. And you'll have to learn how to cook haggis."

"You're not even Scottish!" she cried.

"You don't have to be Scottish to eat haggis, babe. My old man got me and my brother Chris onto it."

"Well you're living on another planet if you honestly think I'm actually going to take a lamb's internal organs, crush them up and boil them inside a sheep's stomach. The sheer thought of that makes me want to puke."

"Don't knock it until you try it. I'll get my dad to make it for you some time."

Sam gagged noisily. "No thanks. I'd rather regurgitate my food and eat it up again with a spoon."

Flack grimaced. "You're on sick woman, do you know that?"

"Yeah…it's the Ross in me. But you love me and wouldn't want me any other way."

He smiled. She was damn right about that.

"Are you cleaning the living room?" Sam called down the hall.

"Ummm…no. Did you want me to?" he responded.

"Well isn't it a mess?"

Flack cracked an eye open and looked around the room. "Yeah…I'd say it looked like a bomb was detonated in here."

"Hmmm…well I guess seeing as I'm in here…"

He smirked and opened his both eyes and removed his hands from behind his head as he sat up. "You have such a subtle way of bossing me around," he said, and standing up, yawned noisily and sretched until his back cracked. Sighing heavily as he surveyed the mess, he grabbed the bag of candy, the bowl of melted ice cream and the large plastic tumbler and carried them into the kitchen.

* * *

He had just rinsed the dishes and set them aside to be washed the next day and had snagged himself another bottle of water when a loud knock came to the apartment door. Frowning, he snapped the cap off the plastic bottle in his hands, took a swig of the water and headed out of the kitchen.

"SAM!" he bellowed through the apartment. "Someone's at the door! You expecting anyone?!"

"It's probably just one of my crazy neighbours wanting to borrow something!" she yelled. "Just answer it and give them whatever they want and tell them to take a hike! Hopefully it's not some would be robber in a hot wired tux!"

"You're never going to let me live Devon down are you!" It was more a statement then a question.

"Ummm…actually, no I'm not. Because it's unforgivable that a guy like you was ever with someone like that. I mean being excited about getting robbed? Wearing a fuchsia bra and underwear with a black dress? I mean, like seriously. Come on."

"I never should have told you those little details." Flack sighed, as he stepped into the small foyer and slid the chain across and snapped open the dead bolt. "Look," he said as he pulled open the door. "I don't know what you want, but…"

He stopped mid sentence at the sight in front of him. A short, slightly overweight woman, possibly in her early fifties, with cropped salt and pepper grey hair and wearing a pair of knee high brown suede boots over her slim fitting jeans, and a black faux fur jacket. Beside her was a tall and powerfully built man of the same age. His snow white hair and matching goatee a stark contrast to his black leather bomber jacket. Both were holding onto the handles of wheelie suitcases, while other bags lay behind them in the hall.

"Can I help you?" Flack asked. Slightly amused by the woman's wide, embarrassed eyes and the frown on the man's face.

The older man looked him up and down, his mouth set in a grim line as he took in not only the fact Flack had on no shirt, but bore deep red scratch marks down his chest, across his left side, and a noticeable bite mark in between his left shoulder and the side of his neck.

Flack wondered what they'd say if they got a look of the road map of fingernail gouges across his back.

"Who are you?" the other man asked.

"Who are you?" Flack countered.

"Maybe we have the wrong apartment," the woman said.

"No, no, this is the right one," her companion argued, and reaching into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a wrinkled piece of lined paper and looked at it. "Apartment 303," he read, then nodded at the brass numbers attached to the front of the door. "It's the right place. This is the address Adam gave us."

"Adam?" Flack asked. "As in Adam Ross?"

"You know him?" the woman asked.

"Yeah…we sort of work together. You haven't answered my question though. Who are you two?"

"How about you tell us who you are," the older man countered.

"I'm…"

"Donnie?" Sam's voice called out to him as she headed into the living room and towards the door. "Who are you talking to? I just told you to give them whatever they wanted and send them on their way. There's a nice warm bath calling our names. Not to mention bed seems like a great idea."

"It isn't one of your neighbours, Sammie," he said over his shoulder, as she stepped into the foyer in his dress shirt. And nothing on underneath.

She sidled up alongside of him and curled an arm around his waist. "Well who…" Sam's eyes widened in both shock and horror at the faces on her doorstep. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Mom?! Dad?!"

"These are your parents?" Flack asked, stepping away from the door. "For real?"

Sam nodded. "What the hell are you two doing here? Two weeks! Adam said two weeks!"

"That's not a very warm welcome," her step father scolded her, as he motioned for his wife to step into the apartment. "I thought you'd be happy to see us."

"Two weeks!" Sam repeated. "Adam said…"

"We thought we'd come down sooner," her mother explained, loosely embracing her daughter and kissing both of her cheeks. "Spend some time with the two of you before things got hectic with your father's work. By the way…" she held her daughter out at arms length. "You've gained a lot of weight since you've been in New York."

"That's nonsense," her step dad declared. "She looks beautiful. You look beautiful, lady bug."

"Thanks, dad," she accepted a kiss from him and a warm hug. "Why did you just drop in on me like this?" she asked. "Did Adam know you were coming to town?"

"It was a surprise," her mother said. "And our hotel isn't ready until tomorrow and we needed a place to stay. So…"

"Well you can't stay here!" Sam protested, staring in disbelief as her parents brought their luggage into her tiny foyer. "I can't…you can't…you just can't be here."

"It's a two bedroom," her mom reminded her. "There's lots of room for one night."

"It's not that," Sam said. "It's just that…this isn't a good time for you two to be here. Alright? I'm kind of not prepared for company. I'm actually rather indisposed at the moment."

"So we've noticed," her mother looked Flack up and down. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" she asked her daughter.

"Maybe if you come back in the morning and we're not busy," Sam replied. "Seriously, you can not stay here."

"Clint Chambers," Sam's step father stepped closure to Flack and held out a large, strong hand. "Adam and Sam's step dad."

"Don Flack," the detective said, shaking the older man's hand.

"The cop, right?"

Flack nodded.

"And the boyfriend," Clint stated.

"That would be me," Flack confirmed.

"This is my wife, Lynne," the older man gestured to the woman beside him. "Ignore her bitchy mood. She's never been a good traveller. I tried to knock her out with some tranqs mid flight, but they didn't work. Unfortunately."

Flack couldn't help but smirk.

"Looks like it's going to be a crowded apartment," Clint observed.

"Actually," Flack said, clearing his throat noisily. "I'm not staying."

Sam stared at him, eyes wide in horror at the thought of being left alone with her parents.

"Well I was," the detective added quickly. "But seeing as you guys are here and haven't seen your daughter in awhile and it's not exactly appropriate if I stay here, with her while you're here, I'm going to head home."

"Smart idea, kid," Clint said with an approving nod. "Never a good first impression when you answer the door to your girlfriend's parents and you're half naked. Not to mention those nasty war wounds you're sportin' there."

"Dad!" Sam exclaimed. "What did you expect? You just showed up out of nowhere!"

"Well we didn't expect to find you like that," her mother answered, eyeing her daughter's ensemble.

"Don and I need to have a moment," Sam said, and snatching Flack's hand, yanked him into the kitchen. "You two just…I don't know. Just go somewhere else and leave us alone for a while."

"Take your time," Clint told her. "Your mom and I will be in the living room."

"Whatever," Sam huffed and disappeared into the kitchen.

* * *

"I don't think your parents are going to be too happy when they go in there and see a box of condoms and an empty wrapper on the floor," Flack commented.

"You didn't clean up?!" Sam nearly wailed.

"I cleaned up the bigger mess. Your bowl and your cup and all that crap. I didn't think of grabbing the other stuff. I figured I'd do it later or tomorrow morning. I wasn't expecting your parents to come knocking on the door."

"I can't believe this…" she breathed and raked a hand through her hair. Which she now wore loose, the tight pig tails leaving waves through her dark tresses. "I can not believe they just showed up like this! Can you believe this?"

"Well from what you've told me about your wackjob of a mother, yeah, I can."

"I am so sorry that you were subjected to that. Seriously. You did not deserve to meet the wicked witch under circumstances like this."

Flack shrugged. "Personally I find it kind of amusing. Me walking around in just my pants and you walking around naked under my shirt. Not to mention the place smelling like sex and a condom wrapper and an entire box of rubbers lying around on the living room floor. It's actually pretty damn humorous."

"This is so not funny," Sam declared. Then looked at him.

Flack smirked.

She burst into giggles. "Okay. So it's hilarious. Seeing the look on my mother's face was nearly worth all the torment and agony she's caused me all my life. You're not seriously going to leave me alone with them, are you?"

Flack nodded.

"How could you do that to me? How could you leave me with them?"

"Sam, your parents don't even know me. Do you realize how awkward this is all is? I mean, I know it's funny as all hell, but meeting your parents like that? Not that way I thought meeting them for the first time would go down."

"Why does it matter how you meet them?" she asked. "Regardless of how it happens, they're still going to be evil."

"Your parents have never met be before and the first time they do is with both of us half naked, evidence of sexual activity in the living room, and injuries left behind on my body from their daughter. Something tells me meeting them over dinner would have gone down a lot more smoothly."

Sam sighed heavily and leaning back against the fridge, placed a hand over her eyes.

"I guess isn't a good time to tell you that I have to work tomorrow. Noon to midnight."

She snorted and shook her head and removed her hand to glare at him. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Whitmore is on my ass. I thought for sure after I stayed late tonight and got all that crap she wanted done, that I'd be walking out of there free and easy for tomorrow. She nailed me before I could get out of the door. Reminded me of time I took off when I had the blue flu and how it would be beneficial to my career if I helped her out a bit."

"You took off what? Not even a full shift? She's lucky it wasn't days."

"Well apparently she feels I have a lot of making up to do. What was I suppose to do? Say no?"

"Uhhh, yeah," Sam responded. "How about telling her that you asked for the day off a month ago and that you had plans?"

"Wouldn't have made a difference. She doesn't give a shit. You could still go to the hotel. You're off at what? Four? You could go there right after work and just relax. Go swimming. Use the spa. I'll even give you money."

"The whole point of going to the hotel was for us to spend time together," she reminded him.

"So we'll do it next weekend. We're both off next weekend."

"You play hockey on Saturday morning and we told Danny and Lindsay would go out to lunch with them afterwards."

"Okay…so after lunch we check into a hotel and not come out until Sunday at check out. We'll just have a belated Valentines Day."

"Fine," she said with a heavy sigh. "Seeing as this is one argument I'll never win nor will I be able to change your mind in a million years…"

"I'm sorry, baby. If I wasn't on Whitmore's shitlist already, I would have just told her to fuck herself. But…"

"I understand. You don't have to go through it again. I understand and you're right. We can just do something next weekend."

Flack frowned.

"What?" she asked irritably.

"No freak out? No yelling at me and tossing things around or slamming doors?"

"Is that what you were expecting?" she asked, her golden brown eyes sparkling as she smiled.

"Honestly? Yeah. I was."

"This is one of those time where the job has to come first, right? I already told you I accept that there's going to be moments like that. Just like one day I'm going to get called out and it's going to ruin something else we had planned. It's just a fact of life. The nature of the beast."

"I'm sorry, Sammie. If I…"

"If you could have gotten out of it unscathed you would have," she finished for him. "Seriously Donnie, it's not that big of a deal. I mean, it is. Giving that it's our first Valentines Day and all. But it's not the end of the world."

He nodded in agreement and reached out and laid both of his hands on her slender hips. "I love you," he said, pulling her into him and covering her lips with his in a smoldering kiss.

"If you loved me you wouldn't leave me alone with my parents," she teased.

"I'm just not comfortable being here," he reasoned. "Sleeping in the same bed with you while your parents are in the next room. That just…I don't know…it's just plain creepy."

"What are you going to do when we're married?" she asked. "And we're forced to stay under the same roof with them? Are we going to sleep in separate rooms?"

"No," he said. "That's a completely different scenario. I mean, your parents will actually know me by them. And I'm sure when that day comes, your mother will have pissed me off about something and I'll be looking for something to do to irriate you. Having sex with her daughter and forcing her to listen to all the noise you make? Perfect way to aggravate her."

"I really am sorry," Sam said. "That you had to meet them like this."

"How were you suppose to know they were just going to show up? So it's a little awkward. I'm sure we'll all get over it."

"Just like I'm sure they're going to cause me sheer hell once you leave," she sighed.

"I seriously would stay if I thought it was appropriate. But…"

"But it's not," Sam concluded and smiled up at him. "I understand. And I love you too."

He kissed her softly. "You know, it really made my entire day to hear you 'when we're married'. That's the first time you've actually talked like that. That you've made any kinds of future plans for us."

"Oh I make a lot," she told him. "I just keep those kinds of secrets to myself."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I should go and get cleaned up and take off. I'll call you when I get home, okay? Make sure you'll still alive?"

She nodded.

"You're going to be okay," Flack told her. "I'm sure your folks will go easy on you. It's late, they're probably tired from their flight. They probably don't have the energy to start shit with you."

"You don't know my mother," Sam said with a frown. "Next thing you know, she's going to be wanting all of us to go out to dinner to get to know each other better."

"What's wrong with that?" Flack asked.

"Because she'll probably want you to bring your parents along too."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Nothing wrong with that?" Sam asked. "I don't want to be subjecting your parents to her!"

"Hey, my family is no picnic either. We should invite Melanie along and watch things get really interesting."

Sam stared at him in complete horror.

"You're going to be alright, baby," he said, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. "Trust me."

She relaxed in his embrace, closed her eyes and curled her arms around him.

Smiling as she finally realized that she was holding on to her forever.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you. Even the lurkers! But please, please review. It's what keeps the stories going. Especially when I'm always wavering on whether to actually continue or not. **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laurzz**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Muchmadness**

**rebandmel**

**Twinkeyrocks**

**Wolfe lady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**daytimedrama**


	40. Speak the truth

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA ROSS**

**IS EVERYONE STILL AROUND AFTER THE SITE DECIDED TO PITCH THE MOTHER OF ALL BITCH FITS? LOL. LOOKING FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU GUYS! AND IT'S PIMPIN' TIME AGAIN! CHECK OUT NOT ONLY TOGETHER WE FALL, BUT MY NEW THING: HI, MY NAME IS. **

* * *

**Speak the truth**

What makes you hurt?  
What makes you smile?  
What calms your nerves?  
What drives you wild?  
I wanna know  
I wanna understand what it takes  
to be your man  
What's your favourite color?  
What's your favourite song?  
And if I sang it for you, would you sing along?  
I need to know  
I gotta understand  
what it takes to be your man  
What you want  
What you need  
baby tell me everything  
there ain't nothing I don't wanna know  
'Cause all I want  
all I need  
is just you here with me  
Baby let me know  
so that I can be  
what it takes to be your man."  
-What it Takes, Adam Gregory

* * *

Samantha paced her bedroom, one hand on her hip, the other to her forehead as she attempted to both compose herself, and work up enough courage to join her parents out in the living room. It had been less then forty-five minutes since they had arrived and it already felt as if they'd been there a lifetime. Ten minutes after they'd stepped through her front door, they had already began making themselves comfortable in the second bedroom while she and Flack politely excused themselves and sought solitude behind her locked bedroom door.

They had showered together. Something so simple that had proved an incredible feat as they fought to not allow basic soaping up and rinsing off to turn into something erotic. Although both had been tempted to try and pretend that her parents weren't in the next room -her mother most likely counting the minutes and seconds her daughter was inside the bedroom- and just get down to business right there in the shower. In the end, the logical sides of their brains had won out as all thoughts of intimacy and passion were shoved to the back burner.

Sam had opted to stay hidden away from her parents while allowing her boyfriend to make an awkward journey through the apartment and to the front door completely alone. He'd cursed her endlessly, in between kisses and proclamations of love of course, and then left her in the bedroom with a promise of calling as soon as she got home. To make sure she had neither killed her mother, or had fled down the fire escape to save her sanity.

Then, as she dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a massive New York Rangers sweatshirt she'd long ago pilfered from her boyfriend's closet -along with several dress shirts, an NYPD hockey jersey with Flack 15 written on the back of it, and three pairs of athletic socks- she'd listened as the owner of said clothes exchanged a few polite words with her step father and then ignored her mother completely when she expressed shock and horror that he had a key to her daughter's apartment as he let himself out.

Now, as she checked the time on the bedside clock radio and came to the conclusion she'd prolonged the agony for as long and as best as she could, she listened as her parents moved around her living room. More like her mother was snooping through her things and eyeing her possessions with complete disgust as her step dad sat on the couch, watching television and minding his own business. She could hear her mother complaining about everything under the sun. From how cold it was in the apartment, to how horrifically awful her daughter's taste in furniture and accessories were.

Sam rolled her eyes and felt both a twinge of hurt and a boat load of resentment for her mother and her disparaging remarks, but literally laughed out loud at the contempt in her mom's voice as the old woman complained about the box of condoms and the empty condom wrapped littering the floor.

"Let them have their fun," came Clint's response. "At least we know two things. One, they won't be gifting us with any grand kids in the near future. And two, he's responsible enough to wrap it up."

Sam giggled at the last comment. Her step father -Sarge, as her and Adam affectionately, and sometimes not so affectionately- referred to him as, may have been an Air Force vet who often ran his home like a barracks, but there were three things he was exceptionally good at. The first was loving his step kids as if they were his own. The second was his dry and sarcastic wit. And the third was his uncanny ability to shut his wife up. While Sam loved and appreciated the first two, the third to her was absolutely golden.

Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves, Sam exhaled loudly and then confidently exited the room and journeyed down the hall and into the living room. Where, just as she had suspected, Sarge was already taking up residence on the couch watching ESPN while her mother busied herself with bitching and moaning as she tidied the place up. Sam's eyes narrowed at the sight of her mother running a finger along furniture to check for the presence of dust, then looked over at her step father.

Sarge simply shrugged and place his forefinger at his temple and made a swirling motion. Clearing indicating his solid belief that his wife was a certified nut job.

"Well lady bug," Sarge said with a sigh. "You seem like you've meet a decent enough young man."

"Decent?" Lynne snorted. "A decent young man doesn't answer the door with no clothes on. And he certainly doesn't have sex in the living room and leave his…business…lying about."

"Well in his defence, we weren't exactly expecting company," Sam fought hard to keep her temper in check. "We thought it was one of my neighbours coming by to borrow something. And if you want to get technical about things, we had sex on the living room floor. At least we used protection."

Her mother frowned. "Neighbour or no neighbour at the door, he should have put some clothes on."

"It wasn't as if he was completely naked," Sam pointed out. "Admit it, mom. It did something for you to see some hot young guy parading around with no shirt on. And if he had have been naked, well trust me, it's a beautiful sight. And you would have probably passed out and we'd still be attempting to pick you up off of the floor."

Sarge smirked and coughed noisily in order to disguise a chuckle.

"But yes, daddy," Sam said to him, ignoring her mother's icy glare as she joined her step father on the couch. "He's a very nice guy. He's funny and sweet and incredibly charming. He sort of remind me of someone I know," she kissed Sarge's cheek and curled her arms around one of his massive biceps as she said the last part.

"Well then he's a keeper if he's even a quarter like me," he declared and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Adam gave away your dirty little secret. Why didn't you tell us you'd met someone here?"

"We didn't really tell anyone, outside of his family, that we were together until a week ago," Samantha responded. "We wanted to keep things quiet. Low key. Just enjoying ourselves, and each other, for a little while. Before all of the drama and gossip started."

"You only met him a week ago?" her mother stared at her in horror. "And you're already…fornicating with him?"

"I met him when I first started her," Sam informed her. "I've been here almost two years now. We were friends until he finally decided to come clean with his feelings for me in November. And they were mutual feelings. We just never acted on them."

"Why not?" Lynne asked

Her daughter shrugged. "We weren't ready to, I guess. I wasn't ready to get into a relationship with someone after the nightmare that was Zack. And Don was in the midst of a couple of relationships so he…"

"So what you're saying is that you were an afterthought. That once he grew tired of the other women in his life, he just settled for you," Lynne concluded.

Sam tried not to react. To keep her face emotionless. She didn't want to give her mother the pleasure of knowing how badly her words had stung. "No," she said calmly. "What I'm saying is that he got tired of meaningless relationships and he came to the person he wanted forever with."

Her mother rolled her eyes at that.

"And you met him at work?" Sarge asked.

"Don's a homicide detective," Sam told him. "A detective Sargent, actually. He just got promoted a month and a half ago. He works in conjuncture with the lab. And he also has uniform officers and detectives that work directly under him. He has a lot of responsibility. He works really, really hard. He's an amazing cop."

Sarge smiled at the pride in both her eyes and voice.

"He's actually the one responsible for saving both Adam and our friend Danny from the warehouse that day," Sam added.

"An Irish drug cartel," her mother sighed. "Your brother never should have been mixed up in that."

"Adam wasn't mixed up with anything," Sam said. "He was just there processing a crime scene. He didn't know what was going to happen. No one did."

"It never would have happened if your…boyfriend if you want to call him that, had have just left people alone to their own business. If he hadn't have went after those people…"

"Mother," Sam snapped. "He's a cop. He goes after bad people for a living. It's what he does. And he's damn good at his job and I resent you laying blame on him for something that was totally beyond his control. Don works hard. For pretty crappy pay. He busts his ass to protect the people of this city. The largely ungrateful people of this city. So don't come here, to my home, and insult him. One more word about him, and you can find you way out the door and to Adam's. Kapish?"

"No one is insulting anyone," Lynne argued. "I was merely making a statement."

"Well don't," Sam huffed, and yanked the elastic out of her ponytail and shook out her long hair. Then gathered her tresses back up again and creating a new pony tail, secured it with the elastic. A nervous trait. Brushing or fixing her hair over and over again.

"What is that?" Lynne asked, snatching her daughter's left hand.

"It's a ring," Sam replied.

"I can see that. What kind of ring?"

"Garnet and diamond. Garnet is Donnie's birthstone and mine is diamond so he bought me a ring with the two together. He gave it to me for Christmas. I love it."

"Why is it on that finger?"

"Because he asked me to wear it there," Sam said. "Why? What's it to you?"

"Is it an engagement ring?"

"No. It's a commitment ring. Like a promise ring. And to go with our commitment, we've decided to move in together."

Her mother's eyes widened.

Sarge chuckled. "That poor kid does not know what kind of hell he's getting himself into shacking up with you."

"How old is he?" Lynne inquired.

"What does that matter?" Sam countered. "He's old enough. I'm not robbing any cradles."

"What I mean is that he looks much older then you."

"He's just going grey really young," Sam said with a shrug. "I find it incredibly sexy. Don's actually younger then I am. He just turned thirty one."

Her mother arched a sceptical eyebrow.

"Why would I make that up?" her daughter laughed. "Honestly, I'm quite proud of myself. For nailing a younger man. If you don't believe me, I can always get him to show you his driver's license the next time you see him."

"That is certainly not necessary," her mother informed her. "And here…I believe these belong to you…" she dropped the box of condoms and the wrapped in Sam's lap.

"Thanks," Sam chirped. "When I go to bed, I'll put them in my secret naughty drawer alongside of my furry handcuffs, edible undies, strawberry flavoured lube and my vibrators."

Sarge coughed noisily.

Her mother ignored the comment. But the look on her face clearly informed Sam how vulgar Lynne Ross-Chambers found her daughter.

"How's your friend?" Sarge asked.

"Could you be more specific dad?"

"The one you brought home with you on Fourth of July holiday. Tiny thing, brown hair, adorable brown eyes. Cute as a button. The country girl."

"Lindsay," Sam told him. "Lindsay Monroe. From Montana. Soon to be Lindsay Messer. And soon to be mommy."

"She's pregnant?" Lynne asked.

"Yes, mom. She's knocked up. Danny was a bad boy. It must be a shock for you. That there's women other then me out there have pre-marital sex. And to answer your question, dad, she's good. Very good. A little bit of all day sickness, but she'll survive."

"I hope you don't follow in her footsteps," Lynne commented.

Sam held up the box of condoms. "Don and I are prepared. We're so protected we're like Fort Knox. No babies. Not anytime soon. We like the sex too much to give it up in for diaper changes and middle of the night feedings."

"As long as your having fun," Sarge reasoned.

"Oh I am. We both are," Sam said with a giggle, then yawned noisily. "It's late and I have to be up at seven for work. Do the two of you need me to stay up?"

"Well we are your guests," her mother said. "You should be.."

"Going to bed and getting your rest," Sarge finished and kissed her cheek. "Have a good sleep, lady bug."

"I will," she said and kissed his cheek before standing up. "I better keep these close at hand," she told her parents, clutching the box of condoms to her chest. "In case Don sneaks in in the middle of the night and can't keep his hands to himself. I promise I'll smother his face with a pillow. He's a little…loud. When he's…well…you know."

And with that, she flashed a sugary sweet smile in response to her mother's pursed lips and flaring nostrils, and turned on her heel and bounced off down the hall.

Satisfied with having gotten the last word.

For once.

* * *

Sullivan's was packed solid. The usual Friday night crowd. Off duty cops hanging out in groups, their respective dates or one night pick ups hanging off of their arms. College kids in baggy jeans and backwards ball caps and Columbia and NYU sweatshirts who were doing their rounds at all the local bars and pubs. Drinking way too much and thinking they were big men because they could down twenty shots of tequila and pound back the equivalent of a two four of beer. They were loud and obnoxious and did little more then make asses out of themselves. Nearly causing fights as they attempted to pick up women that were already spoken for, stumbling around spilling drinks on themselves and innocent bystanders. Getting tossed out into the snow for their belligerent behaviour.

Flack pushed his way through the throng of people hanging around the bar and held up a hand to capture the bartender's attention. After he'd left Sam's apartment, he'd gone back to his own place several blocks away and had attempted, to no avail, to call it in early night. He'd called her and they'd spent a half an hour talking quietly on the phone until it became apparent she couldn't go on avoiding her parents any longer. He'd gone to bed, and then found himself wide awake, his hands behind his head as he stared at the patterns cast on the ceiling from the shards of moonlight that crept in through the slates in the vertical blinds on the window.

He had grown so accustomed to sharing a bed with her that he felt empty and alone. He was used to hearing her breathing and smelling the shampoo she'd used before heading to bed. Her light snoring and her often incessant chattering. Used to feeling her move against him in the middle of the night. Her feet brushing against his legs or her hair tickling his back or chest. He was used to the way she'd sometimes wake up with a start and then snuggle in tight to him, her face buried in the hallow his throat. He'd wrap his arms around her and stroke her hair. They never spoke. He never asked about the bad dreams that seemed to crop up every once in a while, and she never offered information. He would hear her give a small, content sigh, then feel her body completely relax against him. Then her breathing would slow down and soften, letting him know that she had fallen asleep once again.

For a guy that had once valued his personal space so much, who'd always believe spending that much time with a woman was dangerous and he should always have somewhere to escape too when things went bad, the only thing he wanted now was her next to him in his bed.

He had spent forty five minutes lying awake before giving up the attempt at slumber. He'd tossed off the covers and got out of bed and climbed into a pair of jeans and a Henley shirt and then left his apartment. Remembering that Scagnetti and Hawkes were planning on having a few drinks at Sullivan's and hoping that he was in time to catch them.

Now, as he tossed a ten down on the bar and waved off any change, Flack grabbed his Guinness and began to scan the crowd for the familiar faces of his colleagues. Nearly choking on a mouthful of beer when he felt a hand slap him roughly in the middle of his shoulders.

"Crimestopper!" Danny greeted him, a pitcher of beer in his free hand. "What are you doing here? Thought you were going to Brooklyn's to blow off some steam?"

"I should be the one asking you what you're doing here. I thought you were going home to spend some time with Monroe. You know, considering you impregnated her with your mutant offspring."

"Oh…that.." Danny said and gave a nervous laugh.

"Yeah…that. How in the hell does Sammie find out about something like that before me?"

"'Cause Montana managed to get to her before I managed to get to you. In between the IAB insanity and me racing around the lab like a chicken with its head caught off, I never got the chance to get down and tell you. Besides, you were dealing with your own shit all day. And then when you said Whitmore was making you work late, I figured you had enough on your plate already."

"You're having a baby, Danny. You're my best friend. That kid will be like a niece or a nephew to me. Monroe being pregnant is huge news. I can't believe you'd hold off on telling me."

"I know…I know. I'm an insensitive ass. I should have made it an effort to pop downstairs and told you. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the last to find out."

Flack frowned. "Other people know?"

Danny gave a sheepish smile.

"You asshole, Messer. I'm your best friend and I'm the last to find out?"

"Well you're not exactly the last. Sid and Pino don't know yet."

"Just everyone in the lab and in the precinct?" Flack asked.

Danny nodded reluctantly.

"You know, just count yourself lucky that I don't slap you upside the head Gibbs style for pulling that kind of shit. 'Cause I'd had to knock you into a coma and then your kid not have their baby daddy around. I guess congratulations are in order. How you feeling about the prospective about being a father?"

"Scared shitless," Danny admitted, as he led the way through the crowd towards the back of the bar, where their colleagues waited. "Certainly wasn't something that I planned on happening any time soon. But it's my baby. My flesh and blood. May not be planned, but it's not unwanted."

"You and Monroe will make great parents," Flack assured him. "Kid won't be able to ask for a better mom and dad. But let's just hope and pray that it ends up with her looks. 'Cause we definitely don't want another Danny Messer wandering around."

"Easy, Flack, easy," Danny chuckled. "Doesn't matter who it looks like, my kid is going to be drop dead gorgeous. Trust me. You know, you and Brooklyn are next."

"For what?" Flack asked, sipping his beer.

"Having a baby."

Flack narrowed his eyes and glared at his best friend. "Bite your fucking tongue," he ordered.

"Come on, it's the natural progression of things. You guys are moving together, soon you'll be engaged, married, babies on the way."

"I don't know who made you in charge of my personal life, but Sam and I are nowhere near being ready to get married and have kids. That is light years away from where we are now. Trust me."

"Come on. Think about how fast things are already developing between you guys," Danny said. "I mean, it took you more than a year to get your head out of your ass and make a move on her, but now that you have, you guys are going full steam ahead. You guys are going to be shacking up together and believe me, it won't be long until you're heading down the aisle and expecting kids."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, Dan-o. For starters, Sam isn't ready to get married."

"How do you know that? Did she come right out and tell you?"

"Exactly, she did. I asked her to marry me and she said no. Turned me down flat."

Danny stared at his best friend. "You shitting me?" he asked.

"Do I look like I'm shitting you?"

The CSI shook his head. "Ouch," he said. "Talk about a blow to the ego. What was her reasoning? She must have told you why she said no."

"She did. She thinks that we haven't known each other long enough, intimately, to get rushing into a marriage. She says it's too soon and we both know that. And that if we jump into something too quickly, somewhere down the road we're going to find things out about each other that will destroy our marriage even quicker. Which I don't get. We know everything about each other. What makes us tick, what makes us happy, what pisses us off. Our likes and dislikes. Little shit like our favourite foods and our favourite colours and our favourite movies. There's nothing we don't know about each other."

Danny nodded in quiet contemplation. "So when she says she doesn't want to get married does she mean not right now or not ever?" he asked.

"She says that she loves me more then anything else in this world and that she means right now. That one day she wants us to get married and have a family, she just doesn't want that happening anytime soon."

"Well to be honest, as much as I know it's probably a real kick in the nuts to be shot down while proposing, I have to admit I agree with her. It wasn't that long ago that she was engaged to someone. Who was the biggest fucking prick on the planet. Someone that abused her and treated her like complete shit. So she's probably got some issues surrounding getting that deeply involved with another guy. And if you want my humble opinion…"

"By all means," Flack said with a smirk.

"Take things nice and slow. Don't expect to much of her. Don't freak out when she gives too little, and make a huge deal of it when she gives a lot. Treat her like she's a strong, independent and confident woman, but hold on to her just tight enough where she knows she's safe and secure. Don't push and don't boss her around. But don't lie down and let her walk all over and treat you like shit. Let her be wild and crazy, but know when she needs to be reigned in and do it. And don't pressure her. Into anything. You do that and she's going to bail. And I know that's the last thing you want."

Flack nodded in a agreement. Then broke out into a slow grin. "What's happening to you, Messer? You get yourself engaged, you get Monroe pregnant and all of a sudden you're growing up on me? Getting all deep in your old age? What's that all about?"

"Love changes someone, Flack. Linds changed me. For the better. I did some stupid ass things and I cut her deep and she still took me back. Yet she still took me back, gave me another chance. That kind of love changes someone. And it's starting to change you. Being with Brooklyn? You're becoming a different man. And I mean that with the utmost respect."

"She makes me want to be a better man," Flack admitted. "I want to do right by her. I want to love her and take care of her. But sometimes I'm afraid of doing that. Because one moment she's loving being treated like that, and the next she's acting like I'm smothering her. Sometimes I don't know whether I'm coming or going, you know? I mean, I know she loves me. I don't doubt that. It's just…" he sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if she's in love with me. Understand where I'm coming from?"

"No," Danny admitted. "You're talking like this and that's your first drink? You better get tanked so you start making sense."

"Flack!" Scagnetti called in greeting as the two men approached the table where he, Hawkes and Stella's firefighter boyfriend Brendon Walsh sat amongst full and empty pitchers and glasses of beer. "What are you doing here? Your girlfriend actually let you out of the house? She's letting you breathe fresh air?"

"Hey, don't be all hatin'," Flack told him. "You're just jealous 'cause the last time you were laid, Reagan was still in office."

Hawkes and Brendon nearly spit mouthfuls of beer across the table while Danny laughed hysterically and Scagnetti frowned at his partner.

"I'll have you know, Junior, that Clinton was office at that time," Scagnetti jokingly informed Flack as the younger man placed his beer on the table and shrugged out of his jacket.

"Don't act like that's something to be proud of," Flack said, as he tossed his coat on top of the pile next to Brendon and took a seat in between Danny and Scagnetti. "If anyone should be proud, it should be me. Less then two hours ago."

"And you're out hanging with the boys?" Danny asked. "What's up with that?"

"Shouldn't you be warm and snug in your bed snugglin' with your girl?" Scagnetti teased.

"I should be," Flack sighed. "But we had some unexpected visitors show up tonight."

"Her period?" Danny asked.

Flack frowned. "No…I think I met my future in laws."

"You think?" Danny asked, as he poured beer into three glasses. "You either met them or you didn't."

"I did meet them," Flack told him. "They showed up on her door step. Like half an hour after we had sex."

"Now that's a rather unfortunate time for daddy and mommy dearest to show up," Scagnetti said. "While Flack Jr is spooning with their baby girl."

"At least he wasn't doing something else," Danny laughed. "When Linds' parents came down to visit at Christmas, they caught us in a rather compromising position in the kitchen when they came home early and unannounced from a shopping excursion."

"Pants on or off?" Brendon asked curiously.

"Off. And around our ankles," Danny replied.

Scagnetti grimaced. "Can you honestly imagine? Come home for a little yuletide celebration and find yourself staring at Messer's bare ass."

"Better then getting an eyeful of his Yule log," Flack deadpanned.

Everyone at the table, including Danny, laughed.

"So what's this you think you met your future in laws?" Danny asked. "I mean, they were Sam's parents were they not? So you either met them or you didn't."

"What I meant is that I met them and I think that they're my future in laws," Flack responded. "What is so hard to understand about that? I met them and I think I'm going to end up marrying their daughter. Is that a hard concept to grasp?"

"Awwww…" Scagnetti reached out to tousle Flack's hair. "Little Donnie Junior is in love."

"And what's your excuse for being out with the guys tonight?" Flack asked his best friend. "I thought for sure you'd be shacked up with Monroe all night after springing that jewellery box gig on her."

"Still can't believe you pulled that shit," Brendon laughed.

"What?" Danny asked. "It was one of my finer moments."

"You stole the goddamn idea off of a Zales commercial," Flack reminded him.

"Haven't you ever been inspired by something you saw on television or in a movie?" Danny asked.

"Sure," his best friend responded. "I've just never acted on it."

"Good thing about it is that she didn't see the commercial and call me on it," Danny said.

"She was humouring you!" Flack laughed. "Everyone on God's green earth has seen that commercial! Women love those sappy jewellery commercials that come on during Christmas and around Valentines Day. Every time Sam sees one, she gives me this evil look and says, 'I wish someone would do something like that for me', and punches me in the shoulder. And if Sammie saw that commercial, Monroe saw it."

"She's definitely humouring you, dude," Brendon said. "But I'll give you an A plus for pulling it off without her saying anything and making you look and feel like a complete ass."

"Fuck all of you," Danny exclaimed. "Seriously. You're all just jealous that you can't make your ladies happy."

Flack snorted. "Sam wouldn't definitely beg to differ with you on that. She has no complaints. Trust me."

"Stella either," Brendon spoke up.

"You're just cruising by on your pretty face," Scagnetti told him. "And Flack, you're just…hell I don't know what you're doing 'cause if that girl was as smart as she's suppose to be, she definitely wouldn't be with you."

"It's the pretty blue eyes," Danny sing-songed.

"What I find really pathetic out of all of this, is that you two," Scagnetti pointed at Danny and Flack. "Act like you're so big and bad and macho, talking all this shit about knowing how to treat your ladies, yet your both here."

"You know my reason," Danny defended himself. "Linds and I got into a fight and she kicked me to the couch. I got tired of that, checked to make sure she was sleeping and I took off. But I have to make sure I get home by two thirty. Since the first night me and her hooked up, she's been getting up every night at two thirty to go to the bathroom. And if my ass isn't on that couch when she goes to take a leak…"

"It will be a long time before you ever make it off the couch," Hawkes finished.

"Exactly," Danny agreed.

"So what's your lame ass excuse?" Scagnetti asked Flack.

"I just told you. My future in laws decided to show up."

"And that sent you scrambling for the door?" his partner asked. "You didn't think it was a wise idea to stick around and make a first impression?"

"Oh I made a first impression," Flack replied. "I answered the door in just a pair of sweats. With a bite mark on my shoulder and gouges from fingernails across my shoulders and down my back."

"Better then seeing Messer's bare ass," Brendon said.

"So you decide to just up and bail?" Scagnetti asked. "You two are complete and utter morons. At a time when both of your girls, who you two call the loves of your lives, need you the most, you two just take off to hang out in a bar with your buddies? At least Walsh has a legit excuse. Stella's working. But you two…" he shook his head. "Pathetic."

"Hey, you have no idea what these two girls can be like that," Danny argued. "No clue at all. You don't know."

"I don't know what they can be like," Scagnetti agreed. "But I know what you two can be like that. Which makes me surprised to know that those two girls even stick around to put up with either of your bullshit. They both could do so much better and instead they're putting their all into you two jackasses. They give you two fuck heads every ounce of their hearts and souls and what do you two do? Haul ass as soon as the going gets a little tough. Danny bails 'cause he can't accept when he's wrong, and Flack bails when he can't suck it up, pull up his big boy pants and take the shit as it comes."

"You don't know what…" Danny attempted to get a word in edge wise.

"What I know is that you two have something special with two beautiful, amazing women," Scagnetti cut him off. "And that you two shouldn't be sitting here with us. You should be with those women. Holding onto them as tight as you can. 'Cause one day, if you two don't quit screwing around and you two don't grow up, they're going to haul ass and you'll be miserable and alone. And you'll spend the rest of your lives kicking yourselves and wondering what could have been. When you could have just sucked it up, acted like men, and stuck by them no matter what."

Silence fell on the table as Scagnetti's honest and heart felt words hung on the air. Danny nodded slowly, letting the pieces of advice sink in. Flack sat emotionless for several long minutes, before picking up his glass of beer and downing it in nearly one large, long sip.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he told his partner, slapping Scagnetti on the shoulder as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "Talk to the rest of you guys later," he said, as he reached for his jacket and tugged it on.

"Where you going?" Danny asked. "You bailing on us already?"

"I'm going home," Flack replied, zipping up his coat. "As in where my heart is."

"And where would that be?" Scagnetti asked.

Flack smiled and playfully rubbed the older man's hand. "Wherever Little Brooklyn is," he answered, and turned and headed away from the table.

Scagnetti gave a small smile of pride as he watched the younger man pushing and squeezing his way through the throngs of people as he made his way towards the front entrance of the bar. And when Flack finally disappeared into the crowd, the older detective turned back around in his seat and took a long swig of his beer.

_That's my boy, _he thought.

* * *

Flack paused in front of Sam's apartment door, listening of any signs of life from inside. The brightly lid public hallway of building was in utter silence. No noise coming from any of the other dwellings on the floor. The only sound being the occasional humming of the building's furnace coming to life. Inside of apartment 303, it appeared as if all the occupants had long retired for the night, causing him to breath a sigh of relief at the thought of being able to sneak inside, and not have to face Sam's mother or step-father. It was close to two in the morning, and the last thing he wanted, or needed, was a confrontation of some kind. All he really did want, was to get there, climb into bed alongside of that warm and welcoming body, and sleep whatever was left of the night away.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his keys and quietly slipped them into the door and unlocked it. Wincing at the loud click that accompanied the releasing of the deadbolt and the slight grinding of the door handle as he pushed his way inside.

Or at least tried to. He frowned when he met resistance. Then realized that his girlfriend, not expecting him to show up in the middle of the night, had put the chain lock across the door.

For fuck sakes, he thought, as he briefly closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door. There were two options. The first was to take out his cell phone and call either Sam's land line, or her cell phone. The problem with the former, was that there was no way to avoid waking the rest of the house up and alerting them to his presence. The issue with her cell phone, was that Sam was notorious for never turning the damn thing on, or leaving it on vibrate.

And then there was option two. He knew for a fact that the chain lock was a cheap piece of crap. It had been on the door for years, and was rusting and cracked in places. He also knew, that the screws holding it to the wood of the door frame, were extremely loose and he'd been reminding himself for a month to tighten them.

The one time my mind being a sieve actually is a good thing, Flack thought, and opening the door as far as he possibly could, reached inside, grabbed the chain and yanked as hard as he possibly could. He hear the slight cracking of wood as the screws ripped out of the frame, followed by a small clatter as the broken chain tumbled to the foyer floor.

Behind him an apartment door flew open. He gave a startled jump and turned around to find Sam's elderly neighbour, Mrs Jenkins, standing in her door way in a red and blue floral print house coat, her hair covered with a paisley handkerchief and her thick eyeglasses resting on the top of her head. The woman was close to ninety and still in well enough health to live on her own and take care of herself. But she was as blind as a bat without her glasses and was incredibly nosy. Not to mention a self describe insomniac. The smallest noise from across the hall and she was either peering out her peep hole, or opening her door to check on things. She was constantly bringing Sam baked goods from the bakery and delicatessen her great grandson owned in Little Italy. In turn, Sam helped the old woman with house keeping and laundry and often took her to doctor's appointments and to get her hair done. Flack in turn, did small repairs around Mrs Jenkin's apartment, and routinely did her grocery shopping for her.

"Who are you!" Mrs Jenkins hissed. "What the hell are you doing? That's not your apartment! Get the hell out of here!"

"Relax, Mrs J," Flack held his hands up as he stepped slowly towards her. "Take it easy."

"Go! Go now before I call nine one one!" she warned.

"Mrs J," he sighed heavily and cautiously approached. "I am nine one one. Calm down now."

"I will not calm down! Get out of here and don't come near me unless you want me to kick your ass!"

"Mrs Jenkins! Enough!" Flack reached out and gently took a hold of her glasses and slipped them down onto her face. "It's me! Don. Don Flack. Samantha's boyfriend."

"Donnie?" the old woman peered up at him. "What are you doing here at this time of night? And what were you doing?"

"Sam locked me out," he told her. "So I was breaking in."

She frowned.

"Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do, right? Our little secret okay?"

She narrowed her eyes and regarded him suspiciously, then nodded. "I've got a list of things on my fridge for you to do. If you don't mind helping an old lady out."

"You know I don't mind. Do me a favour and either shove it under Sam's door or give it to her when you see her. Chances are you'll run into her before you run into me. I've got to get in there. Protect her from her crazy parents."

"Was that who should up here earlier? Draggin' all them bags behind them? The woman seemed like a ripe bitch. Moaning and complainin' from the time she stepped off of the elevator.

"Oh she's a ripe bitch and then some," Flack said as he crossed the hall to Sam's apartment. "Bat shit insane doesn't even accurately describe her."

"No way a woman like that gave birth to such a sweet and beautiful young girl. No way in hell."

Flack was half tempted to tell the old woman not to judge a book by its cover. Because while Samantha Ross came across as the bubbly, down to earth and sweet as pie girl next door, there were times she was a first class bitch. Bossy, demanding, sarcastic. Mean. And it was a mixture of those two sides that kept him going back for more.

"Good night, Mrs J," Flack said, and opening Sam's door, stepped inside.

The woman paused in her doorway. "When are you two going stop illegally fornicating and get married?!" she called.

"Good night, Mrs J," he smirked, and started to close the door.

"I better not find out she's popping out any babies without a ring on her finger! Don't be so damn cheap and put a diamond on it already!"

Flack chuckled in response and softly shut the door. Waiting until he heard the elderly woman head back into her apartment before snapping the deadbolt closed and kicking the shattered pieces of chain aside. Dropping his keys into his jacket pocket, he toed off his boots and placed them on the rubber mat next to the door. Unzipping and shrugging out of his coat, he opted to carry it into the living room and toss it over the back of the couch as opposed to risking waking everyone up opening the squeaky closet door to hang the item up.

The apartment was bathed in welcome silence and brilliant moonlight. Silvery bands of light tumbled through the windows and cat shadows on the furniture and floors. Flack silently cursed the hardwood that creaked under his feet with every step he took on his journey to Sam's bedroom.

He quickly and quietly let himself into the largest of the two bedrooms and softly shut the door behind him. Sam was on the farthest side of the bed, fast asleep on her right side, her back towards the door as she cuddled his pillow close to her chest. With just the aid of the moonlight, he stripped down to just his boxers and tossed his clothes on top of the Sam's dirty laundry hamper before pulling the comforter back and climbing into bed alongside of her.

Settling himself on his side, he wrapped an arm around her slender body and pulled her tight against him. His hand resting softly on her stomach and his eyes closing as he buried his face in her hair. Relaxing in the warmth of her body and the intoxication scent of the shampoo she had used earlier. Jasmine and gardenia. He often complained about how girlie it was and had gone out to get some shampoo that he could use and leave there so he wouldn't go to work smelling like a florist, but on her, the smell was perfect. It was the scent that he associated with her. That made her Sam. And he knew, if that scent was to ever disappear from his life, he'd never cope without it.

He'd never cope without her. He had quickly and seemingly effortlessly fallen hopelessly and desperately in love with her. He had vowed that he would take things slowly. That after a series of useless and meaningless relationships, he'd guard his heart closely and not give all of himself so freely. But the kiss in the rain on that chilly November night had shattered any will power he'd had. He had given that kiss his all and had felt her give the same in return. At that moment he'd lost himself in her.

And had yet to gain an ounce of himself back.

Scagnetti's words had cut deep. They had made him realize that he owed it to Sam to support her through whatever craziness and bullshit cropped up in her life. She had come so far in such a short period of time. Trusting him like she hadn't trusted a man in a long time. She still had a long way to go, but at least she was a work in progress. And he was determined to stick around for the long haul.

* * *

Sam stirred. Mumbling in her sleep and giving a soft sigh. She rubbed her cheek against her pillow and tightened her grip on the one clutched to her chest.

Flack pushed her hair away from her ear and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "Babe?" he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. "You think I can have my pillow back?"

His voice startled her and she jumped, her eyes snapping open. "You scared the shit out of me!" she scolded him in a harsh whisper, glaring at him over her shoulder.

"Sorry," he said, and leaned over her to give her a soft kiss.

"You taste like beer," she informed him, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"When I went home I couldn't sleep so I headed over to Sullivan's to have a couple with the guys," he explained. "How'd it go with the monster? I mean the mother."

"It went," she yawned. "She was her usual bitchy self but I think I handled myself well. How did you get in here? I put the chain on the door."

"Let's put it this way," he pulled her tight against him and kissed the side of her neck. "I owe you a new chain."

"You broke into my apartment?" her eyes widened at the realization.

He nodded. "I'll stop off at the hardware store down the street tomorrow and get a new one and put it on the door Sunday sometime."

"That's fine," she said. "But you're so damn lucky one of the neighbours didn't catch you and call the cops."

"I am the cops, baby," he reminded her in a low, deep, sexy voice, as his hand drifted up the front of the Rangers sweatshirt she'd worn to bed.

"Don't start," she sighed, yanking his hand out from under her clothes and holding it tightly. "There's no way I'm having sex with you with my parents in the next room."

"Is that what you think I snuck in here for? To have sex?" he asked, feigning offence.

"Are you going to try and convince me you didn't?" she countered.

He grinned. "Okay…so maybe the second thing I broke in here for was sex. But it wasn't the first."

She stared pointedly at him over her shoulder.

"It wasn't," Flack insisted. "I did not just come and break in 'cause I was hoping to get laid, alright?"

"So what did you come and break in for?" she asked.

"Because I was fucking miserable lying in bed alone," he replied. "Because I missed your smell and the sound of your breathing and the feel of your hair when it brushes up against me. Because I miss the way you talk in your sleep and the way you snore…"

"I do not snore," she argued.

He ignored her. "Because I miss being beside you. Because you've come into my life and completely turned it and me upside down. Because I was a dick for taking off on you when your parents showed up. I should have been a man and stuck around. And because I want my forever to be with you, and that's not going to happen if I don't stand beside you. Because I want you to realize that your forever is with me, too. I want to know what it takes to be your man. I want to know what you want and what you need. I just want you. With me."

She blinked. Taken back by the sincerity and tenderness in his voice. "Donnie…I…"

"Just help me out here, Sammie. What does it take? For you to totally give everything of yourself to me? I need to know. I need to understand."

She sighed.

"Tell me everything. There's nothing I don't want to know. Let me know what it takes to be your man."

"You already know everything," she said. "There's nothing you don't know. And I am giving everything I have to you. And you are my forever. There's no question about that. I love you and you love me and there shouldn't have to be this huge discussion about how I feel or how I think. All I want and all I need is you."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips.

She snuggled back into him and closed her eyes as she tightened her grip on his hand. Several minutes of silence passed between them.

"What's my favourite colour?" she suddenly asked, letting

"You're what?" Flack inquired, snapping out of the peaceful stage of pre-slumber.

"My favourite colour. Humour me."

"It's blue," he said. "That's an easy question."

"What about my favourite song?"

"Sammie, what…"

"Humour me," she insisted.

"It's Please Don't Leave Me by Pink. Unless you've already changed it since yesterday."

"What makes me swear?"

"What doesn't make you swear?" he laughed. "I don't know…what really makes you swear? When I leave the toilet seat up in the middle of the night and you fall in."

"What makes me pray?"

"You pray?" he teased.

She frowned.

"When you see or hear anything about nine eleven and you realize what a fucked up world we live in and how precious life is."

"Very good," she said and gave him a small peck. "What makes me hurt?"

"Why are we…"

"Please just answer the question."

He sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head. "When I'm an insensitive ass that opens his mouth and inserts his foot."

"What makes me smile?"

"When I bring you tea and croissants in bed," Flack answered quickly.

She smiled. "You're good at this game," she declared. "What calms my nerves?"

"Ice cream. And lots of it."

"What drives me wild?"

He grinned. "Mint chocolate chip ice cream," he said. "But only if it's being used in an erotic way."

"Best way to eat the stuff," she giggled. "Okay…last one…when did you first notice me?"

"March 15th, 2007 at two thirty-two in the afternoon," he answered quickly. "I was walking into the lab and you were bending over rummaging through a drawer in trace and your shirt had ridden up a bit and you were giving everyone a peek at that sexy tattoo on your back. I thought man, if her face looks as good as her ass…"

"You're such a pig," she huffed and tried to wriggle out of his embrace. "Go on and ruin our moment with some chauvinistic comment."

Flack tightened his arms around her. "First time I noticed you, you were bending over a table in the trace lab and your hair was up in this sloppy type bun and there were some pieces falling down at the sides of your face. You were wearing a pair of beige dress pants and an orange sleeveless blouse. And black shoes."

"You actually remember that?"

He nodded. "And I thought, man. She's amazing."

Sam arched her eyebrows.

"I did. And you know what I thought next?"

She shook her head.

He pressed a kiss to her neck. "I thought, I wonder how long it's going to take me to tap that."

She frowned and shoved him away.

He chuckled and pulled her back to him and into a long, seductive kiss. "Was there a point to your little game?" he asked.

She nodded. "I wanted you to see that you know me better then you think. And I wanted you to realize that every day we'll learn more and more about each other. And that you already have what it takes to be my man. Why else would you be in my bed at this moment?"

He smiled and kissed her once again. Long and soft. He slipped his hand up the back of her sweater and felt her sigh against his lips as his fingertips drifted along her spine.

"Okay…" she said, breathless as she pulled away. "I lied about something."

"What's that?" he asked.

"I will have sex with you my parents in the next room," she told him with a giggle, and curling her arms around his neck, rolled onto her back and pulled him down on top of her. "I'm warning you right now though, any noise out of you and I'm putting my hand over your mouth or smothering you with a pillow."

"Kinky," Flack grinned, as his hands worked to loosen the ties on her sweat pants. "But you're the noisy one, remember?"

"Well maybe you shouldn't be so good at what you do and I wouldn't have the need to make so much noise," she responded, as he pressed a kiss to her stomach before sliding her pants over her ass and hips and down her legs.

"Don't you worry about how I do things," he said, and pressed kisses along the inside of her thigh. "You just lie there and relax and worry about if I don't do them right."

"If that ever happens I'd.."

All words escaped her and she lost all train of thought as his mouth travelled up her thigh and towards more sensitive places.

The amazing words he had spoken to her earlier echoed in her ears.

She wondered how she'd ever managed to survive without him.

And hoped she'd never have to.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and looking forward to hearing from all of you! So please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laurzz**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Delko's Girl88**

**Dizzy-dreamer**

**wolfeylady**


	41. We are family

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK.**

**A/N: IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, MY RATINGS FOR MY STORIES HAVE BEEN UPPED. I WAS APPARENTLY REPORTED FOR WRITING 'EXTREMELY EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT'. I THOUGHT MY STUFF WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY TAME COMPARED TO SOME, BUT WHATEVER. SO I AM POSTING ALL I CAN WHILE I'M STILL AROUND. JUST IN CASE I'M BOOTED OFF OF HERE. SO THANKS FOR ALL OF YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT!**

* * *

**We are family**

"Tonight I cried the tears of a child  
Who knows what fear runs deep and wild  
Inside  
But the river's in flood tonight  
I lay down and the light streamed across my face  
I felt the beauty of some deeper grace  
And I tried  
To find my way to the other side."  
-Healing Hands, Marc Cohn

* * *

"Cow tipping."

Flack's eyes snapped open as his wife's voice, loud and clear, shattered the peaceful serenity of their dark bedroom. On the nightstand next to his head, the red illuminated numbers on the clock radio blazed brightly. It was quarter to two in the morning and he'd been in bed just shy of an hour. They had stayed at the house party longer then they had originally intended. On the drive over they'd decided on sealing the midnight arrival of 2017 with a kiss and then heading straight home. Only to get sidetracked when Stella and her boyfriend, a DEA agent nearly twelve years her junior, showed up shortly before the ball dropped.

Despite Sam going to work for her in less then two weeks, it had been a long time since the two women, or even Flack and Hawkes for that matter, had seen Stella Bonasera. She seemed extremely light hearted and happy. Like a woman reborn thanks to the love of a good man. No one had ever thought she'd recuperate fully from Brendon Walsh's death five years previous. It had come as a mortal shock to everyone when a massive inferno in an abandoned textile factory in Jamaica, Queens had gone disastrously wrong. Eight firefighters were trapped inside and left to die when platoon chiefs ordered their men to exit the building and forbade anyone to go back inside. Stella had gone into a state of indescribable mourning from the moment she'd received news that Brendon had died. They had been six weeks from their wedding. Six months away from becoming parents for the first time. The stress and shock of the love of her life's death had caused a miscarriage and Stella had been off for months while recuperating from the harsh reality of her dual losses.

The entire city had been in the mourning. Eight young men, most with wives and girlfriends and small children at home, all lost. It had been a steady week of wearing NYPD dress blues and attending the individual funerals and then the large public memorial held in Madison Square Garden on the one month anniversary of the fire. Brendon had become a member of the tight knit 'family' that the team and their respective significant others had formed. He'd been welcomed with open arms into the fold the moment Stella showed up at 'team night' at Sullivan's with the handsome, young man on her arm. He was laid back and friendly and fiercely loyal to his friends. A great guy to have around in a pinch. Flack had considered Walsh one of his best friends. Brendon, himself and Danny had often shared guys' nights out and went to sporting events. It had been Brendon that had organized Flack's bachelor party in Atlantic City a week before the Turks and Caicos wedding. And it been Brendon, after hearing the nine one one call go out to the lab, who'd met Flack at the hospital and escorted the near frantic father to be upstairs to the labour and delivery ward.

It had been hard, sitting by and feeling completely useless and helpless as Stella suffered so badly. The only person she seemed to want around was Mac. Not that that was any surprise to anyone that worked with them. Mac and Stella had always had an incredible bond and unbreakable trust between them. While nothing romantic had ever developed -like most members of the team had been rooting for for years- they had in turn maintained a friendship that was enviable. The level of respect and admiration and sibling like affection was incredible to behold. Mac had seen her through the darkest, lowest of days after she'd lost Brendon and their baby. And it had been Mac who had sought her counselling when the grief and depression seemed to control her completely. He had single-handily taken her life and her sanity in his hands and cradled it as if it were a delicate piece of fractured bone china. Keeping it from falling to the floor and shattering completely.

Nearly eight months following the deaths, Stella finally returned to work. It had been awkward at first. No one really knew what to say. Sorry didn't seem adequate enough, and you're looking good seemed incredibly inappropriate. So they'd offered up hugs and kisses to the cheeks and small talk and simply let Stella come to the if she needed to talk. Which she rarely did. Instead, she dived head first into work and attacked every case with a steely, determined resolve despite the fact that her life had been so irreversibly shattered.

While everyone had been sad when she'd left New York to run the New Jersey Crime Lab, they had understood that a fresh start and a new opportunity was perfect for Stella. She had long ago proved that she was more then capable of playing with the big boys. That she was just as good as any man at running the show. And while it had been somewhat surprising that she had met someone that much younger then her, she had sounded so content and carefree during her frequent phone calls to her friends, that no one could begrudge her that kind of love and happiness. Although both Flack and Danny had told her to warn the new guy that they weren't above coming to New Jersey to kick his ass if he even ruffled a hair on her head or brought one tear to her eye.

"Cow tipping…" the sleeping figure beside him repeated.

Flack sighed and rolled onto his back and looked over at his wife. Who was curled up into a near fetal position facing him, her arms wrapped tightly around her pillow. He'd been attempting to catch at least a small nap before having to head to the airport at quarter after two to pick Adam up at La Guardia. Thankfully it was only a half hour drive from the house, and Flack would have his brother in law settled, himself back in bed and fast asleep long before his kids were up for the day.

"It's fun…" Sam said, and then giggled noisily.

Flack shook his head and laid his forearm over his eyes. He was used to the middle of the night ramblings and conversations. But that didn't mean they weren't annoying.

"It's funny," she continued. "So funny…watch them fall over…BOOM…it's funny…"

He rolled his eyes and reached out blindly with his free arm to stroke her hair softly. Hoping the soothing sensation would lull her back into a quiet sleep.

"Cow tipping!" she cried out and then laughed hysterically.

"What about cow tipping, babe?" he asked, humouring her.

"It's funny…you run into the field and just tip 'em on over…"

"I'm sure it's hysterical if not a little sadistic," Flack said. "Now be quiet, okay? I don't know why the hell you're dreaming about tipping over sleeping cows or what made you dream about them, but you need to just be quiet. It's late. People need to sleep. Just be quiet."

"Okay…" she said rolled over onto her stomach.

And promptly shut up.

Flack sighed heavily and gave a small laugh. _She's nut, _he thought. _But she's all mine. _Closing his eyes, he settled his hand on her back, rubbing her back softly through the thin, luxurious fabric of her scarlet red satin two piece pyjamas. After arriving home and checking to see that the twins were fast asleep -they'd decided to crash in Kallison's room with Amanda, the three girls lying side by side in their matching Disney Princess sleeping bags- and that Jasmine and Elijah had made themselves comfortable down in the basement, Flack had taken his wife into the privacy of their own bedroom, locked the door and made good on his promise to make it a very Happy New Years for her.

He had noticed that she wasn't as relaxed and 'into' their love making as usual. It was a common occurrence with her illness, and he'd long ago realized that her less then enthusiastic response to things and lacklustre performance had nothing to do with him doing something wrong. What concerned him was that such behaviour on her part was usually the sign that things were going to start to flare up. Something he was dreading now that there were career and lifestyle changes hanging in the balance.

However, despite her talking in her sleep and the odd moment of tossing and turning, she seemed comfortable and relaxed. Which in turn, made him feel the same. It helped banish all worry from his mind and he felt his eyes growing heavy. Her rhythmic breathing and her warm, soft body lulling him easily and quickly to sleep.

Until the loud, shrill ringing of his cell phone so rudely yanked him out of his peaceful slumber. Flack's eyes snapped open once more and his hand shot out to snatch the offensive object from the top of the nightstand. Beside him Samantha stirred, the noise slicing through her sleep and startling her awake.

"Donnie?" she whispered, her voice tiny and childlike.

"Shhh…" he rubbed her back with his free hand as he checked the call display on his phone. Immediately recognizing Adam's cell phone number.

"What time is it?" she inquired, lifting her face from her pillow.

"Almost two," he replied.

"Someone's calling you into work?" she sounded agitated at the thought.

"No…it's…" he caught himself before letting it slip that it was her brother. He had promised Adam that he wouldn't tell his sister about Paisley announcing their marriage was over and threatening to take the kids. He had agreed to let his brother in law to be the bearer of bad news all on his own. And he wasn't about to betray Adam's trust in him. "It's just one of my guys," he told her , as he tossed the covers off of himself and slipped out of bed. "There's this huge case we've been trying to bust for months and I told them to call me as soon as they got any solid leads."

"The Donnelly case?" she asked. "The ones you guys think are somehow tied to that Wilder gang you busted years ago?"

"Yeah…and they wouldn't be calling me if it wasn't something big…so I'm just going to go downstairs and call them back and you go back to sleep, okay?"

She nodded and flopped over onto her back.

Leaning over the bed, he kissed her softly. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"I just have a really, really bad headache," she replied. "I think that one and a half glasses of wine I had at the party just hit me like a tons of bricks. I've been an abstainer far too long, I guess."

"You need to call that doctor and get that MRI bumped up," he told her, as he snagged a pair of jeans from his dirty laundry hamper and slipped them on. "Will you do that for me?"

"How come you're getting dressed?" she asked, sitting up in bed and watching as he grabbed an NYPD sweatshirt from his dresser and yanked it on.

"Answer my question first," he replied.

"I will call him the first day the office is open after the holidays," she said.

"And I'm getting dressed 'cause I just may have to go in if it's something serious."

"But you're on your paid vacation," Sam grumbled.

"Sometimes I've got to put the job first, you know that. You wouldn't have married a cop if you didn't accept that as part of the deal."

"I didn't marry you because you're a cop," she informed him grumpily. "I married you 'cause of your incredible blue eyes and your even more incredible ass."

"You married me because you wanted black haired, blue eyed babies," Flack reminded her. "Or at least that's what you told me the morning after our wedding."

"Did I say that?" she asked innocently, lying down on her back and settling her head into her pillow. "I can't believe I'd ever say something like that to the love of my life."

"Well you did," he told her, as he walked towards the bed and stood next to her. "And you know why?"

She shook her head and accepted a tender kiss.

"Because you're mean to me," he informed her and kissed her again.

"I think not," she said. "You're just overly sensitive. You'll come back in and say bye if you have to leave?"

"We'll see," he teased as he headed for the door.

"Now whose being mean?" she pouted dramatically.

He gave a light chuckle and winked at her playfully before slipping out of the room.

* * *

Adam Ross shivered by the front entrance of La Guardia's designated passenger drop-off/pick up area. The wind was brisk and bitter and the snow tumbled down relentlessly. Adding to the four inches that had fallen on the city in the past twelve hours alone. It was close to quarter to three in the morning and he was dead tired. Spent both emotionally and physically. It had killed him to lie to his kids. They'd been in hysterical tears when they'd come back to the hotel suite and saw that he was packed and ready to leave. He'd sat down on the bed and placed them on his knees, while Paisley glared at him from across the room, the cold, callous expression in her eyes a clear warning that he better keep his mouth shut. Then fighting back tears of rage and hurt , he'd blatantly lied to his children and told them that he had to go home for work. That Grandpa Mac needed him to help some extra, extra bad guys.

They'd bought his explanation and gave him hugs and kisses and walked him to the door. He'd said nothing to either his wife or his parents and simply walked out, leaving his tearful kids behind.

After the plane had taken off and was well on it's way back to New York City, Adam had made his way to the in-flight bathroom, locked the door and sat down on the toilet and had himself a good cry. His face buried in his hands as he let loose sobs that shook his entire body and left him emotionally drained. Then he'd wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his plaid shirt and got up and went to the small sink and turned on the cold water. He'd rinsed his face and lifted his head and stared at himself in the mirror. A man who had thought just twenty four hours ago that he'd had it all. A loving wife, a great marriage, two beautiful kids. And now he was a tattered and torn version of his former self.

He was disgusted with himself. For not being able to see what was coming. For allowing her to talk to him and threaten him the way he had. And for backing down so easily and effortlessly throwing in the towel. And then he'd vowed, there and then, that he'd get the last laugh in the end. He'd come out on top and he'd leave Paisley scratching and fighting for every last scrap and morsel she could get. She would not get his kids. He would play every card and be as dirty as possible to make sure of that.

Now, with nothing but contempt and fury raging inside of his body, all Adam wanted to do was get to that warm house in Queens, curl up in bed and sleep his agony away. His sister's place, even when it was just a cramped two bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan, had always been a safe haven for him. When things in his life were going incredibly shitty, he always knew that he was welcome there. That Sam and Flack would be pillars of support through whatever he was dealing with. Whether it be Sam with her incessant chatter and twenty million questions and her repetitive offers of tea and something to eat, or Flack with his quiet, steady resolve and the way he'd tousle Adam's hair and say, "You're going to be alright kid", he knew that they were the two people that loved him more then anyone else ever had in his life. That he could be himself around them. They wouldn't judge him or criticize him. And that he could trust them. With his life.

He glanced up as the familiar SUV pulled up the curb in front of the pick up area. He saw his brother in law give him a small wave in greeting and Adam returned the gesture, then motioned for Flack, as he put the SUV in park, to stay where he was. Gathering up his carry on and the sole suitcase he'd brought back from Florida -mostly full of things he'd brought back for his sister and his nieces- Adam hurried through the blustery snow and tossed open the back door and tossed his things onto the seat before climbing into the front beside his brother in law. Flack looked tired and drained. He'd left the house in a pair of tattered, faded jeans with paint stains on the thighs and small holes in the knees, and an NYPD sweatshirt with a frayed collar and several bleach spatters along the front of it. No winter jacket or hat or gloves. No socks on his feet, but an old pair of soggy looking Adidas runners. He was scruffy and unshaven and looked like he needed to sleep for a week.

"Flight okay?" Flack asked, looking over at Adam as the younger man drew his seat belt across his body and locked it securely.

Adam nodded. "Little turbulence coming over the Hudson…but it was alright. Sorry for having to drag you out of bed this late."

Flack shrugged and switched the SUV into drive. "I was having a hell of a shitty nap anyway. Your sister is insane. Have I ever told you that?"

Adam nodded. "I'd say about twice a day for…I don't know…the last eight years? Since the day you first met her."

"There's something seriously wrong with her," Flack declared as he pulled away from the airport. "Like upstairs. Something seriously, seriously wrong. You know how she does that crazy sleep-talk shit? To the point where you can have an actual conversation with her?"

"That used to scare the shit out me as a kid," Adam said. "I could hear her through the walls just talking away. And there were times she'd start thrashing around in bed so hard that the headboard banged into the walls. Or she'd let out these blood curdling screams and a profanities that would wake the whole house."

"Well there was none of that tonight, thank God. But she was laughing to herself and talking about the weirdest shit. Guess what she was talking about."

Adam shrugged.

"Cow tipping," Flack told him. "Fucking cow tipping. I mean, who talks about that awake never mind asleep?"

"Why would she be talking about that?" Adam asked. "I mean, I know we did that once when we were younger. We were visiting relatives of Sarge's in Nebraska. I was about fourteen, so Sammie was close to eighteen. And our cousins, well they thought it would be funny to show us how to tip cows. So we all tiptoed out of the house one night and crept out into our uncle's field and well…proceeded to tip over a sleeping cow."

Flack frowned and cast a glance at his brother in law as he chuckled heartily. "What is wrong with you people?" he asked.

"And Sammie…" Adam laughed as he recounted the night many years ago. "Sammie laughed so hard that she peed her pants. Like literally peed her pants. I can still see her rolling on the ground laughing and this huge, wet stain spreading across the ass of her pyjama bottoms."

Flack grinned broadly. "That is some serious blackmail material right there. Anything else I can use against her when she gets on my ass about something? Other then the tipping over a cow and pissing herself and the time she 'accidentally' took out that poor defenceless squirrel with your step-dad's shotgun?"

"Well, there was this one time when we were really young and still living in Crown Heights. Our uncle, the one that worked at the Widdington? He bought us this hamster…"

"Having a hamster is hardly scandalous," Flack commented.

"It wasn't the hamster per say. It was more what we did to the hamster," Adam admitted sheepishly.

"Did your sister get off on torturing animals or something? Like should I be seriously considering finding a safe haven for Wiener? Is she suddenly going to snap and put him in the microwave?" Flack teased.

"Hey, the cow was us being stupid teenagers." Adam laughed. "The squirrel was, she claims, an unfortunate accident."

"An accident?" Flack chuckled. "The squirrel accidentally ran in front of the bullet from a twelve guage sawed off? Right…"

"Well the hamster…well the official COD was death by misadventure," Adam continued. "See, we thought it would be neat to take one of our mom's hair scarves, make a parachute out of it, and attach it to Cookie. Our hamster."

"And…"

"And Sammie dropped him out of my bedroom window. Let's just say we should have aborted the mission. 'Cause the parachute failed to open and …well it's a comforting thought to know Cookie, God rest his soul, went quickly and painlessly."

Flack smirked. "Remind me to never, ever buy the girls hamsters. 'Cause you never know what kind of evil that might spark inside of your sister."

Adam couldn't help but laugh. A genuine laugh at that. And it felt good, especially after the nightmare of a day he had, to actually be able to find humour in something. And he didn't know if his brother in law did it on purpose or not, but he was grateful and appreciative that instead of asking questions and making his misery worse, Flack had decided to lighten things up instead.

"You know," Flack mused. "Serial killers often start out doing things to animals. Think I should be worried your sister might go all Jack the Ripper one day?"

"I think it's safe to say that at almost forty two, she may be past her homicidal stage," Adam joked. "How is Sammie?" he asked. "Is she okay?"

Flack nodded and reached out to turn up the heat. "Those new meds she's been taking for the fibromyalgia seem to be working wonders. But she's been complaining about them headaches again."

"Any vision problems? What about her speech and her co-ordination?"

"They seem to be okay. I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary. But she's wearing her glasses a lot lately."

"That doesn't sound good," Adamn commented. "When is her next MRI?"

"She's going to call the doctor after the holidays and see if he'll make it sooner. I'm thinking it's just stress. First it was work, now it's losing her job and having to think about finding a place in New Jersey to live. Stress can totally fuck someone up physically."

Adam nodded in agreement. "Just make sure that she takes care of herself, okay? She's my sister and if anything happened to her…"

"Hey, your sister is my wife, remember? There's nothing I wouldn't do for her. I'd walk through the fires of hell for her. Shit, I'd lie down and die for her and our kids. Don't worry. I've got things under control. I've always taken care of him, haven't I?"

Adam couldn't deny that.

"I mean, other then the one huge, monumental fuck up," Flack sighed. "There's three months of my life I'd love to erase. Hell, never mind the three months. Just let me go back and get rid of that the one night that started it all off."

"We all make mistakes," Adam reminded him. "And you admitted yours and you and Sammie worked things out."

"Yeah…after she took my kids and walked out on me and hired a laywer. We were this close," Flack dropped a hand off the wheel and held his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "This close to getting divorced. And I don't know why she changed her mind and took me back and…"

"Because she loves you," Adam interhected. "Because she loves you and has two kids with you. There's no other reason. She never, ever once said during the time that she didn't love you. Just that she couldn't live with you."

"What about Paisley?" Flack asked. "Think maybe she's just going through some emotional crisis or some shit? That she'll realize she didn't mean a damn thing she said? That maybe your taking off and coming back home will make her re-think things? Make her realize she doesn't want things to be over?"

"She wants things to be over," Adam informed his brother in law. "She isn't going through a crisis. This is what she wants. She doesn't want to be married anymore. She doesn't love me."

"You don't know that, Adam. Like I said, she could be going through some shit. And when she realizes what a mistake she made, she'll regret everything she said and…"

"She's not going to regret it!" Adam snapped. "She's not going to regret it 'cause she meant every single word. Because she's a vicious, cold hearted, life sucking bitch. You didn't hear it in her voice. You didn't see it in her eyes! She meant every goddamn word and you need to back off about it!"

Flack blinked. Taken back by the vehemence and finality in Adam's voice. Adam rarely lost his temper. Sam was the one who was known for her extremely short fuse. In fact, Flack could not recall a single time in the past eleven years since Adam had begun working at the crime lab, that he'd ever seen the younger man get upset about anything.

"I'm sorry," Adam sighed heavily. "I didn't mean to freak out on you like that. But she was dead serious, Don. She doesn't love me anymore. It's over. Nothing more to it. And I just want to…I don't want to talk about it anymore tonight."

Flack just nodded, surrendering peacefully.

Adam sighed heavily and leaned his head back against his seat and closed his eyes. "You ever see her?" he asked, after several long minutes of silence.

"Who?" Flack asked.

"Jordan. Do you ever see her? Have you heard from her since the two of you…"

Flack's hands tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes darkened at the sheer mention of Jordan Gates' name. He had originally met her years ago, while he and Mac were investigating the death of Jordan's assistant Katie Mann at the hands of suspect X and trying to track down the allusive assassin herself. Jordan had been into Mac from the get go. She had tried to act all cool and confident when she'd seen him approaching that day, but it was clear to Flack, and probably to Mac too, that she was definitely interested. Nothing had ever happened between her and the crime lab boss, and she had never even been a passing thought in Flack's mind.

Until he'd met up with her a year ago after agreeing to work security detail for a mayoral fundraiser. They'd chatted up at the black tie event and Flack had, foolishly, agreed to meet her for coffee one night after work. Only coffee had quickly became something else and his life had spiralled out of control. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd even done it. Why he'd felt the need to tackle an extra marital affair. His wife was a beautiful vivacious and alluring woman who had give him two amazing little girls. And he loved Sam and his kids to the ends of the earth and beyond. But he'd been stressed because of his wife's illness and Jordan had been there. Offering solace and companionship and he hadn't had the brains to say no. Thinking with his dick, as Danny so eloquently had put it when news of the affair got out.

Jordan had went somewhat Fatal Attraction when Flack had told her that, after three months, he didn't want anything more to do with her. He didn't love her and would never, ever leave his family for her. It had been about sex and nothing more. He'd walked out of her apartment and headed home, prepared to tell his wife about what he'd done and beg for forgiveness.

Only he hadn't had the chance to come clean. When he walked through his front door, he was confronted by an enraged wife with her and their children's bags already packed. Jordan had taken it upon herself to tell Samantha everything. She had thought that it would destroy his marriage and sent him running back to her. Jordan Gates couldn't have been more wrong. Flack hated her with every fibre of his being.

But no more than he hated himself.

"Why would I hear from her or see her?" Flack asked defensively. "I walked out on her. Told her that it was over. That I wasn't going to ever leave my wife and my kids for her. Once I walked out that door, that was it. I turned my back on her and washed my hands of her. Why would I ever see her or talk to her?"

"I just wondered if maybe she ever tries to contact you or anything like that," Adam replied.

"Last I heard, she had taken a job in San Francisco," Flack said. "Mac mentioned it a few months ago. But no. She never tried to contact me once your sister and I got back together. Why?"

Adam shrugged. "Just curious is all."

"Jordan Gates is the biggest mistake of my life," Flack sighed. "I wish every moment of every day that I could go back and change everything. And I can't. I was a dick and I'll pay for that for the rest of my life. Your sister may have taken me back and forgiven me, but I'll never forgive myself for doing something like that to her and my girls. For nearly tossing our entire lives together away for that stupid ass bitch."

"How do you think Sammie's dealing with it now?" Adam asked curiously.

"She still gets pissed and hurt when she thinks about it. She may have forgiven, but she'll never forget. And there's always going to be some small part of her that doesn't trust me completely. And you know what? I deserve that. I did that. I destroyed that part of us. Who knows if we'll ever be fully whole again. All I know is that I love your sister and she's my forever. And no one, or nothing, is ever going to fuck that up again."

"You realize I'd have to kill you if you hurt her again, right?" Adam asked in all seriousness.

"You, your step dad, my old man, Mac, Danny, Scagnetti…there's a huge list of people just itching to get a hold of me if I do anything stupid ever again. Why are you asking me all of this? You think Paisley's been cheating on you?"

Adam sighed. "Honestly? I have no idea. I didn't think I'd ever hear her say the things she did. So if she's capable of what she said to me, then I guess she's capable of worse things, right?"

"You never suspected anything? You never thought maybe there wasn't something quite right?"

Adam shook his head. Then opened his eyes and looked over at his brother in law. "Why? Did you ever think something wasn't quite right?"

"With Paisley or your sister?" Flack asked.

"Both, I guess."

"I've never once thought your sister was cheating on me. She's never given me a reason to think she's up to no good. I trust her explicitly. I may not like the fact that men flirt with her and that she flirts back a little bit, but I know she'd never do anything to hurt me. Maybe that's being a little naïve, but it's how I feel."

"And Paisley?" Adam asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. Flack was notorious for being brutally honest. And Adam knew, if his brother in law did suspect anything, then he was going to get the straight goods.

"Paisley?" Flack sighed. "Honestly…no. I never thought at any time that she was screwing around on you."

Adam felt relief surge through him.

"If you want to know all of this, my best advice is to sit down and hash it out with her when she gets back," Flack suggested. "You can ask her to come over to the house so that either Sam or I are there to referee. Or you can take one of us with you and meet her somewhere. But trust me, have a witness with you. So she can't say you said shit you didn't. Things like this get nasty right quick. And you don't need any more grief. I'll call the lawyer I was telling you about once the holidays are over. He's damn good. If not more then a little bit ruthless. She won't be able to pull any bullshit with him handling things."

"I just want my kids," Adam said. "That's all I want."

"And you'll get them," Flack assured him. "Trust me. When this guy is finished with her…just trust me on this. You'll get your kids."

"You're one of the few people I do trust," Adam told him, and sighed heavily.

Flack gave a small smile. As they pulled up to a red light just blocks from his home, he looked over at his brother in law. Adam was near tears and struggling hard to stay strong. Reaching out, he tousled the younger man's hair and settled his hand at the back of Adam's head. "You're going to be okay, kid," he said. "I promise you, you'll be okay."

Adam managed a tearful smile and looked out his window, attempting to compose himself. Feeling somewhat relieved knowing that if anyone was capable of keeping their promises, it was Don Flack Jr.

* * *

Adam woke to bright winter sunshine streaming through the window of his sister's spare room in Ridgewood, Queens and the sounds of hyper and giddy children tearing the house apart one floor below. The giggling and shrieking was of a volume he had never experienced before with even his own kids. The twins, along with Amanda, raising nothing but sheer hell and destroying everything in their wake. Groaning loudly, he cracked open an eye and raised his right arm to steal a glance at the watch on his wrist. Quarter to nine in the morning. Way too goddamn early for someone who hadn't climbed into bed until after four am.

Flack had taken him to the home he shared with Paisley and the kids to gather up all of his clothes and his personal effects. And took it upon himself to personal write a 'Dear Jane' letter, leaving it on Paisley's pillow where'd she'd be unable to miss it. Afterwards, they'd loaded up Flack's SUV -most of Adam's things remained in the back of the vehicle, opting to leave his stuff there as opposed to risking waking the rest of the house moving everything inside- and headed back to Queens. They'd had a couple of cups of coffee and talked about the lawyer that Flack was setting Adam up with. And what Adam could expect the attorney to go after. Warning him that it would get nasty. It was just an unfortunate side effect of most marriage bust ups and custody battles.

Sighing heavily, Adam rolled over onto his back and stretched noisily. Wanting nothing more then to draw the covers over his head and sleep the day, and his misery away. Instead, he frowned as his hand brushed up against something - a human leg, in fact- as the owner sat perched on the edge of the fold out couch. His eyes snapped open and he gave a small startled jump as he found his sister, in a pink terry cloth robe, matching sleepers and her hair chopped off, sitting next to him.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Sam chirped. "Want to tell me what gives? Why you're in my cramped spare bedroom in Queens, New York when you're suppose to be in a luxury hotel in Orlando, Florida?"

He groaned in response and rubbed at his tired eyes.

"Or would you like to tell me why my husband left the house at two in the morning giving me a bullshit excuse about someone needing him at work?" Sam asked.

"Flack told you I was here?"

"He didn't need to. When I got up with the girls, Kellan saw your boots and your jacket in our front hallway. And I know for a fact that my husband does not own steel toed camouflage boots, nor a plaid hunting jacket that looks like it was pulled from Paul Bunyan's closet."

Adam sighed.

"Why in the hell are you here?" she asked, leaning over and kissing his unshaven cheek. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, Peanut. Just you're suppose to be in Florida with your wife and kids. And mom and dad. Which, if you were to say they drove you mental and you had to come back early to save yourself from killing them, I'd completely understand."

"You cut your hair," Adam observed. "It looks nice."

"Thanks…so? What's the deal?"

"The deal is I had to come back to New York," Adam told her.

"For work?" Sam asked.

He shook his head.

"So? What for then? Did mom and dad really drive you that insane that you had to get away? Or…"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Adam interrupted her. "It's early and I…"

"Early?" Sam laughed. "You don't spend enough time in the Flack house. This is far from early. And you already know how cheerful and talkative I am in the morning."

"Well I'm not," Adam reminded her and yanked the covers over his head.

Sam lifted the corner of the comforter and peered under. "What is going on, Adam? And don't bullshit me either. I've got an internal bullshit detector, remember?"

He sighed and yawned noisily. "I had to come home because Paisley and I are going through some stuff," he told her.

"What kind of stuff? Did you leave her?"

Adam shook his head. "Other way around," he told her.

"She left you?" Sam's eyes flashed with anger. "What did the little skank do? Run off with one of the Seven Dwarfs? I bet it was Doc. She's got this thing for wanting a sugar daddy. Or maybe she went with Dopey so that their personalities would either match or she'd feel like the genius out of that union."

Adam groaned loudly and covered his eyes. "I do not want to be hearing this right now…just let me sleep, okay? Just let me lie here and wallow in my self pity? Can you not give that to me? Can you not let me wallow for a little while?"

"No. You are not going to lie here and wallow. You're in my house. And being in my house, you're either going to tell me what the hell that little bitch did to you, or you can leave that until later and simply roll out of bed and go downstairs and see your nieces. They're ecstatic that uncle Peanut is here. They didn't get to see you at Christmas, Adam. You've made their entire year and it's only the first day of 2017. Can you do that for me? Shove Paisley's bitch ass to the side and come downstairs and hang out at the kids' table for a bit?"

He sighed and nodded.

Sam gave a small smile and rubbed his shoulder affectionately. Her voice suddenly serious. "I don't know what Paisley did to you, but when you're ready to tell me, I'll be here, okay?"

Adam gave another nod.

"And whatever you need, whether it's money or a lawyer or a place to stay, or just a shoulder to cry on, Donnie and I are here for you. We're not going anywhere. We're not going to let you fall. You believe me, right?"

"Of course I believe you," Adam's voice was choked with emotion, his eyes filled with tears as he removed his hands from his face and looked up at her. "You're my sister."

"That's right," she said cheerfully and leaned over to embrace him. "Nothing can ever change that. And Donnie…well I know he can be a little rough around the edges, but he thinks a lot of you, Peanut. And whatever you need, you can go to him. You know that, don't you?"

Adam nodded.

"Good," Sam chirped, and pecking her brother's cheek, climbed off the pull out. "Now your sister says to get out of bed, clean yourself up a little bit and haul ass downstairs," she told him, as she headed for the bedroom door. "We're having Lieutenant Flack's famous banana pancakes. And I'm going to make pancake people. Interested?"

"I could go for a few pancake people," Adam admitted, as he sat up and ran his hands through his unruly hair.

"I'll make a Paisley one," Sam said and opening the door, turned and looked at him. "We can use some strawberry jam to fashion a nine millimetre entrance wound in the middle of her forehead."

"You're evil," Adam informed her.

"Deliciously evil as my husband always calls me," Sam said, and gave a dramatic, sinister laugh before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door.

Adam grinned and listened to her soft footsteps as they headed down the hall.

"HEY!" he heard her bellow as she paused at the top landing of the stairs. "WOULD YOU THREE STOP RUNNING AROUND MY HOUSE LIKE WILD FREAKING BANSHEES?!!! KELLAN! KALLISON! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO? YOU THINK YOU'RE FLACKS OR SOMETHING?…OH WAIT…YOU ARE!"

"Sam!" Adam heard Flack call from the kitchen. "Come here so I can beat you to death with this spatula!"

"You'd miss me too much!" she returned, and then headed down the stairs.

Adam laughed out loud and collapsed onto his back. He felt optimistic and light hearted for the first time since his wife had dropped the bomb the day before. And as he lay listening to his nieces and Amanda Messer giggling and squealing as they played, and his sister and her husband playfully and lovingly teasing one another, he realized that everyone that he loved and loved him the most, save from his children, were all under that one roof in Ridgewood, Queens.

Everything that mattered most was at home.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you. The support means so much to me! So please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**muchmadness**

**Forest Angel**

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**Soccer-bitch**


	42. Altered Lives

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK.**

**THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

**WARM WELCOME TO MRSPHAN!**

* * *

**Altered lives**

"I just wanna be alone tonight  
I just wanna take a little breather  
'Cause lately all we do is fight  
And every time it cuts me deeper  
'Cause something's changed  
You've been acting so strange  
And it's taking it's toll on me  
It's safe to say that I'm ready to let you leave  
Without you, I live it up a little more everyday  
Without you, I'm seein' myself so differently  
I didn't wanna believe it then  
But it all worked out in the end  
When I watched you walk away  
Well I never thought I'd say  
I'm fine  
Without you  
Called you up cause' it's been long enough  
And you said that you were so much better  
We have done a lot of growing up  
We were never meant to be together  
'Cause something changed, you were acting so strange  
And it's taken it's toll on  
me It's safe to say that I'm ready to let you leave."  
-Without You, Hinder

* * *

Adam Ross paused in the doorway of his sister's kitchen, a smile cutting through his gloom at the sight that greeted him. His adorable nieces, the lights of his life aside from his own children, chatting in their high pitched, mouse like voices, their musical giggles filling the entire house. Kallison, with her silky black hair tumbling down her back and clad in a neon pink pyjama set emblazoned with pictures of Hello Kitty and shimmering pink socks on her feet, sat at the Dora the Explorer table with Amanda Messer. Danny and Lindsay's little girl, in pyjamas that matched Kallison's, with her curls wild and unruly and her eyes sparkling as she smiled and laughed, was a miniature version of her mother. Bubbly and down to earth, she made friends easily and was affectionate to a fault. She thought nothing of talking to strangers and begged and pleaded with her parents to let her take home any stray animal that crossed her path.

Kellan, in her bare feet -with the toe nails painted a sparkling silver- and a Strawberry Shortcake night shirt, stood on a chair that had been pulled away from the kitchen table and placed at the island in the middle of the room, watching intently and chatting incessantly as her mother prepared bowls of various fresh and canned fruit. Her beloved Holly Hobby doll tucked securely under her arm and her long hair pulled back into a high pony tail. Showing off the tiny gold hoops that took up residence in the lobes of ears.

"You know what daddy?" Kallison asked, titled her head back to look at her father as he prepared pancakes at the stove.

"What, pumpkin?" Flack inquired. He looked, and sounded as if he could sleep for a week straight. His face was still unshaven and he wore the same clothes he'd picked Adam up in hours before.

"When I get married, I want a rich husband," his daughter informed him.

Sam smirked as she moved to the stove to grab a bright orange plastic plate where a sole pancake waited her attention. She paused and curled an arm around her husband's waist and hugged him to her. "Don't we all," she said in response to Kallison's announcement.

"Your mom wanted a rich guy too," Flack told their daughter. "Only somewhere between nailing herself a CEO of some major company who could buy her a Bentley and put her in designer clothes and pay for her to live in a penthouse on the upper west side, she met a guy that drove a used SUV, had barely two hundred bucks in the bank, and worked for the city."

"Such a tough existence," Sam teased him. "I don't know how I have managed this long."

"Sometimes we have to settle for what we get," Flack said. "I mean I wanted a wife that cooks and cleans and I got…well look what I got…"

"That's mean!" Sam cried and pinched his stomach playfully. "You're mean. I cook. I clean."

"Dusting and vacuuming once a month does not qualify as cleaning," he teased. "And I don't exactly consider being able to warm things up in the microwave or putting frozen stuff in the oven or calling for take out cooking."

"You are so nasty," she declared, then giggled as he reached around and grabbed her by the arm and pulled her tight into his side. "Why are you so nasty to me, Donnie?" she asked, as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "What have I done to deserve this treatment? I'll have you know that I'm amazingly wicked at two things."

"What two things are those?" he asked curiously. "Enlighten me."

"I'll have you know that I make wicked pancake people," Sam informed her husband. "And I give you wicked…"

Reaching for a bowl of sliced strawberries that sat on the counter beside the stove, Flack plucked out one of the berries and quickly deposited into his wife's mouth. "Keep that last part to yourself, okay?"

She giggled and chewed on the piece of fruit in her mouth. "What did you think I was going to say?"

"I know what you were going to say. And you shouldn't even be thinking those things with the kids in the room let alone actually saying them."

"I was just going to say that I give you wicked back rubs," Sam said.

Flack laughed. "Give me a break. That was not what you are going to say and you know it."

"I will never admit or deny that," she said, smiling up at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

He returned her smiled and kissed her softly.

"Ewww…" Kallison wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Mommy and daddy are kissing again."

"They're always kissing." Kellan informed her sister. "It's where babies come from, 'member? So if they kiss a lot we might get a baby brother or sister."

Adam couldn't help but laugh out loud at that. He knew -as did anyone that was remotely close to the twins- that Kellan and Kallison possessed an obsession of sorts with wanting a sibling. And no matter how many time they were told it would never happen and no matter how elaborate or simple the explanation as to why, the girls could just not accept the fact that there'd be no baby brother or sister in their future.

He felt it was a shame that Flack and Sam hadn't been able to have more kids. They loved their beautiful, amazing daughters to the ends of the earth and took damn good care of them. If anyone deserved a huge, happy family, especially after surviving their own less than stellar childhoods, it was the two of them.

It was weird, in a sense, to see the 'second life' of Detective Don Flack. Every time he saw his brother in law in husband and daddy mode, Adam was always taken back at the startling difference between the personal Flack and the work Flack. While he still possessed his quick wit and blistering sarcasm, off the clock Flack was gentle and compassionate and possessed apparent infinite patience. He could style his girls' hair if the need arose. He put together dollhouses and wasn't above taking part in a tea party or sitting down with his daughters and playing make believe with their Barbie and their assortment of My Little Ponies. He was a loving and attentive husband and father and it was amazing at how domesticate the one self proclaimed bachelor for life had become. It was a side to him that very few people saw. And despite his initial reservations years ago in regards to the relationship, Adam was glad, and relieved, that his sister had found someone that loved her wholly and unconditionally and who took suck good care of her.

His laughter caught the attention of the children in the room. And his heart felt a hundred pounds lighter and his day considerably brightened as he saw the way the girls' faces lit up and their eyes sparkled with excitement as they looked over at him.

"Uncle Peanut!" the twins cried in unison. Kallison's chair went toppling over as she jumped to her feet and rushed towards him. Kellan, struggling to climb down off of the big chair, got a helping hand from her mother and soon followed behind her sister, scampering through the kitchen and towards her uncle.

"Why are you here, Uncle Peanut?…Did you have to come home and catch bad guys with daddy?…Are you happy to see us?…Did you miss us?…Did you miss us bunches Uncle Peanut?"

The girls bombarded him with innocent, relentless questions as he showered them with hugs and kisses. He answered their queries the best he could, making an excuse that Papa Mac needed him home earlier then expected. He hated lying to them, but his main goal at the moment was to keep his nieces out of the mess that was his quickly disintegrating life.

"I missed you Uncle Peanut!" Kellan exclaimed, as Adam tossed her high in the air and caught her tiny body effortlessly. "I missed you at Christmas! You always open presents with us on Christmas morning! Since we were babies! You always sleep over with Auntie Paisley and Octavia and Sebastian. I was sad when you didn't sleep over this year."

"You were sad were you?" he asked, running a hand over her silky hair and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he carried her back to her chair.

"Really, really, really sad," Kellan replied, and flashed him a huge, dramatic pout.

"Well will it make you really, really, really happy if I tell you that I'll sleep over every Christmas Eve for forever and ever?" he asked, as he deposited her onto the chair at the island.

She nodded excitedly.

"And would it make you even happier if I told you that I brought you lots of things back from Disney World?"

"You did?!" Kellan squealed, her eyes and nose crinkling as she beamed.

Adam nodded.

"Me too?" Kallison asked curiously. "Did you bring me lots of stuff too, Uncle Peanut?"

"Of course I did," he assured her, then scooped Amanda up into his arms as she stood, waiting patiently beside him to get her own hugs and kisses.

He was extremely close to all of Danny and Lindsay's kids, but had a definite soft spot for Amanda. He'd been the one to personally rush Lindsay to the hospital when her water had broken, a month and a half before her due date, in the middle of the trace lab. By the time that they'd arrived at Trinity General's ER, the baby had already been crowning. There'd been no time to even get Lindsay up to labour and delivery. And after the nurses shoved Adam into a medical gown, all the while mistaken him for the baby's father, he'd been the one at Lindsay Messer's side as she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl right there in the middle of the packed and noisy emergency room.

He'd been a nervous wreck. It had only taken fifteen minutes to get that baby out, but to Adam it had felt like a lifetime. And before he had had a chance to catch his breath or wipe his brow, a doctor was asking if he wanted to cut the cord. He had moved in an almost a dream like state. Hearing nothing and everything all at once. He'd severed the cord and had the baby thrust into his arms before he managed to regain his capability of speech and tell the medical staff he wasn't the father. He'd placed the tightly swaddled bundle into her mother's arms and had used his fingertips to gently brush tears of relief and joy off of Lindsay's cheeks as she swooned over her newborn daughter.

And then Lindsay had turned her big, brown eyes up at him and gave a soft, loving smile. "This is Amanda," she'd told him. "Amanda, meet your Uncle Adam."

That moment was blazed into Adam Ross' memory. And since then, he'd developed a strong bond with that little girl. Not nearly as strong as the one he shared with his nieces or his own children, but powerful nonetheless.

"I brought you all stuff," Adam said, pressing a kiss to Amanda's temple.

"Even me?" Amanda asked.

"You didn't think I was going to forget one of my best girls did you?" he inquired. "I'd never forget about you M&M."

"What did you bring us Uncle Peanut?" Kallison asked. "Can we see?"

"Just what you and your sister need," Flack mumbled, loud enough for only his wife to hear. "More Disney Princess crap."

"You wouldn't be complaining if they were boys and everyone bought them New York Rangers stuff," Sam remarked, as she moved to the fridge and opened it.

"I wouldn't complain if people bought them all that stuff with them being girls either," Flack informed his wife.

"Sorry, honey," Sam said, as she took a pitcher of orange and banana flavoured juice out of the fridge and shut the door. "Your daughters are girly girls. Time to get used to the fact that neither will be asking you to do their rooms up in Rangers red, white and blue or in some kind of sports theme. Not going to happen."

"Hey, they're only five. There's still time," Flack told her.

"Not going to happen," Sam repeated, as she carried the juice to the counter and grabbed plastic cups from the cupboard by the sink.

"Damn you for not being more masculine," he complained as he dropped pancakes onto various plates lined up on the counter alongside the stove.

"What did you want?" she laughed. "A girl that was into ultimate fighting and WWE wrestling? Who'd sit on the couch with you in baggy sweats and a t-shirt and chow down on pizza and wings and beer with you? Who'd make fart jokes and burp the national anthem out alongside of you? Would you rather I scratched my crotch and picked my nose in public and didn't shave my legs and armpits for months on end?"

"Okay…that's just taking things a little too far," Flack informed her. "I said a little more masculine. Not a complete slob. And you already watch ultimate fighting and wrestling with me."

"Only because I love Chuck Lidell and I think that Randy Orton is a major hottie," Sam defended herself.

Flack snorted.

"I base all my television watching on how attractive I find the men on certain programs," she said. "Why do you think Linds and I watch that one crime show every Wednesday night without fail? 'Cause almost every guy on there is eye candy. You think we actually watch it for the poorly written scripts and lame attempts at romance?"

"Don't need to when you get lame attempts at romance at home," he teased her, as he carried three plastic plates with a single pancake on each to the Dora Explorer table and arranged them at the girls' places.

"Like you have a reason to complain," Sam scoffed. "Puh-leeze."

"Lame romance is better than none at all," Flack reasoned. "Ladies…breakfast. Quit bugging your Uncle Adam. I'm sure he needs at least one cup of coffee to function at at least ten percent."

"But we want to see what Uncle Peanut brought us from Disney World, daddy!" Kallison protested, as she and Amanda reluctantly slipped into their chairs while Adam took a seat at the big table.

"And you can see what he brought you after breakfast," Flack told her, walking over to where she stood on the chair at the island and holding his arms out. "Come on, Kellan, you too."

"I hope Uncle Peanut brought me mouse ears!" she cried, as she jumped into her father's strong, waiting arms. "Mouse ears with my name on them!"

"You never now," Flack told her, as he carried her to the Dora table and gently dropped her into her chair. "But you won't ever find out what he brought if you don't sit down and eat your breakfast. Mommy will make pancake people for you guys. Okay? Who wants more juice?"

Three tiny arms shot up into the air.

"The women in this house are so demanding," Flack complained and went to collect the pitcher of juice.

"I hope you did bring them mouse ears." Sam whispered to her brother, as she set a cup of steaming coffee down in front of him. "It's all they've been talking about."

"No worries," Adam assured her. "It was the first thing I bought when I got there. And then the more shops I browsed in, the more I saw that they would like and…well let's just say I am dreading the MasterCard bill when it comes in at the end of the month."

"You spoil them too much," Sam scolded him.

"I can't help it. They're my nieces. And M&M is like a niece to me. I love buying them stuff. You know that. I even bought Flack something."

"Not mouse ears I hope," Sam laughed. "He'd kill you."

"I value my life, thank you. I just saw some really cool golf balls and tees and the towels you carry around in your golf bag. And I know that since you bought him new clubs for Christmas, he could use some of that stuff. And then there's you…"

Her eyes lit up as she smiled. "You bought me something too?" she asked in surprise.

"Are you not my sister?" Adam inquired. "Are you not my Sammie?"

"I am," she said, and tousling his hair, took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Adam smiled and pecked her cheek and sipped his strong, hot coffee as he watched her head back to the island. Wondering when his sister had gone from an insecure, frightened little girl into a confident, mature and beautiful woman.

"Okay…" Sam carried bowls of fruit to the Dora table. "Who wants what? We have banana slices, blueberries, strawberries, cantaloupe and sliced peaches."

"Make mine first, mommy!" Kellan cried. "You made Kallison's first last time! Make mine like you always make it!"

"How come Amanda gets to make her own and we don't?" inquired Kallison, as she watched her cousin begin creating her own masterpiece.

"Because Amanda is capable of not making a huge mess," Sam replied, as she used two banana slices to make eyes, followed by a slice of cantaloupe for the smile. She added a sliced strawberry on either side of the head for ears, and blueberries as earrings. She grabbed the bottle of syrup sitting in the middle of the table, and squirted the sticky substance onto the plate to create hair.

"It's perfect!" Kellan gushed. "Thank you, mommy!"

"You're welcome," she pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head before moving along to Kallison's place to help her out.

Flack poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it to the kitchen table. Pulling out a chair across from his brother in law, he sighed heavily as plopped into the seat and rubbed at his weary eyes. "Can you honestly believe this is my life?" he asked Adam. "How'd I go from trolling the bars until three am on Saturday nights to making pancake people?"

"You met this feisty Brooklyn girl that you just could not resist," Adam reasoned.

"She must have slipped something into my coffee her first day on the job," Flack joked. "Some kind of odourless, tasteless drug that would just hook me and keep me around."

"Yep…that's it," Sam said, overhearing the conversation. "I've been slipping massive hits of GHB into your beverages morning, noon and night for the past eight years."

"It's love, baby," Flack told her, sipping his coffee as he watched her finish with their daughters and head over to the stove. "Nothing but pure, honest to goodness love."

"Which started out as pure, honest to goodness lust," she laughed, winking at him over her shoulder before dropping two pancakes -one each- onto plastic plates sitting by the stove.

"You will never get me to admit that," he told her.

"You don't have to," she teased, as she carried one of the pancakes to the Dora table. "Anyone who knows you knows how you think. And you think with your…"

"Please do not finish that sentence," Adam begged.

She just grinned, and leaning over, hurriedly created a pancake person before whispering something into Kellan's ear.

"Okay, mommy!" she chirped, as Sam pulled her chair out for her and she stood up and accepted the plate from her mother. "Here, Uncle Peanut!" she exclaimed, as she carefully carried the pancake person across the kitchen to the big table. "Mommy made this one for you."

"Thank you," Adam gushed, pressing a kiss to his niece's cheek before taking the plate from her. Grinning as he saw that his sister had made good on her earlier promise to make a Paisley pancake. With a chopped up strawberry serving as a bullet hole as opposed to strawberry jam.

"You are all sorts of twisted," Flack informed his wife as she balanced a fork and knife on her own plate in own hand and a cup of juice in the other and carried them to the big table.

She shrugged and set her breakfast on the table before plopping down onto his lap. Curling an arm around his neck, she pressed a noisy kiss to his cheek. "You'd miss my warped sense of humour if I suddenly wasn't around anymore," she informed him.

"What I would miss most is the laughs I get at your expense," he teased her, running a hand over her hair. "I would not miss you talking about cow tipping in your sleep at two in the morning. I don't know what you ate before bed or what you saw on television that would make you think about tipping over sleeping cows, but you were laughing away and going on and on about it in your sleep."

"I think it's those new meds," she reasoned, as she leaned forward and picked up her fork and knife. "They're making me think about screwy things."

"I doubt it's the meds," Adam told her, as he got up to fetch his own cutlery. "Because you were like that before you started talking them."

Flack laughed.

Sam narrowed her eyes at her brother as he sat back down. "No comments from the peanut gallery!" she ordered.

Adam chuckled and held his hands up in surrender.

"You are right about something though, babe," Flack said, placing a soft kiss to his wife's ear and rubbing her back gently. "I would miss you if you suddenly weren't around anymore."

She smiled brightly and kissed him long and soft. "I had you from hello," she declared.

"Actually you had me from, 'Who the hell do you think you're talking to blue eyes?'," Flack laughed. "If I do remember correctly, those were the very first words you said to me when we met."

"You thought I was some lab tech you could boss around!" Sam cried. "You walked into trace like you thought were King Shit and demanded I come up with answers for you on the spot. You were a total ass to me!"

"In my defence it had been a horrible morning," Flack said. "It was a hundred degrees by the time nine rolled around and I had spent nearly two hours down at the docks. In the blazing sun. Where it smelled as if someone had dumped a whole load of rotten eggs. I wasn't in the most pleasant of moods."

"Well you learned right quick not to mess with me," she laughed. "And yet you still kept coming around for more."

"I like being tortured by beautiful women," he reasoned. "You were my weakness right from day one."

"I think your weakness was the tattoo on my back and the fact I had a tongue ring," Sam said.

"Well…yeah…but you should have really worn a longer shirt so I wouldn't notice that tattoo every time you bent down."

"Yeah? And you shouldn't have been looking at my ass every chance you got. If you hadn't have been checking out my ass, you wouldn't have ever noticed the tattoo."

Flack frowned. "Do you have to win every argument?"

She smiled and sipped her juice and nodded.

"So I was drawn to your butt," he admitted. "But can I help it if you've got some serious junk in the trunk?"

"Excuse me?!" she laughed. "Junk in the trunk? Are you channelling Malcolm from the Y and R from decades ago with that? And are you insinuating that my butt is big?"

"I am saying that you have a great butt," he defended himself. "And yeah…I watched the Y and R once and I still remember him saying that."

"You need to get out more," Sam told him. "Get yourself some friends. A hobby or something."

"My hobby is catering to your every whim and making you happy," Flack said. "You know that."

She grinned and gave him a short and sweet kiss.

Adam smiled as he watched them from across the table. The love that filled their eyes and registered on their faces every time they so as much looked at each other. The way they teased each other playfully and were totally comfortable with each other. Two halves of the same whole. And while Adam knew that he loved Paisley and she had, at one time loved him, it wasn't the same kind of love that his sister had managed to capture in her life.

That kind of love was rare. Something everyone wanted.

But seldom found.

* * *

"How come Uncle Peanut and mommy didn't want to come to the park, daddy?" Kallison asked curiously, as she sat in the middle of her sister and Amanda. The three girls, bundled up warmly in their snowsuits, scarves, hats and mitts, were placed on behind the other in the sled as her father pulled them through the heavy, snow.

"It's too cold out for mommy," Flack replied, thankful that he'd been smart enough to yank a navy blue wool NYPD hat over his head and grab some gloves before loading the girls into the old fashioned Radio Flyer red wagon that could, and had been, converted into a sleigh for the winter months. He had agreed to take the girls to the park while his wife and brother talked in a quiet and peaceful house. "When it's too cold out, her ouchies might act up. And Uncle Peanut was too tired from his trip home."

"Is Uncle Peanut going to live with us?" Kellan asked curiously, then turned her face skywards. Closing her eyes, she giggled as snowflakes fell on her face and tickled her nose and cheeks.

"For a little while." her dad answered.

"How come he's going to live with us?" Kallison asked, as she attempted to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

"Is Uncle Peanut and Auntie Paisley getting a diborce?" her sister inquired curiously.

"No one is getting a divorce," Flack informed her. "Uncle Peanut and Auntie Paisley aren't getting along right now so he needs to come and stay with us for a bit."

"Are they fighting?" Amanda asked.

"What are they fighting about?" Kellan wanted to know. "Does Uncle Adam have a girlfriend like you did daddy? Is that what they're fighting about?"

He sighed heavily, once again wishing he could go back and time and do things all over again. To rid his life of the colassol mistake that was Jordan Gates. "Uncle Adam does not have a girlfriend," he said. "He and Auntie Paisley are just fighting. I don't know about what. They just are."

"Is he going to stay with us forever?" asked Kallison.

"I don't know how long he's going stay with us, Pumpkin Eater. We'll just have to wait and see."

"I hope Uncle Peanut stays with us forever!" Kellan exclaimed. "That would be fun if he stayed with us forever. Don't you think, daddy?"

"It's up to Uncle Peanut how long he wants to stay," her father told her. "Let's just wait until Auntie Paisley and the kids get back to see if her and Uncle Peanut are going to keep fighting. Okay?"

"Is that why Uncle Peanut is sad?" Kellan inquired. "'Cause they're fighting? Is he sad 'cause he can't live with his kids, daddy?"

"I guess so," Flack replied.

"Were you sad, daddy?" Kallison asked. "When you didn't live with us? Were you sad?"

"Of course I was sad. Really sad. I missed you guys. I didn't want to live somewhere different. I wanted to be with you two and mommy."

"Then why did you make Auntie B mad, Uncle Donnie?" Amanda wondered aloud. "Why did you make her cry? If it made you sad to live somewhere else why did you have a girlfriend? Daddies aren't suppose to have girlfriends. They're just suppose to be with mommies."

He smirked. "Sometimes mommies and daddies do stupid things," he said. "Stupid things to hurt each other."

"Why?" Kellan asked.

"Because they do. Because they think that things are better somewhere else. That their lives can be better. And then they do something stupid and realize that they were wrong. That they never should have thought that the grass was greener on the other side. And then sometimes, even though they get into really bad fights and do stupid things, mommies and daddies get back together."

"I'm glad that you and mommy got back together," Kallison declared. "I was sad, daddy. I missed you."

"I missed you guys, too," he said. "And that's why mommy and I try not to fight so much anymore. Because it's not nice to fight and it's not right that you guys see and hear stuff like that. 'Cause you and your sister are the most important things in the world to us."

"So you won't ever have a girlfriend again?" Kellan asked.

"Never," Flack responded. "Ever. I love your mommy and I love you guys. I did something stupid and I promised mommy that I'd never do it again."

"I hope you don't do anything stupid ever again!" Kallison exclaimed. "It's not nice, daddy. It's bad."

"I know," he sighed. "But everyone deserves a second chance when they get in trouble right?"

"Right!" cried Kellan. "We always get a second chance when we do bad things. Even if we do have to stay in our rooms for a bit if we hide our peas under our napkins at dinner time and we feed our veggies to Wiener."

Flack laughed. "You guys have to eat your veggies," he told them.

"YUCK!" Kellan grimaced. "I hate veggies. Veggies are gross."

"Pukey gross," her sister chimed in.

"Why can't we have more ice cream?" Kellan asked. "I love ice cream."

"Doesn't work that way," her dad told her. "You have to eat all your veggies so you grow up big and strong. So you can beat boys up on the playground."

"Kallie already does that!" Amanda giggled. "She's always beating up on my brother!"

"And then she holds his hand and plays kissy face under the slide," Kellan added.

Flack cast a glance over his shoulder, his eyes focusing in on his one twin. "You do what now?"

"Dan-Dan is my boyfriend," Kallison informed him.

"He is?"

She nodded. "We're going to get married and have babies when we're older," she said. "But I told him that I want a rich husband so he has to get a really, really good job."

"You're five," Flack told her.

"I can still plan for my future," she reasoned.

He smirked at that. "You're too much like your mother," he informed Kallison.

"Smart like mommy and cute like daddy," Kellan sing-songed. "That's what you taught us! 'Member, daddy?"

"I'm starting to wish you'd gotten your smarts from me," he grumbled as he trudged through the snow.

* * *

"So…" Sam plopped down beside her brother on the couch in the family room, a steaming cup of lemon tea in her hands and an open bag of Oreo cookies between them. "Spill. What in the hell is going on between you and Paisley?"

Adam sighed heavily and stared at the television that was tuned in to CNN. His eyes riveted on the headlines that scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

"You can't avoid talking about it forever, Peanut," she said, as she settled her mug between her thighs and reached for a cookie. "Do you really think Donnie took the kids out in the snow for shits and giggles? That he really wants to be at the park in this weather? He did it to give us time to talk without fifty million interruptions."

"I figured that. But I thought maybe he was giving us some alone time so I could give you shit about not taking better care of yourself."

Sam frowned as she pried apart her Oreo. "What's that suppose to mean?" she asked.

"It means that you think it means. Why didn't you tell me that you were still having those headaches? That your eyesight was bothering you all the time? When I called you when we got to Florida, you told me that you were feeling fine. And then I find out that you were bullshitting me."

"I was feeling fine," she shrugged. "At that time anyway."

Adam shook his head. "You should have called me and told me you were sick," he said.

"I am not sick." Sam informed him. "I am far from sick. I'm just having wicked headaches and some issues with my eyesight. No big deal."

Adam stared at her. "No big deal? Are you serious? You actually think that's no big deal?"

She didn't respond.

"You have a husband and two little kids!" Adam huffed. "You have nieces and nephews! You have me! To us it's a pretty goddamn big deal! We don't want anything happening to you. What would Flack and the girls do without you?"

"Don's a strong person," she said. "He'd be fine. He'd grieve and then he'd pick himself up and take care of the girls. They'd all be fine."

"What is wrong with you?" Adam nearly shouted at her. "Are you hearing yourself?! They'd be fine? They'd be far from fine if something happened to you! How can it be so black and white to you? He's your husband! The father of your kids? Do you realize how much he loves you and worships you? How much those little girls adore you and rely on their mommy to be around? How can you just sit there and tell me they'll be fine without you?"

"Because they will be…and who says anything is going to happen to me anyway? Why are you being so fatalistic?"

"I'm being fatalistic?" Adam laughed. "There's the pot calling the kettle black. Why didn't you tell me that you weren't feeling well?"

"Because I didn't want to worry you. Okay? I didn't want you to get all worried and stressed out while you were on vacation. Because they're just headaches and I'm going to the doctor about them. It's not a huge issue, Adam. I am getting myself taken care of and once they figure out that all of this bullshit is caused by stress, I'll find a way to take care of myself and I'll be as good as new again."

"And if you're not?" he asked. "If it's not just stress?"

"It is," she replied. "I am not dying. I don't have some fatal, incurable disease. I'm just stressed out because of losing my job and once I get seen by the specialist and we get settled in New Jersey, I'll be fine. Relax."

He snorted and shook his head.

"And you aren't here to talk about me and my problems," Sam informed him. "I am so sick and tired of everyone putting my issues at the forefront of everything. You came back to New York and are living in my house because something happened to you. And you're my brother and I have a right to know what is going on."

"Don't worry about," Adam sighed.

"Don't worry about it…" she huffed and snatched the remote control from his hand and flicked off the television. "I am going to worry about it," she said, tucking the remote under the cushion she sat on. "I am going to worry because you are my brother. You are my brother and this is my house and it was my husband who left the house at an ungodly hour to pick you up at the airport and bring you here. You're sleeping in my guest room and eating my food so you bloody better well tell me what is going on."

"I'll pay you room and board," Adam grumbled.

Sam frowned and hauled off and smacked him upside the head. "Don't be smart with me! I didn't say that 'cause I want you to pay rent! I said it to make you realize that you are my business! What is wrong with you?"

"Oww…" Adam rubbed at the back of his head. "Did you really have to go all Gibbs style on me?"

"What the hell happened between you and Paisley?" Sam snapped. "You said earlier she left you. Why? What is going on?"

"I can't believe you're resorting to violence," Adam muttered.

"Do not test my patience," Sam warned.

"I don't know, okay? She just told me yesterday that she didn't love me anymore and didn't want to be with me. That our marriage was over. What more is there to tell you?"

"She didn't give you an explanation to why she felt that way?"

"Sammie, I just told you that she said she didn't love me anymore. In fact, she said she hadn't love me for a long time. What more of an explanation do you need?"

"You just don't fall out of love with someone, Adam," his sister reasoned. "There has to be a reason why that happens."

"I don't know the reason! It's just what she said!"

"You didn't ask her?"

"No. I didn't. I was too busy picking myself up off of the floor and picking up the pieces of my shattered heart to think about asking her why she was being such a cold hearted bitch. I was stunned, okay? 'Cause just hours before, everything seemed great between us. She didn't seem any different to me at all. So excuse me for being a little shell shocked by hearing something like that!"

"And you never noticed that things were different between you two or…"

"Did you not just fucking hear me?!" Adam yelled at her.

Sam blinked, taken back by his behaviour.

He sighed heavily and put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. "I'm sorry…" he said after several long minutes. "I didn't mean to freak on you like that… I just…I'm a little freaked out over this…"

"I know…" Sam said, and reached out and rubbed his back softly. "It's a bitter pill to swallow when you hear someone say mean things like that. Especially someone you love. I'm sorry, Peanut. I'm sorry this has happened to you. Of all the people in the world, you're the one who definitely does not deserve this."

"It feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and someone kicked me in the gut," he told her. "Like I'm walking around in this nightmare just begging for someone to wake me up and it's never going to happen."

Sam just nodded in understanding.

"How did you do it?" he asked, removing his face from his hands and turning his tear filled eyes towards her.

"Do what?" she inquired, stroking his shoulders.

"How did you forgive Flack for what he did to you? For cheating on you like that?"

She shrugged. "I did it because I love him," she answered. "I did it because he's my entire world and I can't imagine my life without him. Because I was to blame too. It wasn't just Don. There was a lot of stress around here and he reacted to it. He reacted badly, but in a way I was pushing him in the direction that he went. He's the father of my children, Adam. And they didn't deserve to have their lives ripped apart, to have him yanked away from them because we couldn't get our shit together."

"You didn't deserve to have your husband cheat on you. He cheated on you for three months!"

"I may not have deserved it, but he was under a lot of stress both at home and at work. And I was pushing him away and I wasn't being the kind of wife that both of us needed me to be. It wasn't just his fault. And when I finally stopped being angry long enough to realize that, and to realize that he had every intention of coming clean to me and never got the chance, I was able to start forgiving him. I'll never completely forgive him. And I'll never forget. But I love him. There's never been a time I didn't love him."

"So you're saying that I should just suck it up and forgive Paisley for what she said?"

Sam shook her head, and picking up her mug, leaned forward to place it on the coffee table. "Don and mine's situation was completely different. He never said those types of things to me. He's said some mean things, but believe me, I give back ten fold. But we've never, ever told each other we regretted getting married or that we didn't love one another."

Adam sighed heavily and shook his head. "I don't know what to do…what should I do?"

"No one can tell you that," Sam said. "Only your heart can tell you that. Right now, you need some time to get over the shock of what's gone down. You're in no shape to deal with anything to do with Paisley right now. Donnie and I will help you as much as we can. Whatever you need. You know that, right?"

Adam nodded.

Sam smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You'll be alright, Peanut…" she whispered, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drew him tightly into her. "You'll be alright."

He sniffled noisily and curled both arms around her slender body and closed his eyes as he laid his head on her shoulder.

"You'll be alright," she promised, stroking his hair softly.

"I hope so," he whispered, and broke down into unabashed, gut wrenching sobs.

Sam fought back tears of her own as she tightened her hold on her brother and rocked back and forth, comforting him the way a mother would do her frightened or injured child.

And she hoped, with all of her heart, that he would make it through.

That he would be alright.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers. Please R and R folks!**

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**Delko's Girl88**


	43. Who's the daddy?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Who's the daddy?**

"Passion or coincidence once prompted you to say  
"Pride will tear us both apart"  
Well now pride's gone out the window, cross the rooftops run away  
left me in the vacuum of my heart  
What is happening to me?  
Crazy, some'd say  
Where is my friend when I need you most?  
Gone away."  
-Ordinary World, Duran Duran

* * *

A cup of steaming earl grey tea in her right hand and a basket of dirty laundry tucked under left arm and balancing precariously under her hip, Samantha slowly made her way down the carpeted stairs leading to the family room. Holding her breath as she took each step gingerly, scolding herself for being so lazy and not making two trips as opposed to risking either falling on her ass, or having the tea splash over the side of her mug and subsequently scald her hand.

She breathed a sigh of relief as her feet made contact with the family room floor, then paused in her steps, her eyes widening at the disaster that she had once called her tidy, if not slightly cluttered basement. Her husband often called it organized chaos. Overflowing toy boxes, Rubbermaid totes filled to the brim with arts and craft supplies, cables and wires and various controllers belonging to the Nintendo Wii and the Xbox 360 lying in front of the television along with empty video game boxes. And now, to add to the insanity, all of the furniture had been rearranged. The coffee table had been shoved up against the far wall and the longest part of the sectional sofa removed and then arranged so that it faced the smaller one, leaving a two foot wide space between the two. All the cushions were off the couches and placed around them as if acting like retaining walls. Two queen sized sheets -brand new ones that she'd purchased at the Pottery Barn during her shopping excursion with the girls and had been meaning to wash before use - were draped over the furniture. Shielding residents of the makeshift fort from outside, evil forces.

Jesus Christ, she thought, sighing heavily as she sat her mug of tea on top of the entertainment unit before disposing of the laundry basket in the adjoining utility room. Save for the unmistakable snoring of Wiener as he lay somewhere within the fort and the soft hum of the furnace, the basement was void of any noise. She crept to the fort and hunching down, lifted the edge of one of the blankets and peered inside. A smile creeping across her face at the sight that greeted her. Amanda and Kallison, curled up together on the largest part of the sofa, their foreheads and noses touching, each with an arm draped over the other, blond hair mixed with black. Clad in their Cinderella and Belle dresses an matching shoes and plastic, 'jewel' encrusted tiaras that Adam had brought back for them from Disney World.

Her husband lay on his back in between the two pieces of furniture, eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with each steady breath he took. Kellan tucked tightly under his left arm as she lay on her side with her face pressed into his side and a tiny hand resting on her chest. She still wore her Snow White outfit that her uncle had bought for her. The shoes and the tiara discarded in a heap alongside of her but her Minnie Mouse ears with her name embroidered on the front of them in glittering pink thread, remained securely on her head.

"Must be nice," Sam mumbled and dropped the edge of the sheet, her knees cracking noisily as she straightened up and prepared to leave her family to their peaceful slumbers.

Until a hand shot out from under the blanket and took a hold of her ankle. Biting back a shriek of surprise that threatened to erupt, she yanked her foot out of the hand holding her captive and jumped backwards. Stumbling slightly and nearly falling on her ass as the back of her legs collided with one of the tote boxes that had been shoved aside during the building of the fort.

Flack lifted the sheet and smirked at her. "Wet your pants?" he asked.

"You are so damn lucky I didn't haul off and boot you in the face!" she replied in a harsh whisper.

"Is it my fault you're so damn skittish? Who did you think was grabbing you? The Bogeyman?"

"I thought you were asleep! Do you know how many times you've done that to me since we've met? Pretended to be asleep and then grabbing a hold of me and scaring the shit out of me?" she asked, a hand over her pounding heart.

"At least a dozen times," Flack replied. "And you've fallen for it every damn time."

"You know, you're lucky you're so cute and I love you as much as I do. Or you would have been turfed to the couch or the garage a long time ago."

"Yeah? Well I hate to break it to you, babe. But let me fill you in on one of man's deepest, darkest secrets. We actually don't mind sleeping on the couch. It's like camping."

"Really? Well I'll tell you what, Donnie. I'll buy you a pup tent, a Coleman stove and one of them little outdoor potties and you can camp in the backyard all you want."

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her serious expression. "You wouldn't."

"Don't tempt me," she warned.

He waved off her threat and chuckled. "You'd never boot me out of bed. You know why? Because you've already confessed a long time ago that you can't sleep alone…"

"So I'll let Wiener curl up on your side or let the girls sleep with me."

"…and you when you wake up all hot and bothered in the morning, I'm always ready and raring to go. I am an easy target. I never protest and I never say no. I just let you have your way with me. And face it, you couldn't survive twenty four hours without the…"

"Please do not even finish that sentence," she pleaded. "I can use my imagination, thank you. Why do you always have to be so arrogant?"

"Because that's just me," he told her, as he carefully peeled Kellan off of him. "It's one of the many things about me that you fell hopelessly in love with."

She snorted and snagged her mug of tea off of the entertainment unit.

Flack picked his daughter's tiny, fragile body up into his strong arms. Cradling her gently, he pushed himself up onto his knees and 'walked' over to the empty couch and softly laid Kellan down on it. He carefully removed the Minnie Mouse ears from the top of her head and sat them alongside of her face where she'd see them the moment she woke up. Murmuring in her sleep, the five year old rolled over onto her side and nestled her face into the back of the couch. Flack stayed in a kneeling position alongside of her, stroking her hair and rubbing her back and talking to her in a quiet, soothing voice, encouraging her to keep sleeping.

When she settled once again, he crawled out of the fort and slowly and gingerly got to his feet.

"My fucking back," he complained through gritted teeth, a hand on the small of his back. "I am getting way too old to be getting down on my hands and knees like this. I seriously don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. One day you're going to literally have to pick me up off of the floor."

"You're only thirty nine," Sam argued. "That's not old."

"Sammie…I'm not thirty nine yet."

"Seventeen more days," she rolled her eyes. "My mistake. And you say I'm in rough shape."

"Hey…you weren't the one blown up in a building eleven years ago."

"When are you just going to admit that all your years of smoking and eating crappy food and drinking so much are starting to catch up to you?" she asked, sipping her tea. "Don't blame everything on the bombing when you yourself openly admitted to me when we got married that you had stopped feeling residual pain from that all together."

"Can't you just feel sorry for me once?" he asked. "Can't you just be like 'baby, why don't you lie down and let me rub your back for you?'. Can't you just let me sit down and have you cater to my every whim? Is there something wrong with that?"

"Poor baby," she in response, flashing a dramatic pout. "I guess asking you to shovel the front walk and our part of the sidewalk and toss some salt on the ice is out of the question."

"You're such a slave driver. Give me at least half an hour to find a way to put my spine back into my body. Can you do that?"

"I suppose…" she said with a heavy, dramatic sigh. "But just so you know, I decided to be nice to you for a change and give you an entire day off. No laundry, no cooking, no shovelling snow. In fact, I enlisted that Portuguese kid from three doors down to clear all the snow away and put salt down."

"How much you give him? A few bucks?" Flack asked, a grimace on his face as he massaged the small of his back.

Sam laughed. "Don't be so cheap. I coughed up two twenties."

Her husband's eyes went wide. "Forty bucks? Forty bucks to do a job that probably only took him twenty minutes? If that? It's not like he had a driveway to clear! A couple feet of sidewalk and a tiny front walk and a few stairs. Forty bucks for that?"

"He's a really nice kid," Sam reasoned.

"I'm a really nice guy. Had I known you were going to toss around money like that I would have shovelled the damn snow for that kind of cash."

"Please…we all know it's your duty to do shit like that for free," she said.

"Well I'm going to start charging for my time," he teased. "Especially the energy and time I put out in the bedroom. That's a lot of hard work, you know. I could start charging by the hour and making a killing off of you."

She stared at him over the rim of her mug. "Don't flatter yourself," she said.

"Quit being such a bitch to me, Tinks," he told her, and reaching out, laid a hand on the back of her neck and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Face it, you know you could never live without me. That you'd be miserable and alone and pine away for me for the rest of your days."

She smiled broadly.

"And you always know you could never afford the things I can do for you," he added with a chuckle.

She laughed at that and shoved him away from her. "You're at your nasty best today. Did you take your asshole pills this morning or something?"

"I'm just joking with you. Don't be so sensitive," he curled an arm around her waist and pulling her into him, kissed her long and soft. "You're getting to be a softie in your old age."

She arched an eyebrow. "Come again? My old age?"

"Well you are three years older then me. And I'm going to be thirty-nine so that puts you at a ripe old age of forty-two once we hit April twenty-fourth."

"You're cruising for a bruising today, Donald," she said, wriggling out of his embrace and walking over to the easy chair that had been shoved into the corner. Pulling it into the middle of the room, she settled herself down into it and took a long sip of her tea. "Keep it up with the smart ass comments."

"I'm just making an observation. It's a turn on being with an older woman. I've got my own Mrs Robinson."

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

"You should be ashamed of yourself going after a younger guy like me," he teased her, stretching until his back cracked noisily and then heading for the utility room. "Hook up with someone so naïve and defenceless and then corrupting him and warping him into your personal sex slave."

"You wish," she snorted. "Only one doing any corrupting was you."

"Keep telling yourself that," he laughed. "Everyone knows you're a cradle robber."

"No, they don't," Sam said. "And you know why that is, Donnie? Because you may be younger, but you have almost more grey hair then my father so therefore you look twice as old as I do. So when I'm fifty and I still look thirty, you'll be forty-seven but looking like you're eighty."

"You're harsh, babe. I thought you said you liked the grey hair. 'Cause it reminds you of Richard Gere in Pretty Woman."

"I was humouring you," she informed him, as she heard the lid of the washer being flipped open, followed by the soft rustle of clothing as they were tossed inside the machine. The lid was closed and she heard the beeping as the cycle was set, the click that indicated the lid was securely locked, and then the water rushing into the washer. _And I never even had to ask_, she thought with a smile.

"Sure you were," Flack said. "When are you going to admit it, babe? You actually do love me."

"Never," she said and gave an evil laugh "I will never admit it."

There was a loud scraping noise in the next room as he dug around in the freezer.

"Here…" he tossed a caramel and almond Hagen Daz ice cream bar into her lap as he joined her in the family room. "Don't ever say I don't do nice things for you."

"Thank you, baby. And thank you for putting the laundry in the washer."

"I aim to please," he said, and leaning over the chair, his own ice cream bar in his hand, gave her a gentle kiss. "Where's Adam?" he asked, snagging the remote control off of the top of the entertainment unit before settling himself on the floor at his wife's feet and flicking the television on.

"He's upstairs having a nap," Sam replied, peeling open the plastic around her ice cream.

"Moping, you mean."

"That too. He said he needed some time to himself. Sort things out in his head. Paisley's really done a number on him."

"She's an evil bitch," Flack declared, finding ultimate fighting on the Spike channel before turning the volume down to a low roar and tearing into his own ice cream. "I told you from day one that I didn't like her. That there was something about her that just rubbed me the wrong way. I distinctly remember telling you that the whole sweet, Mary Sunshine thing she had going on was nothing but a fake. But did you listen to me? No. Not like that's anything new, but still."

"She was a damn better choice at the damn then your sister."

"True. I don't wish Melanie on anyone. I wouldn't want my worst enemy touching her with a ten foot pole. But why in the hell did you ever convince him to go back to Paisley after Mel screwed him over like she did? Why didn't you just leave him alone instead of hooking him back up with freak girl?"

"Freak girl," Sam laughed. "You're cruel."

"The girl was messed up. Why was I the only one to notice how insane she actually was?"

"Maybe because you're a detective and you're trained to notice things about people? Do you not make your living analyzing situations and putting pieces of puzzles together? You've always been very intuitive, Donnie. More then anyone else I've ever known. If you thought she was so messed up, why didn't you say something?"

"'Cause Adam is a big boy and they seemed happy. It wasn't any of my business. But something should have told you she was bad news if she cheated on him the first time around."

"Lots of people cheat and don't do it again. And before you get defensive, that was not a personal shot at you."

"Once a cheater always a cheater," Flack concluded. "Wait a second…I just made myself sound really bad there."

"Let's just agree that we won't paint all men and all women with the same brush. Some people cheat and don't do it again, some people make infidelity a hobby. You never did it again and I know you never will. And we don't know for sure that that is why Paisley went Wicked Witch of the West on him. All we know is that she said some mean and uncalled for things. And all you need to know is that if, when she gets back to the city and her body shows up as a floater in the East River, I had nothing to do with it."

"You know, there's about ninety-nine different ways to kill someone that will never be traced back to us. And I know some pretty damn good places we could dump her. Where no one would ever, ever find her."

"Hmmm…you're thinking a little too nice. I was thinking more along the lines of cutting her apart with a chainsaw and encasing her bodies in cement and scattering them along the shores of Battery Park."

"Simpler and cleaner it is, less likely we are to get caught," he told her as he leaned back against her legs. "I think we should just do a mob style hit on her and be done with it."

"You know people. Get one of the Venetti's to off her. Hide her in that old meat packing warehouse they owned. The one where Suspect X kept Katie Mann."

"Should we chain her up like that too? Go medieval on her ass?"

"We should," Sam laughed. "You know…it's a good thing we can joke like this and know that we won't ever implicate each other if Paisley does show up in a dumpster somewhere."

"I personally think that someone should kick the shit out of her." Flack said. "We'll get Lindsay to do it. She never liked her anyway. And when DL hear about what Freak Girl did to Adam…"

"DL. I can't believe we have a nickname for our best friends."

"They call us SamFlackie. Calling them DL is only fair. But you know that Lindsay is going to go all momma bear protective when you tell her about Paisley. You know her huge soft spot for Adam. She hears about what happened, and she'll be the one dumping the bitch in the East River. Did you guys have a talk?"

Sam nodded.

"And…"

"And…" she sighed. "He's pretty devastated by what's gone down. He's in no shape to deal with Paisley and her shit at the moment. I just hope that when the holiday's are over, you can get a hold of that lawyer and things can be put in motion. Sooner those kids are away from her, the better."

Kellan mumbled in her sleep and rolled over onto her stomach.

"You wore them out," Sam said, anxious to get off the subject of her evil sister in law.

"I wore myself out," Flack told her and yawned noisily. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"You're getting too wimpy," she teased and leaned over to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You know what the real problem is? We've gotten way too domesticated. We're boring. We're in bed by ten o'clock every night, we have schedules and routines. We work and come home and that's it. Remember when we used to go out to the bars with everyone? When we'd wander in at all hours? Leave our laundry for a week or two? Wake the neighbours up every chance we got with our noise?"

"Your noise," Flack corrected with a grin. "It was all you. It still is."

"What happened to us? We used to be exciting. Now we're just…." she searched for the proper word.

"Parents?" he suggested, leaning his head back against her knees, relaxing under the sensation of her fingers softly combing through his hair. "We're parents. We're mommy and daddy. It's all Kellan and Kallison's fault. Let's blame it on them."

"You love your baby girls," she declared, and wrapping her arms around his neck, pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips.

"I love all my girls," he told her. "And I wouldn't give any of you up for my old life. Not for all the money in the world."

She smiled and nuzzled his ear with her nose. "It's hard to believe how far we've actually come," she commented, as she leaned back in the chair, curled her legs around his torso and went back to her ice cream.

He nodded in agreement. "Sometimes I think about the way things were when we first started hooking up. All the drama with Zack, all your trust and your intimacy issues. The whole insanity that was Terrence Davis."

"I still can't believe you thought I was fooling around with him behind your back," Sam snorted. "Like did you really honestly think I'd cheat on you? And not with just anyone but someone who was a convicted felon and your CI?"

"I didn't know what to think. We'd gotten into that huge fight over that case…"

"It wasn't a fight. It was a difference of opinion," she corrected. "And neither of us were willing to listen to the other's take on things."

"It was a fight," he insisted. "You called me a prick and stormed out of our apartment. I consider that a fight."

"Fight or no fight, nothing could have ever made me cheat on you," she said. "Especially with Terrence Davis."

"What was I suppose to think? If you just sit back and think about it, babe, there was a lot of factors pointing in that direction. He had sent you those flowers…"

"That was a purely friendly gesture," she pointed out.

"…and you walked out on me after a massive blow out and then I get a call two hours later that you're down in Central Booking 'cause DEA decided that they were going to raid Terrence's club and you just so happened to be there paying him a visit. Would that not have looked just a little bit suspicious if the roles had have been reversed?"

"I guess…but I was only there to thank him in person for taking care of Zack, and for giving you my jewellery back. It was perfectly innocent."

"And I believed you when you told me that, right?" his hand slid up the back of the leg of her jeans and massaged her calf softly. "Did Terrence not back that story up? Did I not tell you to your face that I believed you?"

She nodded.

"The whole point I was trying to make is that I sometimes think about when we first started dating and living together and all of that, and it amazes me that we even survived. That we never killed each other. That we even got as far as marriage and kids. That's all I was trying to say, babe."

"Are you glad?" she asked curiously.

"About what?" Flack inquired.

"That we got that far. Marriage. Two kids. Planning on having another one with a little outside help."

He tipped his head back and looked up at her. "You really have to ask me that?"

"It's an innocent, legit question," she said.

He smiled and turned his attention back to the television. "You shouldn't have to ask me that. I think the answer should be pretty obvious, don't you? I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Don't you have regrets? When it comes to us?"

"Not a one," he responded confidently. "All the bat shit insanity in the early days was worth it. Why? Do you have regrets?"

"I regret that I never fell for all of your corny, lame ass pick up lines a lot sooner and that it took us so damn long to get our shit together," she told him.

Flack grinned. "Yeah…I kinda regret you didn't fall for my corny, lame ass pick up lines a lot sooner, too."

"Well maybe if you'd had have gone to Danny and asked for lessons in how to improve your game…"

"Don't you start on my pitiful excuse for game, a'right? You gave in in the end, didn't you? You fell madly in love with me and even went as far as becoming my wife and having my kids. My game couldn't have been that bad."

"Oh it was," she laughed. "It still is."

He frowned and slid his hand further up her leg and ran a fingertip along the back of her knee.

She squealed, her back arching off the chair as he tickled the ultra-sensitive spot. "Damn you!" she scolded.

"I know all the places, babe. Big and small. You can't escape me."

"Well maybe I don't want to escape you," she said. "Maybe I love my life just the way it is. Maybe I love being the mother to your children and being able to call myself your wife. Maybe I'm just perfectly content being with you."

"You ask me, we both lucked out. We managed to find each other, really find each other, after how many broken, unhealthy relationships between the two of us? We managed to make something work even though both our views on love and commitment were completely tarnished. Personally, I think we found each other at the perfect time in our lives. When we both needed someone that most."

She smiled and stroked his chest with the heel of her foot. "God I love it when you go all deep and romantic and slightly spiritual on me. It's like who are you and what have you done with my husband?"

"I just sometimes put the evil Donnie to the back burner," he mused. "Throw you for a loop. Keep you on your toes."

Across the room, one of the kids sneezed loudly under the blanket and murmured in their sleep. Both Sam and Flack glanced over at the makeshift fort, waiting for there to be movement from underneath the sheets and for a tiny body to emerge.

"I hope that wasn't Kellan," Sam sighed. "I don't know how much more colds I can take with that kid. Kallison gets a cold and it's gone in five days. Kellan gets the slightest sniffle and the next thing you know we're in the ER 'cause she can barely breathe or she's running a fever of a hundred and three. And the ear infections…how many ear infections can one kid have?"

"Just you watch. When she grows up, she's going to be the biggest and the strongest and the healthiest. She had a rough start to live and she's struggling a bit still, but she'll be alright. I have faith in my pip squeak. She'll be okay."

Sam leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "You know," she said. "I couldn't have picked a better guy to become a mommy with."

He smiled and turned his face into hers and kissed her softly. "Yeah…I couldn't have picked a better girl to let become a mommy to my kids."

"To let become?" she laughed at that. "Donnie, sometimes you can be so sappy and other times you can be so…I don't know….so you."

"Maybe," he said. "But you love me and wouldn't change me for the world."

She smiled. Knowing he had never spoken truer words.

* * *

It had taken Mac Taylor, despite flashing lights and a blaring siren, over an hour to make the drive from his original crime scene in Brooklyn to a second, higher priority call on the Upper East side. He had left the straight up bodega shooting gone bad to the two stand in detectives on loan from the New Jersey Crime Lab and had made the drive to where Hawkes was processing the newest scene all on his own. Cursing Danny and Lindsay for taking a vacation at what was turning out to be a nightmare New Years Day for the crime lab. The snow was pounding New York City. Over three feet in the past thirty-six hours and it still showed no sign of letting up. If anything, it only fell harder and made the streets nearly impassable. City trucks and plows fought in vain to keep the city that never sleeps running. The lights on Broadway were dark for the first time in decades on a Saturday. Stores had long closed up shop and sent their employees home. A scattering of pedestrians attempted to brave the weather, but turned back the moment they encountered waist high snow at the curbs. New York City had become an eerily quiet, lonesome ghost town.

No rest for the weary, Mac thought, as he pulled the department issued Avalanche up behind two cruisers, an unmarked squad belonging to the investigating detective, and the SUV that Hawkes had arrived in earlier. Killing the engine, he removed the keys from the ignition and dropped them into the pocket of his winter coat before climbing out into the blizzard.

Grabbing his kit from the back seat, Mac locked up the vehicle and set the alarm through the remote on his key chain before hurrying up the slippery front walk that led to the front entrance of the building. The doorman, a usual fixture in his topcoat and crisp white gloves and top hat, was sitting at the security desk. Ashen and visibly trembling as he relayed his tail to Detective Kaile Maka. Her face was gentle and serene, her voice quiet and understanding as she asked questions and took extensive notes. She glanced up briefly as Mac entered the building. A silent nod passing between them before her attention was diverted back to the distraught man sitting beside her.

Mac felt physically ill as he rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with a case involving someone that he had once had a personal connection too. But the mayor, upon being notified about the death of a former colleague, had personally made a call to the Chief of Detectives and requested that Mac 'take care of things'. Just as he had years before involving the victim in question.

It had been nearly nine years since he'd seen or spoken to Jordan Gates. After the taxi cab killer had been caught, their paths had gone into two entirely different directions. Jordan had moved out of state to take care of her ailing mother, Mac had done what he had always done. Thrown himself into his work. He often wondered, if Jordan had stuck around, if things ever would have developed between them. He had been attracted to her. She was an attractive, intelligent and vivacious woman. Who had shown, through actions more so then words, that she'd been interested in him on several occasions.

Mac had never acted on it. Something had told him to just step back and bide his time. To just think about what he really wanted out of Jordan, and out of himself. Did he want her in his life because he was genuinely interested in her? Or did he simply want someone in his life so he wouldn't be alone anymore? When it had become painfully clear that the answer was the latter, he had realized that he would be been doing her great injustice by pursuing her in a romantic fashion.

God worked in mysterious ways. After Jordan had left, he had met Kelli, by sheer chance, after Samantha had invited her new friend to join the team for Sam's birthday celebration at Sullivan's. The two women had met just two weeks before at the Disney themed Charity Costume Ball the department had hosted and Samantha had taken it upon herself to draw Kelli into the fold. And while shy and introverted at first, Kelli had soon made an impression on every member of the team. Once she had gotten used to the various personalities possessed by the eclectic bunch, they found that she fun loving and bubbly and had a heart of gold. Mac had been drawn to her immediately. For months he'd been turning down invitations to nights out with the team. But something had told him, as he finished off the last of his paperwork and slipped out from behind his desk, that maybe it was time that he became more sociable. That he shouldn't close himself off so much. That he should loosen up and let his hair down. That maybe, just maybe, something exciting would happen that night.

His second chance at life and love had been what had happened. Kelli had opened his eyes to a whole new world. He had seen past, and accepted her hearing impairment. Although she could read lips and her speech was exceptional, the moment they had began dating, Mac enrolled himself in sign language classes so he could communicate with the new woman in his life. He had become attentive and loving. He had learned to leave work at the lab and to become a different Mac when he walked through the door at the end of the shift. He had learned what it was really like to be in a relationship To share everything. Hopes and dreams and fears. And most of all, he had learned that he was worthy of feeling loved, and of being in love. They had married quickly and with no regrets. They had adopted siblings that had been abandoned by their abusive, drug addicted mother. Together they formed a united front for each other and their children. Putting the ghosts of their pasts behind them and dwelling on nothing but each other and their future as a family.

And now one of those ghosts were making an unexpected appearance. Mac had heard that Jordan had returned to New York City two years ago and had used a large inheritance left to her upon her wealthy mother's passing, to purchase a condo on the Upper East side. He had also heard, that she had started her own web design business and been dating a well known real estate developer.

Most of all, he had known about her affair with a very married Don Flack. News of the two of them had spread through the department like wild fire after Flack had broken the three month relationship off and Jordan had acted like a true woman scorned. It hadn't been any of Mac's business, and it wasn't any of his business now, but it had been hard to avoid the rumours of the demise of Flack's marriage. Everyone knew that the union was in ruins. Flack had been kicked out of the house and was staying with his parents while seeking legal advice on how to combat his wife's threats of never seeing his kids again. Things had gotten nasty. So nasty in fact, that Mac had been forced to keep the two of them as far away from each other as possible.

Things had been resolved in the end and life at home and at work for the Flacks had gone back to normal. No one had seen or even heard of Jordan Gates again. Until now.

Mac nodded at the uniform guarding the front door of apartment 1202 and lifting the yellow crime scene tape, ducked underneath it and headed inside.

"Detective Taylor," fellow Detective Michael Bernstein, a former member of the Miami PD who'd transferred to New York City seven years ago, greeted in his deep, whiskey smooth voice. Bernstein, a pair of latex gloves on his hands and his notebook open, stood in the entrance way of the living room. Where Doctor Sheldon Hawkes was processing the scene.

"Who called it in?" Mac asked, stepping beside the detective and surveying the scene before him. The living room was spacious and immaculate. Not furniture was overturned and nothing seemed out of place.

"Next door neighbour heard an argument," Bernstein replied. "Said they heard a male voice and a female voice they were able to identify as belonging to the deceased. Apparently the yelling went on for several minutes. Threats were made, profanities issued. Then they heard the victim scream, followed by complete silence."

"How long ago?" Mac inquired.

Bernstein consulted his watch. "Two hours now. We're waiting on the ME's office still. With the weather the way it is, who knows how long that will be. I have my people talking to everyone on the floor and in the units directly above and below. And security tapes of the front door, underground parking and rear entrance are on the way to the lab as we speak."

Mac nodded as he took in his the information. Then frowned at the sight of a bassinet by the balcony door and a stack of fresh diapers and a box of wipes and a half full bottle of milk on the coffee table. "There's a child here?" he asked.

"The deceased has a son. Barely a month old. When first responders got here the baby was screaming in the nursery at the back of the apartment. We called Child Protective Services. They've taken him to the hospital to get checked over and will keep him in their custody until next of kin is notified."

"There is no next of kin," Mac said. "The only family Jordan had was an elderly mother that died two years ago."

"We'll track down someone who was close to her," Bernstein suggested. "See if they can't take the baby. It would be a shame if he ended up in the system at such a young ae."

Mac nodded in agreement and made his way into the living room. "What do we have, Sheldon?" he asked, as he sat his kit down on the floor and stood over the body of Jordan Gates.

Her eyes and mouth open as she lay spread-eagled in the middle of her living room floor. No makeup graced her face and chunks of hair had been ripped from her head and lay scattered around her. There was no blood or even signs of a struggle. Yet very distinct impressions on her slender neck. Obviously made from human hands that had encircled her throat.

"Petechial haemorrhaging in both eyes," Hawkes answered. "Obvious signs of strangulation. Whoever did this did it the old fashioned way. With their hands. I collected trace from under her fingernails. Human skin. Hopefully once I get it back to the lab we'll be able to get a hit off the DNA."

"Hopefully," Mac sighed, shaking his head, his hands on his hips as he stared down at the woman at his feet.

"Bernstein told you…" Hawkes spoke in a near whisper. "About the baby?"

Mac nodded. "Did you see it before CPS took it on out of here?"

Hawkes gave a grim smile and nodded himself.

"And?" Mac pressed. His heart pounded in his chest, his stomach twisted itself into knots as he considered the possibility in his mind.

"And that baby looks just like Kellan and Kallison did when they were that age," Hawkes reluctantly admitted.

Mac sighed heavily and closed his eyes briefly. Wondering just how much more two people, so desperately trying to forgive and forget, could deal with. And praying, that whatever had happened to Jordan Gates, that whatever secrets she possessed, wouldn't be enough to bring everything tumbling down.

Steeling himself, Mac opened his eyes. "Let's get to work," he told Hawkes. "There's a lot of things we need answers to."

"What about the baby?" Hawke asked.

Mac sighed. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he replied.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and I hope that you continue to read and to enjoy! So please R and R folks!**

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**Wolfeylady**


	44. Unexpected Answers

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS AND ANY OTHER CHARACTER NOT BELONGING TO THE CSI FRANCHISE.**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

* * *

**Unexpected answers**

"This world will never be  
What I expected  
And if I don't belong  
Who would've guessed it  
I will not leave alone  
Everything that I own  
To make you feel like  
It's not too late  
It's never too late  
Even if I say "It'll be alright"  
Still I hear you say  
You want to end your life  
Now and again we try to  
Just stay alive  
Maybe we'll turn it all around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late."  
-Never Too Late, Three Days Grace

* * *

Three hours after processing the crime scene at Jordan Gates' apartment, Mac Taylor found himself stepping onto the elevator at the crime lab and hitting the button for the basement. Letting out a weary, frustrated sigh, he leaned against the back wall and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. Hours into the investigation, no solid leads had been formed and no potential suspects were being considered. Surveillance tapes of all entrances and exits at the apartment building had failed to shed any light on their killer.

The camera on the main door had showed a man, in a heavy black winter coat and a black wool cap on his head, entering the building an hour and a half before neighbours had heard the fighting coming from Jordan's apartment. Because of the weather, the security guard scheduled to be at the front desk at that time had called in sick that day, and while waiting on a replacement, the desk had been unmanned and visitors had been allowed to come and go without signing in. The doorman, who may have been the only person who could have possibly come in contact with the perp as he entered the building, had been away from the front doors hailing a cab for another resident. Upon the suspect's exit, the doorman had been on his half an hour lunch break. And while the neighbours recognized the voice coming from Jordan's apartment, no one had a name of a description to give. People around there apparently minded their own business and didn't get caught up in the drama of other tenants. And even if they did, the consensus around the building was that the less they were involved with the police, the better. There was nothing for Mac to go on. Nothing but a set of circumstances all contriving against each other and leading him and his investigators to an apparent dead end.

The technician handling the AV lab during Adam's vacation had been unable to get a usable image off of the surveillance tapes. The perp had kept his chin to his chest while coming and going and there'd been nothing substantial off of the reflection they'd been able to pull off of the glass windows in the front lobby. The perp had been smart. And apparently had not been frazzled by killing an innocent, single mother. There was nothing in his body language that had suggested he was distraught by what he had done. He carried himself with confidence and appeared calm, cool and collected.

Mac on the other hand, felt anything but. On the outside he appeared his normal self. Driven, determined and in complete control. Inside he was irritated, frustrated and sickened by what had been done to Jordan. And thrown for a complete loop over the discovery of a child who may have been the offspring of someone that Mac was extremely close to. At that point, he had no clue if Don Flack was the father of Hunter Aaron Gates. The five week old baby was still under the watch of Child Protective Services at Angel of Mercy hospital and would remain there until next of kin was located and they were able to take the child or paternity could be established. By law, if Flack was proved to be the baby's father and Jordan had no family to contest, he would be given custody of a child he never even knew existed. If he wanted that child, that was. Mac was making no moves to contact Flack about had happened. He was relying on Hawkes, who remained at Jordan's apartment, scouring for any clues as to who the child's father was, to come up with some information that would either prove, or refute the questions in their minds.

His main concern, aside from finding Jordan's killer, was getting to the bottom of who that innocent child belonged to. He would have to, regardless of what Hawkes did, or didn't find, eventually make his way to the Flack house in Ridgewood, Queens and break the news of Jordan's death and the discovery of the baby before either Flack or Samantha stumbled upon the story on the evening news or in the next day's paper. With the question of paternity in the air, and the dates coinciding to when Flack had broken off his affair with Jordan, Mac also knew that getting a DNA sample from the detective was essential to securing a future for Jordan's son. He highly doubted, if it was proved to be his, that Flack would turn his back on the baby. Flack was a loving and attentive father. Despite his arrogant swagger and his sarcastic, surly personality, he had a heart of gold and possessed compassion and understanding and a humanity that knew no bounds. It was a side of him that not many people were fortunate enough to see, but one Mac knew would never allow Flack to forsake his own child.

The worry was how it would affect Flack's personal life. The revelation of the affair had hit Samantha hard and nearly destroyed their marriage. She had admirably forgiven her husband for his indiscretion and took him back for the sake of their children. She loved him and supported him with every decision he ever made. She was able to put Jordan Gates behind them and get on with her life. They had two beautiful, wonderful little girls together and had always wanted to adopt a baby. But Mac was unsure how the young woman would accept a child that her husband had father with the 'other woman'. If she was able to find it in her heart to push her feelings of disgust and hatred for Jordan aside in order to care for a baby that was conceived during a difficult, heartbreaking time within her own marriage.

_Nothing is ever cut and dry,_ Mac thought and rubbed at his eyes. While a child was always a blessing, the circumstances surrounding his conception were anything but pleasant. And the surfacing of a secret, illegitimate love child would certainly throw a serious monkey wrench into Flack and Sam's relationship.

Or would it?

Did they know? Was it possible that both Flack and Sam knew about Jordan's son? Mac couldn't imagine that Flack would be aware that he'd fathered a child with the woman and keep such a thing from his wife. Since the affair, they'd made an 'honesty is the best policy' rule for their marriage. Even if the truth hurt, Sam and Flack were speaking it. There was no way that Flack would have kept the existence of a son away from his wife. Was it possible that they both were aware of Jordan's pregnancy and baby Hunter's birth? That it was something they kept out of the limelight and away from the people that were closest to them? Was Hawkes going to find something at Jordan's apparent to support that? A signed birth certificate? Evidence that Flack was paying child support? Something that suggested that what appeared to be a mortal shock and massive secret was anything but?

_You're getting way too ahead of yourself,_ Mac scolded his tormented brain. _There's no proof that Flack is that child's father._

_And there's no proof that he isn't either._

* * *

Mac sighed as the elevator reached its destination . There was a large chime and a delay of thirty seconds before the doors parted and he stepped out into the long, narrow and brightly lit hallway that would take him to the Medical Examiners Office. Too many hours worked mixed in with the hustle and bustle of the holidays had left Mac tired and irritable. As did Sinclair and Inspector Whitmore's decision that to cut lab costs, Samantha Flack pay the price by losing her job. It still ate at Mac that he had had the responsibility of delivering the bad news. Both Sinclair and Whitmore had punked out, as Danny had so eloquently put it when he'd found out about Sam's firing and had called Mac to vent his frustration and disgust over it.

And now the realization that they were losing Flack as well had hit Mac hard. He had never expected that Flack would hand in his resignation and go after a job with the Hackensack PD. When Sinclair had told him, Mac had been initially stunned, then lobbed a volley of accusations and insults at the for once startled and silent Chief of Detectives. It was Sinclair's fault that they were losing two valuable employees. To cut costs, Mac had been more then willing to sacrifice three lab techs in order to keep Samantha on the payroll. Keeping Samantha there meant keeping Flack. Plain and simple. The crime lab and the NYPD in general could not afford to lose both. And Mac had told Sinclair that if he cared at all about employee morale and the success of the lab, he'd take him up on the offer of getting rid of technicians, reinstate Samantha and go begging on his hands and knees asking Flack to stay.

The only response Mac had gotten from Sinclair was the sound of a dial tone as the Chief promptly hung up on him.

Mac Taylor had a lot on his plate. He was still perturbed about having to cut loose a member of his highly efficient and tight knit team, he had had to find out about Flack's resignation by Sinclair, and he was running the second best Crime Lab in the country on a skeleton staff. Stella's detectives and techs that he had borrowed were more then capable of handling themselves. In their own lab. In his lab they were grossly inefficient and insubordinate. So he had taken it upon himself and made the tough decision of calling Danny back from his mini vacation in Lake Placid. The CSI hadn't come right out and said it, but Mac had been able to tell by the younger's man tone of voice and the way he sighed and said, "A'right…we're on our way back" that Danny had been less then impressed about returning early to work.

_Sacrifices_, Mac thought, as he pushed his way into the morgue. _This job, and life, are full of them._

Sid glanced up from the clipboard in his hands as Mac, shrugging into a navy blue lab coat, stepped into his humble abode. Before the ME, stretched out on cold, stainless steel slab, a stark white sheet pulled to the shoulders, lay the naked body of Jordan Gates. The stitches of the trademark Y incision made in order to perform an autopsy, just peeking out from above the edge of the sheet laid so gently over the body.

When Jordan's body had arrived at the office, Sid had been given direct orders, from both Mac and the Deputy Inspector that her autopsy had to be placed on the top of his list of priorities. Like the lab itself, Sid had also been grossly understaffed and struggling to keep up with things on his own. Assistants and techs had calling in sick since the wee hours of the morning. All to hung over from their New Years Eve celebrations to care about the job. He had managed to rouse Marty Pino out of a vodka and rye induced slumber, but it would be at least another hour until the young ME would come strolling into the building.

So in the meantime, Sid had shoved all of his other work to the side and concentrated on Jordan Gates. And struggling in vain to avoid the gossip that was beginning to filter down to the morgue.

"She's all ready and waiting for you," Sid announced, as Mac journeyed towards him. "I just finished up about a half an hour ago."

"I appreciate you getting right on this," Mac responded, as he stepped up alongside of the autopsy table. All blood and gore had long disappeared. Leaving Jordan Gates with a slight smile on her face and her dirty blond hair fanned out on the stainless steel below her.

"Direct orders from the people on high," Sid commented. "Within the NYPD of course."

Mac gave a small smile. Jordan's death had hit him hard. He had never had or felt that much of a connection with the woman, but he couldn't help but wonder about what could have been had he only been a little more forthcoming with his true feelings. If he'd just stopped worrying so much about the job and concentrated on the living people in his life. Given things a chance to mature and come into fruition. And now there he stood alongside of that autopsy table, his hands shoved in the pockets of his lab coat and his mouth set in a grim line as he stared down at the empty, lifeless shell before him.

"You knew Ms Gates, am I correct?" Sid asked, attempting to break the silence that had fallen upon the room.

Mac nodded and cleared his throat noisily. "We were…acquaintances. Years ago. She was having problems with her ex husband and I was asked to take care of it. Jordan and I met up again during the hunt for Suspect X. It was her assistant that Suspect X had kidnapped and forced to undergo extensive plastic surgery in order to make her resemble Suspect X so that she could fake her own death and allude capture."

"Katie Mann," Sid recalled. "I remember the case as if it were yesterday. It was the first time in my career where I've had to actually deconstruct someone's face. It was definitely a new one for me."

"In the end, thanks in part to your excellent work, we were able to correctly identify Katie Mann, contact Jordan and essentially capture Suspect X," Mac said. "It was a shame that her capture ended in her dead as opposed to alive but…"

"'Tis the nature of the beast," Sid concluded. "And Ms Gates…"

"The last time I saw Jordan was there days after Reid has been released from the hospital," Mac told him. "I was just leaving my apartment to head over to see him at his parents' place and I ran into Jordan on the street as she was on her way to pay me an unexpected visit. We went for coffee at a little diner up the street, talked for about an hour. And then she told me she was leaving town. Going to care for her ailing mother. I kissed her cheek, embraced her, wished her well. Then we both went our separate ways and continued on with our lives. About a year and a half ago, I caught wind that she had moved back into town and had started up her own business. Web design and small business consulting if I do remember correctly. But this afternoon was the first time I'd seen her in about eight and a half years."

"It's a shame how we fall out of contact with people," Sid said with a sigh. "I had an uncle that I was extremely close to as a child and well into my teenage years. He was my mother's youngest brother. Youngest child out of thirteen, actually. He and I were very close in age. And appearance. So similar in fact that we could pass for brothers. I remember one time, I was still under age but he leant me his I.D. and the two of us…"

Mac arched his eyebrows and stared pointedly at the man across from him. "Is there a point somewhere here, Sid?" he asked.

"Just that as I got older and pursued my schooling, my uncle and I began to drift apart. He moved upstate and while we attempted to keep in contact through phone calls, Christmas and birthday cards and such. We eventually lost touch with each other all together. Years later, just after I started as an ME, one of my techs brought in a John Doe found frozen to death on a bench in Central Park. A transient. Well once we cleaned him up and cut his hair and shaved his beard, low and behold, it was my uncle. Once the initial shock wore off, all the what if's set in. What if I'd kept in touch with him? What if I had set aside my busy life to check in on him from time to time?" Sid sighed heavily. "I've never quite gotten over that," he admitted.

Mac nodded slowly, slightly uncomfortable witnessing the display of emotion on Sid's face and the tears that sparkled in the ME's eyes.

"It's just a shame that you and Ms. Gates couldn't have seen each other again under better circumstances," Sid commented, gathering his composure. "You never heard from her during the whole incident with Detective Flack?"

Mac felt himself bristle slightly. While Flack's affair was common knowledge, the topic got under Mac's skin quickly when brought up. "Detective Flack's business with Jordan was just that. His business. I know what happened between them and the truth behind the rumours that went around here. And that Samantha and the girls stayed with you and your wife during some of the harder days."

"They stayed with us for nearly two months," Sid said. "It was a treat having them there. Kellan and Kallison are just pure joy. They're just the most adorable, precious and angelic souls I've even met. Having them and their mother in my home was wonderful. The girls are the closest I have to grandchildren of my own. And I just couldn't believe that Detective Flack did what he did. They always seemed like they were so much in love. That they had such a great life together."

"It was a classic example of how the grass is definitely not always greener on the other side," Mac concluded.

"I had something a little more nasty and profanity laced to say about what he did, but I'll keep it to myself."

"Go idea," Mac agreed.

"Shall I?" Sid asked, nodding down at the body.

"By all means…"

"Let's start off with COD, shall we?"

Sitting his clipboard down on the empty table behind him, Sid pulled a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of his scrubs and snapped them onto his hands and then turned back to the body laying between him and Mac.

"Cause of death is straightforward and simple," he said, as he laid a finger under Jordan Gates' chin and tilted her face towards the ceiling in order to display the perfect impressions of human hands on the woman's slender, pale throat. "Asphyxiation due to manual strangulation. The killer used his bare hands. And applied enough strength to completely collapse her trachea and crush her larynx. Now as you can see, our perpetrator had extremely large hands and used enough pressure to leave completely intact impressions of his fingers and thumbs. I took a photo of the bruises and sent them upstairs to the lab for measurements to be taken. I also sent some blood to toxicology and analyzed the stomach contents. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"What is this void here?" Mac inquired, pointing towards a break in the bruising on the right side of Jordan's neck.

"My best, and only guess, was that our killer was wearing a ring. According to a measurement I took of the void, the ring measured an inch and a quarter. Which is actually quite thick for a ring. Placement of the hands indicate he was most likely kneeling over her as he strangled her. Making it his left hand on the right side of her throat, and therefore making that…"

"A wedding band," Mac concluded.

Sid nodded.

"Any signs of sexual assault?" Mac asked.

"Negative. But upon internal examination, I was able to determine by size and shape of the uterus that she gave birth no more than five weeks ago. Now I collected trace from underneath her fingernails and from her hair line."

"Her hair line?" Mac asked, a frown on his face as he accepted two cardboard DNA swab cartons and the autopsy report from the ME.

"At first blush, I'd say it's saliva mixed with what appears to be nicotine. Or to be more precise, chewing tobacco."

Mac tapped the cartons in the palm of his hand as he ran through the initial crime scene in his mind. Position of the body, any evidence on and around it. "Hawkes found a small gravitational blood drop to the right of Jordan's head. There was a distinct brown discoloration to it."

"I think I may be able to explain why your perp may have been bleeding," Sid said, and prying open Jordan's jaw, peeled down her bottom lip. "Both front teeth are cracked. It's quite possible that she fought back against her assailant. Perhaps she bit him or scratched him hard enough to draw blood. Which would explain the blood drop Sheldon found."

"And he punched her or struck her hard enough to crack her teeth," Mac concluded.

"While I don't have any evidence to support that theory, maybe Sheldon will find something that will," Sid said, as he pulled his glasses apart and let them drop onto his chest.

"And hopefully these…" Mac held up the cartons containing the DNA swabs. "…will lead us to our killer. Good work, Sid. And thanks again for making this your top priority."

The ME nodded and picked up the edge of the white draped over Jordan's body and gently tugged it upwards until it covered the woman completely. He waved to off his techs over, silently ordering them to place the body in one of the coolers as Mac prepared to head out of the morgue. Sid bit his lip as he watched the detective depart. Unsure if he should pursue the nagging question in his mind, or simply ignore the rumours and let the matter rest.

He sighed heavily as curiosity got the better of him.

"Mac.." Sid hurried through the morgue and joined the crime lab boss where he paused in the doorway. "I heard that the baby was found at the scene."

Mac nodded. "A little boy. There was an afghan in his nursery embroidered with the name Hunter."

"Beautiful name," Sid observed. "And is he okay or…"

"As far as we know he's fine. He's being held at Angel of Mercy Hospital and he's in the care and custody of Child Protective Services."

"It would be shame if he became a ward of the state at such a young age."

"It would," Mac agreed. "But Jordan had no family. And her ex husband is just that. Her ex. He's currently in Rikers doing two years for hiring Suspect X to kill Jordan. So if paternity of the baby can't be established, I'm afraid that he'll belong to the system until either a foster home or an adoptive family can be found."

Sid nodded slowly. "Forgive me for speaking so boldly about it. I know that it's none of my business and I should just keep my nose out if it. But when I do the math…" he sighed. "Do you think that Detective Flack is the father?"

"I think it's a strong possibility," Mac admitted. "But without actual proof…"

"There's no sense in speculating," Sid finished.

"Whatever happens, I'm sure it will work out for the best," Mac said, then held up the cartons and the autopsy reported as he breezed out of the morgue. "Thanks, Sid!" he called, and disappeared down the hallway.

"Let's just hope that it's the best for everyone involved," Sid said aloud. "And not just a complete nightmare for some."

* * *

After dropping off the swabs at the DNA lad and demanding that the already beleaguered tech stop what she was going and attend to his samples immediately, Mac retreated behind the closed door of his office. Glass walls provided zero privacy but enabled him to keep a protective, watchful eye on his employees and anyone coming and going from his lab. Slipping into the chair at his desk, he stretched his legs out and placed his hands behind his head. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and drew slow, deep breaths into his lungs. Taking a few moments to get control of the runaway train of thoughts and questions steam rolling through his mind.

A loud knock at his office door snapped Mac back into reality and he opened his eyes and glanced at the door. Where an anxious looking Kendall Novak, a case folder in her hand, waited to be given permission to enter.

Mac waved her inside. "Yes, Kendall?" he asked politely, as the young woman breezed into the room and stood before his desk.

"I took it upon myself to analyze still photographs I was able to create off of the images of the perpetrator captured by the building's security cameras," she began. "While I wasn't able to clean the image up any further, I was able to come up with a small description based on what I could see."

"Which is?"

"I was able to determine that our perp had short, dark hair. There was a moment, as he was leaving, when he reached up with his left hand to adjust his wool cap. When he did that, he actually pushed it up slightly and I was able to see the hair at the base of his skull. I also noticed that he wore a wedding ring. It was thicker then most and either platinum or white gold."

"A lot of men in this city have short dark hair and wear platinum or white gold wedding rings," Mac reminded her. "That doesn't get us any further on identifying him."

"I agree. But I was also able to determine his height based on measurements of objects around him. Such as the distance between the top of his head and the bottom of the front door frame as he entered the building. Now he was slightly slouched, but our perp is between five foot eleven and six foot three based on the length of both his arms and legs and his torso. I also estimated his weight somewhere between a hundred and eighty and two hundred and ten pounds."

Mac nodded slowly as he considered the information Kendall was pouring onto him. The realization striking home that the one person he truly believed was innocent, was in fact the first person on his list of suspects. A history with the victim, possible motive. A match to both the description and the wedding ring in question. It certainly didn't look good. And it made Mac feel physically ill.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to do with the tapes?" Kendall asked. "Maybe try and see if there's any possible way to get a better image or…"

"We've worked those tapes to death," Mac replied. "No sense beating a dead horse. The victim's clothes are still in lay out waiting to be processed. If you don't mind…"

"I'm on it," Kendall told him, and handed her boss the folder in her hand.

"And Kendall…" he called to her as she made to leave.

She paused, her fingers curling around the handle of the door.

"You're taking the CSI exam in two days aren't you?" Mac asked.

She nodded.

"Good luck," he told her, giving a soft, reassuring smile. "I'll be more than happy to hand you your badge and your gun and welcome you onto the team."

She smiled brightly. "Thank you, sir," she said, and slipped out of the office.

Mac sighed heavily and dropped Kendall's report alongside of the one that Sid had given him earlier. He contemplated his next move. Whether it was smarter to wait for Hawkes in hopes that the man had found something, anything that implicated Flack, or someone else, as the father of the child, or if he should just take matters into his own hands and make the journey to Queens to deliver the news. Picking up the receiver of the phone that rested on his desk, he placed it between his shoulder and ear and began dialling the familiar number. His forefinger stopping before pressing the last digit as his eyes fell on the framed photograph that sat next to his computer.

A group shot off all the teams' kids that had been taken the previous summer in Mac's backyard. It had been the fourth of July and the first time God had been gracious enough to allow the families to actually come together as one large, happy unit. While the teenagers knelt behind them, the smaller children were all bunched together, sitting on a stripped blanket Kelli had laid on the grass. Their arms wrapped around each other as they beamed brightly, some sporting toothless smiles. As usual., Amanda Messer was right in the mix with Kellan and Kallison Flack. The two smaller girls sitting alongside of her, the three of them with their arms tightly wrapped around each other's necks. The girls were family. Sisters as opposed to honorary cousins. Together, the team had managed to create eleven unique and beautiful lives. Although in the picture there were only ten. Lindsay had still been painfully pregnant with Makenna and only three weeks from her scheduled due date.

Mac smiled at the memories the photograph instilled in him and promptly hung up the phone. Kallison and Kellan's father deserved better then a phonecall made to him based on nothing but theory, rumours and circumstantial evidence. He would bide his time. Wait for the answers, and hopefully the truth, to come to him.

* * *

Another knock came to his door and relief, and anxiety, surged through him at the sight of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, snow still clinging to the shoulders of his winter jacket as he stood in the hallway, tightly clutching a manila folder.

Mac quickly waved him in, and was on his feet and in front of his desk before Hawkes managed to get within a foot of him.

"Tell me you found something," Mac nearly pleaded.

"Answers," Hawkes responded. "And I'm not sure if they're good ones or not."

Mac didn't like the sound of that.

Hawkes opened the folder and pulled out a piece of paper. The creases across it indicating it had been folded at one point in time. "I found this tucked into a baby's memory book on the book self in the nursery. It's a statement of live birth that Jordan Gates filled out before she was discharged from Women's and Children's on December fifth. Two days following her son's delivery. I wanted to make sure that it wasn't a fake, so I called the city clerk's office and they verified that every piece of information on her matches what was on the form that Jordan submitted to them. It lists everything from the date and time, his birth weight and length, the delivering physician. The father's name…"

Mac's eyebrows shot up.

"And signature," Hawkes added, as he held the paper out to his boss. "And I don't know if you're going to like whose name and signature they belong to."

"A signature would only be present if the father was aware of the birth. Which means he had to have been aware of the pregnancy."

Hawkes nodded in agreement.

Mac took the item and scanned the document with his eyes. His hands tightening around the piece of paper, crinkling and threatening to tear the paper. Although he had told himself to expect that moment, his chest still tightened and his stomach still knotted.

"Flack knew that Jordan Gates was pregnant with his baby," he said. "He knew and signed the statement of live birth."

"That's not all," Hawkes told him and pointed to another piece of paper in his folder. "I checked Jordan's financial records. There was a statement in the bedroom and last month there was a cheque for four hundred dollars deposited into the bank. Beside it, Jordan had written her son's name. I called her bank and questioned them about the check. They told me it was a personal check written from a joint account at another institution. I called that bank and they confirmed to me that the account belongs to Donald and Samantha Flack."

"They both knew," Mac concluded. "They were aware that Jordan was having his baby and Flack manned up and did the right thing by signing the statement of live birth and agreeing to pay child support."

"A joint account though," Hawkes sounded, and looked disgusted. "So not only does she forgive him and take him back for his indiscretion, she also has to literally pay for his mistakes?"

"That's their business, Sheldon," Mac told him, his tone scolding. "What they do with their personal life is nothing to do with us. Which is probably why none of us knew he even had a child with Jordan. I can see them wanting to keep something like that from all of us."

"And now we're all finding out about it in a big way," Hawkes sighed. "You know what this means, Mac? Now that there's proof that this baby is Flack's and seeing as Jordan had no family that can care for the baby, he has a legal right to that child."

Mac nodded.

"You honestly don't think he'd turn his back on it do you?" Hawkes asked. "I mean, it's a human life that he helped create. Surely he wouldn't just let the state take over and let the baby become a victim of the system."

"Flack's not like that," Mac nearly snapped at the other man. Quickly and without hesitation, defending the detective. "He wouldn't just walk away and let the baby, his son, go without. He'll man up. He'll take responsibility. Because that's the way he is. And for you to suggest otherwise…"

"I know what kind of man Flack is. Professionally at least. I thought I knew what kind of man he was outside of the job too. Until he cheated on his wife and carried on a three month affair with someone."

Mac had no response to that. "Did you call Danny like I asked?" he inquired.

Hawkes nodded.

"And?" the older man pressed.

"And he said with the weather the way it is, he'll be lucky if he's back in the city before nine. But he's making a valiant effort on getting here sooner."

"What did you tell him?"

"Exactly what you said to. I told him about Jordan's death and the baby that was found and Flack's then possible connection to the child."

"What did Danny say?" Mac asked, as he tossed the paper from Hawkes onto his desk before snagging his coat from the back of his chair.

"It was a mixture of English and Italian," Hawkes replied. "I couldn't make much out of it. But I do know it involved expletives. In both languages. And lots of them."

"I want you to get to work helping Kendall with Jordan's clothes," Mac instructed as he yanked on his jacket. "I'm going to head to Queens and talk to Flack. Get a DNA sample."

"A DNA sample?" Hawkes looked perplexed. "His name is on the statement of live birth. He pays support."

"Anyone who watches Maury Povich, and trust me, Kelli, Samantha and Lindsay watch a hell of a lot of it, knows that even if you have signed the certificate and you've paid support, there's still a chance that you're not the father. If Jordan was so willing to carry on an affair with a married man who already had children, there's a strong possibility that Flack wasn't the only man she was with. Especially when she never even gave the baby his father's last name."

"Flack could have easily told her he didn't want her son having his name. And if we're after DNA, why don't we just go to the hospital, swab the baby and compare it to Flack's internal control sample?" Hawkes asked.

"Because Flack deserves better than that," Mac told him as he hurried for the door. "He deserves to be treated with far more respect. Going behind his back…you should know by now that we don't do things that way. We're a family. What affects one of us, affects us all. And both Flack and Samantha…" he sighed heavily. "They both deserve so much more then what you're willing to give them."

"Mac…I…"

"Just get to work," he ordered and turning on his heel, quickly and purposefully strode from his office.

Hawkes sighed as he watched his boss go.

It wasn't always easy picking sides.

But Doctor Sheldon Hawkes knew this time which one he was on.

And he was firmly, and permently, seating himself there.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you, reviewers and lurkers alike, for all of your support!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**babygurl1944**


	45. Skeleton in the closet

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS. AMANDA BELONGS TO THE FABULOUS LAURZZ**

**PLEASE READ BOTH A/N'S!**

**A/N 1: DUE TO SOME REAL LIFE ISSUES - MAINLY UPCOMING INSTALLING OF NEW WINDOWS THROUGHOUT THE HOUSE AND THE PACKING AND MOVING AND COVERING OF FURNITURE THAT HAS TO TAKE PLACE BEFORE HAND, MY POSTINGS WILL NEED TO SLOW DOWN DURING THAT TIME PERIOD. SO I HOPE THAT YOU ALL WELL UNDERSTAND AND COME BACK WHEN I DO! I DON'T ANTICIPATE BEING GONE LONGER THEN A FEW DAYS FROM THE TIME ALL THE CRAZINESS STARTS! THANKS, BEG 75**

**A/N 2: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SLIGHT SPOILERS FROM LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE. IF ANYONE CAN PICK OUT THE TWO REFERENCES (NON DL REFERENCES, FOLKS) TO THE EPI, YOU WIN A CYBER COOKIE! WISH I COULD GIVE AWAY MORE THEN THAT, BUT ALAS, I'M BROKE.**

* * *

**Skeleton in the closet**

"Well, I know the words  
But I can't really speak them  
To you  
And I hide all the pain  
That I've gained with my wisdom  
From you  
And I'm eaten alive  
By what I hold inside  
All the things that I live with I can't easily hide  
And I'm left here with nothing  
Nothing to live for  
But you  
It's not easy to hide  
All this damage inside  
I'll carry it with me  
Until I'm not alive."  
-Excess Baggage, Staind

* * *

Adam Ross wondered how in the hell he'd ever gotten himself into the predicament he currently found himself immersed in. How he'd ever gone from soaking up the sun and being waited on hand and foot at an all inclusive Orlando resort, to finding himself at his sister's kitchen sink, up to his elbows in soap suds as a ferocious winter storm pounded the city. Listening to the strong, bitter winds that rattled the window above the sink and bent the brittle limbs of the backyard trees.

Overhead, he could hear Amanda and the twins giggling and squealing as they ran out of the master bedroom and across the hardwood floor of the upstairs hallway. They'd been allowed to take a 'swim' in what Kellan and Kallison called the 'grown up tubbie'. The sunken Jacuzzi tub that the previous owners had installed in the en-suite bathroom. It was rare that the girls got to use mommy and daddy's tub, but with three girls refusing to take solo baths, Sam had told them to put on their bathing suits and then had spent the next forty five minutes folding laundry in the middle of the bed while the girls splashed and shrieked playfully in the bathroom. And essentially, leaving the place in a soggy mess. That, much to his dismay, Flack was responsible for cleaning up. Adam could hear his brother in law bitching and moaning about his lot in life, and his sister telling him to suck it up and pull up his big boy pants. Sooner he started, the sooner he finished.

"Why do I have to do it right this second" Flack's voice asked from above.

"Our bathroom looks like a water park," Sam informed him. "Would you rather spent ten minutes cleaning it up or let it soak into the floor and then find out in a month we've got toxic mould and mushrooms growing out the baseboards?"

He sighed heavily. "Do you always have to be right?" he inquired.

There was a pregnant pause. "Actually…yeah…yeah I do, Donnie. And you know why? Because I'm a woman."

"Keep talking like that and you're going to teach our daughters how to crack the whip on whatever guys they hook up with when they're older."

"It's the way to do things," Sam reasoned. "Start them out young."

"You know, you put on real good front for a couple of years Sammie. If I'd known you'd get so damn bossy once I slipped that wedding ring on your finger…"

"If you value your s-e-x life, you'd shut your gate," Sam warned.

"Hey, don't go all Brooklyn bad ass on me, woman. I'm not above putting you over my knee and…"

"Mommy likes to be spanked!" Kallison's voice cried.

Adam couldn't help but laugh out loud at that announcement. And at the light hearted bantering and teasing that had existed from day one between his sister and Flack. While Flack had always thought highly of his dry, sarcastic wit, he'd definitely met his match when it came to Samantha. She could handle her own and dish it out just as good as he could. If not even better. Flack got back just as a good as what he tossed out. And for the first time in his life, the day he'd met that feisty Brooklyn girl, had been the day someone had proved capable of shutting him up.

While laughter and excessive chatting reigned supreme above, outside the wind howled and the ice pellets that had been forecast along with the heavy, relentless snow, pattered against the window. Adam glanced up from the pile of dishes in front of him and peered out into the darkness of the backyard. It was barely seven thirty and it already looked as if it were midnight. Through the whipping snow he could see the glowing kitchen light of the neighbour behind them. Yet it wasn't the disdain for the wicked winter weather that was first and foremost on Adam Ross' mind. He wasn't thinking of the below zero temperatures and the nearly three feet of snow that had accumulated in mere hours. The thoughts that plagued him were of sun and sand. Or his wife and his kids and his parents simply going on with their lives without him. He'd been back for just shy of twenty hours and not once had his mother and step father or his soon to be ex wife attempted to contact him. Not once had Paisley put the kids on the phone to speak to their father.

He imagined she had simply pushed the little ones' feelings and emotions aside and chastised them for being babyish. As she always did if they cried over skinned knees or mean things said on the playground at school. While Adam was the one that kissed injuries better and carefully and lovingly applied band-aids and offered sympathy and comfort, Paisley had always told him he was treating them like babies and spoiled them to much. He was the parent that attended to his kids after tearful nightmares and patiently and understandingly stripped down beds and put new sheets on if Octavia or Sebastian had accidents. While he heaped on praise and affection for things they achieved, Paisley always found something negative and cutting to say.

And he realized, as he stood there staring into the dark abyss of night, that while she may not have been physically abusive, she had always been cold and cruel with words and emotional torment.

And that made Paisley no better than Adam's own father.

"Explain to me again why I got mixed up with your sister."

Flack's deep voice cut into Adam's thoughts as the detective wandered into the kitchen, shoving the damp sleeves of his Rangers sweatshirt up to his elbows. There were large, wet patches on the knees and thighs of his jeans and the cuffs were soaked as he made his way to the fridge.

Adam cleared his throat noisily. Attempting to clear away the lump of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Tears threatened in his eyes and he quickly blinked them away as he tore his attention away from the window and concentrated on the sink full of dishes in front of him.

"Because you either couldn't resist her adorable yet often bitchy ways or she drugged your coffee from day one," he told his brother in law.

"I think I'm starting to move towards the latter," Flack said, as he grabbed a bottle of beer and closed the fridge door. "'Cause for the life of me, I just can not come up with a better reason for why I've put up with her for as long as I have."

Adam smiled as his brother in law leaned up against the counter alongside of him. "Because you love her?" he suggested.

"That's got to be it right?" Flack grinned, as he twisted the cap off the beer and tossed the small piece of metal in the direction of the open trash can near the sliding glass door. Another one of his chores that so desperately needed his attention. Taking the garbage out for morning pickup. Although he highly doubted, with the weather the way it was, that the sanitation crews would even be able to do their job. "I mean it has to be love," he commented as he sipped his beer. "'Cause only love could explain why us men torture ourselves as much as we do."

"Well love and amazing, mind blowing sex," Adam said.

Flack nearly choked on his beer. He coughed noisily and smirked and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater. "Never thought I'd hear you say the word amazing, mind blowing sex when it came to talking about me and your sister. I seem to remember that the thought of me and your sister made you completely nauseous for the longest time."

"Well, I figure seeing as Kellan and Kallison weren't delivered by the stork and they aren't products of immaculate conception, I better deal with the fact that you and my sister actually…" Adam grimaced and shook his head. "Never mind. I can't even say the words."

Flack grinned and took a swig from his bottle of beer. Then frowned as he watched Adam scrubbing diligently at the sink full of dishes. "Why aren't you using the washer?" he asked curiously.

"Sammie told me that it's full so I had to resort to doing it the old fashion way," Adam replied.

Flack smirked and turned and opened the drawer on the dishwasher next to him.

Adam frowned at the sight of the appliance completely empty. "My sister is a total, evil bitch," he declared.

"You're preaching to the choir, Ross," Flack told him, as he closed the dishwasher and leaned against it. "I have been saying that about her since day one. How do you think I feel? I have to live with her."

"Yeah…but you do it willingly," Adam pointed out. "You deserve some kind of medal of valour for that."

"So that's what you two do every time I'm out of the room," Sam commented, as she breezed into the kitchen. "Talk all kinds of shit about me."

"Never," Flack told her. "I would never, ever say one single negative thing about you, babe."

She arched an eyebrow as she slipped in between her husband and brother and dropped three neon pink plastic Hello Kitty glasses into the soapy water.

"Are you doubting my undying, all consuming love for you?" Flack asked, grabbing a hold of her by her slender hips as she attempted to leave and pulling her tight against him. "Are you telling me that you think I talk crap about you when I love you and adore you as much as I do?"

"I don't think it," she said. "I know it."

"Why would I ever say anything bad about the love of my life? My entire world? My wife and the mother of my children?"

"Because I know you and I know you talk too much," Sam told him.

"It's all good, babe. I promise. The only talking I do about you involves the locker room."

"That's even worse!" she cried and attempted to wriggle out of his embrace. "How nice to know you discuss our sex life with your buddies. What do they all say? How damn lucky you are you that you get as much as you do? How you should be thanking your lucky stars that someone like me even puts up with you?"

"Actually, they ask me how in the hell a douche bag like me ever managed to nail someone like you," Flack told her.

"Just proves that there's no accounting for some peoples taste," Adam remarked.

Flack smirked.

Sam burst out laughing.

Adam shrugged. "I'm just saying…"

"You're holding your own quite well in this house, Peanut," Sam praised.

"That's 'cause he's learning from the master of sarcasm," Flack declared.

"I know I'm good but I didn't think I was that good," Sam said. "But thanks, baby."

Flack grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I wasn't talking about you," he said.

"Then you're seriously delusional," she teased and broke away from him. "Did you clean the bathroom?" she asked.

"Yes, dear. You asked me to do it and I did it."

She glanced over her shoulder and nodded at the trash can. "You didn't take the garbage out yet," she observed.

"There's no set time limit on when it has to be done is there? As long as it's at the curb for seven in the morning, what does it matter?"

"Did you put the furniture back in the basement?" she inquired.

"Sam…I am taking a five minute break, okay? I am sure you can quit being a slave driver long enough to let me have a beer."

"Don't be such a douche bag," she said in response and headed out of the kitchen.

"You love me," Flack called to her.

"Only one days that end in Y," she informed him. "Please, please put the furniture back while I tuck the girls and M&M into bed and read them some stories."

He sighed.

"Donald…"

"Yes, dear…yes. I will do whatever you want, dear. Crack the whip some more while you're at it, dear."

"Want me to get out my thigh high black leather boots and my leather body suit too?" she asked.

Flack grinned broadly. "Yes, please."

She snorted. "Pervert."

"It's why you married me!" Flack yelled.

"You are delusional!" she shouted back and then headed upstairs.

"What's wrong with you?" Flack asked his brother in law, as Adam stood , scrubbing dishes with a sickened look on his face.

"The image of my sister in black leather and carrying a whip and you…" Adam shuddered. "Nightmares. I'm going to have nightmares. Not just tonight. For the rest of my life."

"Well, for now, let's concentrate on Sunday. Sunday morning to be more precise," Flack said as he downed some of his beer. "The goalie for my department team is out with a knee injury. And seeing as you have bitching goalie skills as your sister so eloquently put it after you nearly got blown up playing street hockey eight years ago…"

"I haven't put on skates since you asked me to play in that FDNY/NYPD charity game the year the twins were born," Adam said.

"It's like riding a bike, Ross. You've still got all your equipment and shit right?"

Adam nodded.

"And we won that tournament thanks to you and your 'bitching goalie skills'. You got a shut out. First time that's happened at one of them things in years. Especially for the NYPD. We're always too busy getting our asses handed to us by the water hose jockeys. So what do you say? You up to playing this weekend?"

"I don't see why not. I haven't played in a long while so I might be a little rusty."

"Don't worry about. Half the guys on my team can barely stay on their feet when they're wearing skates. And I'll crush anyone that tries to get near you. You know what it means, right? You playing? You remember the rules?"

"New guy buys the donuts and coffee," Adam concluded.

"Exactly," Flack said and polished off of his beer. "I better get downstairs. Before your sister makes good on her earlier promise today to turf me to the couch for the rest of my natural born life."

"I think it's safe to say that if she hasn't done it in the last seven plus years, she's not going to do it anytime soon," Adam commented, as his brother in law headed for the stairs that led down into the basement.

"Don't underestimate your sister, Ross. She's sneaky. She could just be waiting for the perfect moment. Letting me get myself all comfortable in the marriage. And the minute I let my guard down, BOOM! She strikes. Why do you think I've perfected the art of sleeping with one eye open? In case she goes all squirrel killer crazy on me and attempts to off me in my sleep."

"Trust me, Don. You're safe. If she was going to do it, you would have been long gone by now."

"And she calls me delusional," Flack snorted, then journeyed down into the basement.

Adam grinned, and then turned and stared down in disgust at the mound of dishes still awaiting his attention. Sighing heavily, he threw himself into his work.

_Definitely should have stayed in bed today_, he thought.

* * *

Snow crunched noisily under Mac's feet as he headed up the front walk of the Flacks' row house. Multicolored Christmas lights lined each pane of the bay window and were twisted along the small banister separating their side of the front steps from their neighbours'. Nearly every light in the home was burning brightly and he could hear the loud giggling and shrieking of the twins and Amanda. He paused briefly in the middle of the walk and looked up. A smile crossing his face as he caught sight of the girls -more precisely just the tops of their heads- as they jumped on the bed in what he knew was Kallison's room.

It ate at him that he wasn't there for a social call. That he'd been avoiding the Flacks since he'd been given the unfortunate task of telling Samantha she was no longer employed by the crime lab. The day after he'd dropped the bomb on, Mac had found himself standing at a crime scene alongside of Flack. The temperatures had been bone chilling as they stood, overlooking a rather gruesome decapitated DB found in an alley in the Bronx at three in the morning. The reception from Flack as Mac arrived had been chillier then the weather. The detective had briefly glanced up from the open log book in his hand and gave a curt nod before filling Mac in on the basics. He been all business. Nothing more and nothing less. And had continued acting that way for nearly two weeks. Mac didn't blame the younger man. Flack was hurt and upset because his wife was hurt and upset. Any husband would have felt the exact same way. And instead of getting nasty and saying something uncalled for, Flack had decided to stay silent and keep his distance. He'd finally come around nearly three weeks later. After he and Mac had found themselves side by side in the lab cafeteria buying coffee. Flack had told the cashier that both drinks were on him. Mac had given his thanks and the two men had left the food service area together and stood for a couple of minutes in silence as they stirred cream and sugar into their coffees. And then Flack had asked about Kelli and the boys. Since then, neither had mentioned Sam's firing. It had been put in the past and Mac had been grateful for that.

He had thought that Jordan Gates was in the past, too. But Mac Taylor had never been so wrong. And as he drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, he climbed the front steps and prepared himself mentally for the task that lay ahead of him. Opening the screen door, he held it with his hip and pressed the doorbell. He heard the loud chime sound throughout the house and then waited, hands in his jacket pockets, for someone to answer. Mac heard heavy footsteps quickly approaching the door, then saw a shadow through the frosted glasses on the wooden door and heard the click as the dead bolt was snapped open. Fully expecting to find Samantha or Flack standing before him as the door was yanked open. And taken totally be surprise when Adam Ross appeared in front of him.

Adam's eyes widened. Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Uh…hi…Mac…" he greeted. "What…uh…what are you doing here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," Mac responded. "I thought you were suppose to be in Florida for another week."

"I am…I was…I should be…I mean…" Adam closed his eyes briefly and composed himself. "I was supposed to be there but something came up and I decided to come home. Something personal. Very personal. And Sam and Flack they're…helping me out with it. I'm staying in the spare room for a while. My sister's been putting me to work too. No rest for the weary, huh?"

"Are you going to let me in Adam? Or am I going to stand here in the freezing cold and listen to you ramble all night long?"

"Oh…oh right!" Adam gave a nervous laugh and stepped back as he opened the door in invitation. "Sorry…my head…it's not exactly in proper working order at the moment. I've got all these things swirling around and just driving me insane. I'm not even sure if I'm coming or going to be honest with you. I thought happily ever after was suppose to be just that and now…"

Mac arched a quizzical eyebrow as he stepped into the house.

"Never mind," Adam waved it off, shutting the door and locking it behind his boss. "Not important. You're not interested in my personal life. I'll just shut up now."

"Is everything okay, Adam?" Mac asked, genuinely concerned.

"Not really," the younger man admitted. "But I'm…I'm doing okay…I'm going to be okay…I think…but thanks for…uh…thanks for asking."

Mac just nodded and toed off his boots. Shrugging out of his coat, he hung it on the doorknob. "Is Flack around?" he asked. "There's some business I need to discuss with him."

"He's just downstairs," Adam replied. "Re-arranging the furniture. Well not really re-arranging it. More like putting it back where it belongs. He and the girls decided to tear the place apart and make a fort earlier and it was just a big huge mess and he's finally getting to it. After being nagged about it for the last seven hours nearly. You know how my sister is. Once she gets going she just can't stop and she…"

"What time was this fort building at?" Mac asked curiously.

Adam frowned at the question. "I don't know…quarter after two maybe? If that. One thirty? I don't really know. Why?"

Mac shrugged. "Just asking…so when did you get back in town?" he asked, as he followed the younger man into the living room.

"Late last night," Adam replied. "Well, the wee hours of the morning are more like it. It was well after three when we finally rolled in here."

"We?"

"Don picked me up at the airport. I had called him earlier in the evening and told him what was going on and he suggested I come home. You're asking a lot of questions, Mac."

"I'm just being curious. I wasn't exactly expecting you to be answering the door at your sister's house. I thought you were still with your family in the happiest place on earth. Basking in nice warm temperatures. I never thought you'd be in Ridgewood, Queens in the middle of the worst winter storm New York has seen in nearly forty years."

"God works in mysterious ways I guess," Adam mused. "Just your questions seemed a little…I don't know…weird."

"Weird?" Mac asked, as they stood at the top of the stairs that led down into the basement.

Adam nodded. "Yeah…like they're not really normal questions but like you're running an investigation."

Mac gave a tense smile and began his descent down the stairs. "When you get your issues sorted out and you feel up to it, I'd love to have you back at work. We definitely need you."

Adam gave a small smile and returned to his nearly empty sink of dishes. "Nice to be needed by someone," he murmured.

* * *

The hardwood that lay beneath the dusty rose coloured carpeting that lined the stairs cracked slightly under the weight of Mac's body as he journyed down into the basement. He had been to the Flack home on many occasions. Christmas Eve or Boxing Day celebrations, birthday parties, team get togethers and guys' nights that consisted of watching football or hockey and kicking back with a beers and take out. Mac had never been much of a sport fan, but throughout the years he'd become exceptionally close to the members of his team. Too close, as Whitmore had chastised him for on several occasions. She had spied the photographs of the teams various children that lined his desk and the shelves behind it. The 'pictures' addressed to Papa Mac that the littler ones had created and asked their parents to bring to him. The photos and the colourful works of art -more more then scribbles and attempts at animals and stick people and suns that boasted smiley faces- brought a sense of humanity to Mac's office. Innocence and simplistic beauty cutting through the harsh realities of his job and the injustices of the world.

When he was having a long and trying day, when he felt overcome by the evil that existed out on the streets, all he had to do was look at those photos and those drawings and he quickly realized that it was for those children that loved him and that he loved and return, and for all children in general, that he fought so hard to rid the city of all vermin.

Instead of viewing those masterpieces and photographs as escapes from the job, Whitmore had looked at them with disdain on her face and accused him of getting too emotionally involved with the people that he employed. He was their superior officer. He was suppose to govern them, not become part of their families. Mac had politely told her that they way he conducted his private life was just that. Private. And that his workers and their children were his family. And if she couldn't understand that, then she needed to keep her personal opinions to herself.

"Looks like a bomb went off in here," Mac commented, standing at the bottom of the stairs and observing Flack as the younger man, a green garbage bag in hand, busied himself with cleaning the family room. Empty juice boxes and wrappers from various snacks littered the floor. The furniture, which had either been pushed together or removed completely in order to erect the fort Adam had spoken of upon Mac's arrival, had yet to be put back in order.

"More like a hurricane blew through," Flack said with a grin, as he dropped the remaining garbage into the bag in his hand and tied it up tightly. "Three of them actually. Hurricanes Kellan, Kallison and Amanda. Ever notice how the really evil ones are always named after women? I am pretty sure there's been a Hurricane Samantha at one point in time. And it was probably the worst one of them all. The biggest bitch of a hurricane ever."

"Better not hear your wife say that," Mac chided. "You're liable to find yourself sleeping out on the back deck in three feet of snow."

"Naw…I love my wife to death. She knows that. I love her and all the royal bitchiness that comes along with her. And let's face it, if she wasn't around, I'd be completely miserable not having anything **to **crab and moan about."

Mac grinned.

"And speaking of three feet of snow," Flack said, as he used his knees and one hand to shove the smaller part of the sectional sofa up against the wall. "It's like Armageddon out there. There's only one thing that would bring even you all the way out here in weather like this. And it's not to socialize or have a few beers."

"Wish I could say it was," Mac responded. "But I'm afraid…"

"Duty calls," Flack finished, tossing the garbage bag aside, and moving over to the larger section of the couch, slid it effortlessly into place. "I know I'm off for a few days, Mac, but if you needed my help on a case you could have just called me. You didn't need to drive all the way out here. I wouldn't have left you in a lurch. Woulda taken me a couple hours to get into midtown mind you, but I would have come in if you needed me to."

"I appreciate that, Don. And I am here about a case and I do need your help. Just…not the kind of help you're thinking of."

Flack arched an eyebrow, clearly perplexed.

"I hate having to come all the way here to bring up the past," Mac said. "But I need to ask you some questions about Jordan."

Flack sighed and began gathering up the throw cushions on the floor. "What about her?" he asked, arranging the small pillows on the couch.

"When was the last time that you saw or spoke to Jordan?" Mac asked.

The detective shrugged. "I don't know…eight months ago I guess. When I walked out of her place and came back here to find out she went all Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction on me. Why?"

"And you haven't seen her or even spoken to her since that night?"

Flack shook his head. "Why would I?" he asked. "I ended it 'cause she wanted me to give up my wife and my family for her and I wasn't going to do that. And honestly, I was through lying to Sam. She deserved better then how I was carrying on and it was time to come clean. I love my wife, Mac. You know that."

The older man nodded.

"That being said, you're probably thinking, 'If you love her why'd you ever fuck another woman behind her back for three months?' Truth is, I don't know why I did it. I guess I was just overwhelmed and stressed about things that were going on around here. Sammie was sick and dumping all kinds of extra shit onto me and pushing me away emotionally and physically all at the same time. Then I saw Jordan at that benefit thing and…" Flack shrugged. "She was there. When I needed someone. When I needed an escape. It wasn't about love. It was **never** about love."

"What was it about?" Mac asked.

"Honestly? I don't know. Sex maybe? Being with someone that makes you feel loved and appreciated? Having a place to go when things got too dark and heavy at home? I don't know, Mac. Maybe I'll never know. She was an escape maybe? When I was with her I was able to get away from all the stress and bullshit at home. Who knows. All I do know is that I fucked up huge. I almost lost everything and I'm not about to put myself, or my wife and kids through something like that again."

"We all make decisions we regret Flack. Whether there was rhyme or reason to them or not. And you don't have to defend yourself to me. I'm not here, and I've never been here, to judge you or the decisions you made. I told you how I felt back when it all blew up in your face. I told you that I thought what you did was wrong and that you should pay for your mistakes. But that was an opinion and nothing more. You did it and you can't take it back. I don't need to hear your reasons. What I need to hear is the truth about when you last saw Jordan."

Flack frowned. "I just told you that…"

"I know what you told me. And now let me tell you what I know. You're lying."

"Mac, I don't…"

"Don't bullshit me, Don. You've never been a good liar when it comes to your family and friends. I know that you saw Jordan Gates within the past five weeks. I also know that you were most likely seeing her on a regular basis for at least the past seven months."

"I'm not having an affair, Mac," Flack's voice was filled with simmering anger as he locked his blue eyes on the older man. "I ended that eight months ago and I have no plans on ever doing it again. So I don't know what the hell you're…"

"Jordan Gates is dead," Mac informed him.

Flack blinked. Yet no emotion passed over his face at the announcement.

"She was found dead in her apartment earlier today," Mac continued. "She'd been strangled. The killer used his bare hands. And based on our evidence and our measurements of the bruises on her throat, he had large hands and wore a wedding ring. According to footage from the surveillance cameras at her building he had dark hair and was between five foot ten and six foot three and weighed between one eighty and two ten. You have large hands, wear a wedding ring and have dark hair…"

"And you're fucking point, Mac?"

"…and according to your employee jacket, you're six foot two and weighed two hundred and five pounds at your last physical."

"So? Lots of guys that match my description, Mac. Lots of them. You telling me you've come here to question me about her murder? Are you fucking kidding me? You've come all the way here to tell me that I'm a suspect? Or did you come here to physically take me in?"

"Where were you between noon and two p.m?" Mac asked.

Flack snorted and shook his head. "I was here. At home. At noon I was making lunch for the girls and Amanda. After that, at about quarter after one, we went out to the park so Sammie and Adam could talk."

"Anyone who can vouch for that?"

"Yeah…Sammie and Adam, Kellan and Kallison. Amanda. You asking me for my alibi? Well there it is. You want to ask me anymore questions, you can take me downtown and wait until I get a union lawyer. Don't come to my house accusing me of murdering someone. That's just fucking bullshit."

"It isn't just someone, Don. It's your ex mistress."

"Ex!" Flack snapped. "Perfect word! Ex! I ended it eight months ago and never went back. End of fucking story!"

Mac caught Flack by the arm as the younger man attempted to step past him. "It's not the end of the story. You still haven't answered my question. When was the last time you saw Jordan?"

"You seem to know all the answers already," Flack said, and yanked his arm out of Mac's grasp. "You say you got proof I saw her a month ago. What more do you need to know?"

"There's a lot I should have known about a long time ago," Mac retorted. "I know about the baby, Don. Your baby. Your son. Hunter William Gates. I know all about him. He was left alone in his crib, screaming for his mother while she lay dead in the next room. Hawkes found Jordan's bank statement. We know that you paid Jordan four hundred dollars in child support last month. He also found the statement of live birth. That you signed three days after your son was born. And what kills me out of all of this is that even after I told you Jordan had been murdered, you didn't even ask about him!"

Flack sighed heavily and looked away, his resolve wavering under Mac's steady gaze.

"You didn't even ask if he was okay! And you lied to me about when the last time you saw Jordan was! So how about you start telling me the truth from here on out. That is your son and he deserves the truth to what the hell went down between you and his mother."

"Jordan showed up at the precinct about two weeks after I ended things," Flack told him, his voice quiet. "She told me that she was pregnant. Almost three months. I told her that I didn't believe her when she said it was mine. 'Cause if she was messing with me, she was probably messing with other guys too. I told her the only way she was getting anything out of me, was to prove to me that it was mine."

"And?" Mac pressed.

"She had an amnio done and I coughed up a DNA sample and we got the test done at a private lab," Flack said. "When it came back that it was mine, she thought that it meant I was going to give up on my marriage and the kids I already had and live happily ever after with her. She figured 'cause Sammie and I were separated, this would make it permanent."

"And you told her the complete opposite."

Flack nodded. "I told her that I didn't want anything to do with her or her kid. She wanted child support and all of that after the kid was born, that was fine. But I didn't want anything to do with her or it physically. When Sammie and I got back together, I told her that Jordan was pregnant and that the DNA test proved it was mine. By that time, she'd already started to forgive me for the affair, so she accepted my decision regarding Jordan and the baby. We both agreed we'd never tell anyone about it and just go on with our lives. There's only two other people who know."

"What happened the last time you saw Jordan?" Mac asked.

"I agreed to come and see her at the hospital. So I could sign whatever I needed to. But only if she would keep the kid as far away from me as possible. I didn't want to see him, I didn't want to hold him. Nothing. I wanted nothing to do with him. And I especially didn't want him having my last name. So Jordan and I met up, we verbally agreed on what money I would give her and I signed what needed to be signed. Then I left."

"And you've never seen the baby?"

Flack shook his head. "And I don't want to either," he said.

Mac's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"I just fathered him, Mac. I was just the sperm donor. That's it. I had no plans on ever getting together with his mother and us being a happy little family. I manned up to my responsibility when I agreed to sign that paper and pay support. That baby was an accident. A reminder of how bad I fucked up and I don't need a reminder of the mistake I made."

"A baby is a blessing," Mac informed him angrily. "Regardless of who made it. It's a human life. I would have thought that you of all people, who has so badly wanted another baby since the day your first two were born, would take the blessing that was given to you."

"I wanted another baby with my wife. I didn't want shit with Jordan."

"Well you should have thought about that and took some kind of precaution so something like that didn't happen. That little boy has lost his mother! He has no one else in this world and you're telling me that you don't want anything to do with him?"

"I'm sorry about what happened to Jordan," Flack said sincerely. "She didn't deserve that. But he's not my responsibility, Mac."

"Yes he is!" the older man snapped. "He was your responsibility the moment you got his mother pregnant! The second you found out that you were the father of that baby, you became responsible for him for the rest of his life! You talk about how you manned up by agreeing to sign a piece of paper declaring yourself a father? That you manned up by agreeing to pay child support? What about manning up as the only parent this child has left and giving him a proper home?"

Flack gave a dry laugh and shook his head. "What do you want me to do? Just take him in? Accept him with open arms? Just bring him on home and make him part of the family? What do I tell my girls, Mac? Kellan and Kallison are my kids."

"And so is he! Maybe by a different mother, but he's your child all the same! And you tell them that when you were off screwing around on their mother, you made your fuck up a hundred times worse by making a baby. And that that baby is their little brother! That's what you tell them! You step up to the plate and you take care of that baby! You're always going on and on about your daughters. How you take care of your own. Well live up to that and take care of your son!"

"I can't do that, Mac."

"Yes. Yes you can do that. And you know deep down in your heart that you want to. Because you could never, ever live with yourself if that baby ended up in the system. You know that you want to take care of him and that you should take care of him. You're just too goddamn scared to admit it. You made your bed, Don! Now goddamn well sleep in it!"

"I've got a family, Mac. I've got a wife and two little girls. I don't have…"

"You don't have what? You don't have time for another baby? You don't have room in your home or in your heart for it? Don't give me that bullshit, Don! I know what kind of man you are! I know the depth of love and acceptance that you're capable of! All that baby needs is his father! You have room in your life for him and you know it!"

Flack shook his head.

"And don't you dare stand here and tell me you don't care. That you don't feel something for your own child. Because if you didn't, you never would have signed that statement of live birth. You would have walked away and given up all rights. You would have washed your hands on that baby the moment you found out for sure it was yours."

The detective sighed heavily and raked his fingers through his hair.

"You are that baby's father, Don. And you're the only person in the world he has left," Mac told him. "You are more then capable of accepting him and loving him. And so is Samantha and your girls and you know that."

"Sammie doesn't deserve this," Flack said, his voice quiet and wracked with emotion. "She doesn't deserve having this dumped on her."

"She didn't deserve having you cheat on her, either," Mac pointed out. "But you still did it. And I think you're seriously underestimating her. You're already assuming what her reaction is going to be to this. You're thinking that she's going to turn her back on you. That she's going to walk out of here and not look back. That she's going to want to end your marriage."

Flack nodded in agreement.

"You obviously don't know your own wife very well," Mac said, shaking his head in disappointment. "She has a big heart, Don. If she can accept what you did to her and agree to put your marriage back together, then she's capable of loving this baby. Your baby. Don't you think she deserves that chance? To love him and care for him? You know what kind of mother she is. Give her the chance to give your son the mother that he so desperately needs now."

Flack sighed heavily. "I never meant for this to happen," he whispered.

"There's a lot of things in my life and my past I saw that about," Mac told him. "But we can't go back in time and change things. You can't take back cheating on your wife with Jordan. You can't take back making that baby with another woman. Bu you can change how things end up for that baby."

"What do I tell her?" Flack asked the older man. "I mean how do I tell her about what happened? That we're suddenly going to have this baby in the house?"

"You tell her exactly what happened to Jordan. And then you tell her that you love and respect her enough to make a decision about what she wants to do. You let her make the choice. Whether it's to take on the baby or not. You tell her what happened and then you shut up and listen to her tell you what she wants you to do. Understand me?"

The detective nodded.

Mac clapped him on the shoulder. "It's all going to work out," he promised. "For the best. You just need to accept what you've done. What you had a hand in creating. You need to accept yourself and forgive yourself, Don."

"Easier said then done," Flack mused.

"It's not going to be easy. But no one ever said life was either easy or fair. But you brought this on and now it's up to you to step up to the plate."

"I know…I just…" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Where's the baby now?" he asked.

"Angel of Mercy. He wasn't hurt but that's where CPS is keeping him for now. If you'd like to see him…"

"I need some time to talk to Sammie. I need to tell her what happened to Jordan and see what she wants to do. If she wants to go and see him, then we'll go over there. I just need some time Mac."

The older man nodded in understanding. "Danny's on his way back from Lake Placid to help with the case. When you decide you're going to do, call me and let me know. He's going to need to take fingerprints, a reference sample."

"I already told you where I was Mac. And I wouldn't kill Jordan."

"I know that Don. And for now, you're off of NYPD radar. But when this gets out, and believe me, it will, I want to make sure that both of our asses are covered. Okay?"

Flack nodded.

"You're going to be alright," Mac promised him, and reaching out, drew the younger and taller man into his arms. Enveloping him in a fatherly hug. "You're going to be alright, Don."

Flack closed his eyes tightly and held back his emotion as he returned the embraced.

And felt, for the second time in ten years, that Mac Taylor held his life in his very hands.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! I can never thank you all enough for your support for this story and all my other work! Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**laurzz**

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**Forest Angel**

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**Wolfeylady**

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**GregRox**

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**Delko's Girl 88**


	46. Trains of thought

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, THE FLACK TWINS AND BABY HUNTER.**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**A WARM WELCOME TO PrInCeSsJeNn**

**USE OF ITALICS MEANS A FLASHBACK**

**This chapter includes a slight teasing of Canadians. I am Canadian and find the stereotypes and misconceptions surrounding us quite amusing. So I hope it doesn't offend any of my fellow Canucks reading this!**

* * *

**Trains of thought**

"Well, she was precious like a flower  
She grew wild, wild but innocent  
A perfect prayer in a desperate hour  
She was everything beautiful and different  
Stupid boy, you can't fence that in  
Stupid boy, it's like holding back the wind  
She laid her heart and soul right in your hands  
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans  
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens  
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't  
Stupid boy, stupid boy

So what made you think you could take a life  
And just push it  
push it around  
I guess you build yourself up so high  
You had to take her and break her down."  
-Stupid Boy, Keith Urban

* * *

Lindsay sighed heavily and stared out the front passenger window at the wicked winter storm violently battering the city. Three hours into the drive home from Lake Placid, and finally the Manhattan skyline was beginning to come into view. The lights of the thousands of monstrous buildings and the ones that lined the bridges that connected Manhattan to other boroughs, which usually burned so brightly in the night sky, were struggling to poke through the thick, relentless snow that continued to fall. The temperatures had dipped well below freezing, and while the wind whistled and rattled the windows of the SUV and ice pellets clattered on the windshield, inside it was toasty warm. The heater had been cranked as high as it could go and the rhythmic swishing of the wipers threatened to lull her to sleep.

A heavy silence had descended on the vehicle the moment Danny had tossed their belongings into the back seat and then angrily slammed the door before climbing behind the wheel. The lack of steady communication and the nods or shrugs or the shake of head and one or two word answers that Lindsay got when attempting to spark a conversation, were unsettling. She knew that her husband was pissed off and disappointed that their plans of a romantic, kids free getaway had been so rudely interrupted. Hell, she was pissed off and aggravated too. But both had long come to accept that being 'on the job' meant that personal sacrifices sometimes needed to be made. Had to be made, in fact. You couldn't go into police work with expectations of a set schedule. While you may go in expecting to work hours, it was rare that a shift ended on time. Most stretched into doubles or triples. Others continued even longer. And when you became a cop, you abandoned all notions of having weekends and holidays off. Crime and evil never took vacation time. Those that had vowed to serve and protect preformed an essential service. Even if doing so meant putting your family and your own line on hold more often then not.

But she also knew that Danny's agitation and anger stretched far beyond the disappointment of interrupted plans. That it had nothing to do with being called into work to help ease the burden off an already overwhelmed, disgustingly overworked staff. Mac had been trying to efficiently run the lab on little help, and the lack of progress and the small number of solved cases were beginning to show that even he couldn't perform miracles. Sinclair had done the city of New York a great disservice by forcing Mac to make cut backs. What the department brass deemed necessary, the cops who did the grunt work deemed complete and utter crap. The lab just couldn't do a proper, sufficient job with the number of staff, or the lack of dollars for equipment. And in the end, it was the members of the city paying the price for bureaucratic bullshit.

And while that ate at Danny and made his already foul mood even fouler, his main bone of contention was the unavoidable torment that his best friend had been dumping on his innocent family for he past eight months. As if an extended affair wasn't enough, now a love child that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with was coming back to haunt Flack in a big way. When Flack had originally come to Danny and not only confessed the affair -which he'd ended just weeks before- and the child that Jordan Gates was carrying was his, Danny had done everything in his power to keep himself from strangling or beating his best friend to death with his bare hands. He'd been shocked at first, then filled with the utmost disgust and disappointment. Flack had always been the one walking around preaching about how much he loved and respected his wife and adored his kids. Always going on and on about how they were his entire world and he could never life without them. And then using stress as an excuse, had gone around behind his wife's back and completely fucked her over.

Things had become chilly between the two friends after Flack's admission. Danny didn't hide the fact that what Flack had done made him sick to his stomach, and Flack being Flack, had gotten defensive of his actions and in response, had become downright nasty. It was Flack's way of protecting himself. Be as vicious as possible verbally in order to make himself feel better about the things that he'd done. Danny was used to that kind of behaviour from his best friend. He'd been on the receiving end of Flack nastiness on more then one occasion. And while Flack was the first one who always came to Danny's defence and had his back no matter how many times Danny screwed up, Flack was also the first person to toss past mistakes in your face in the course of an argument. And mentions of Ruben and Danny's own infidelity with Rikki while dating Lindsay had cut deep and Danny and Flack's friendship had taken a direct hit because of it.

Sam and Lindsay had been the ones who'd made them both see the light. Who'd told them to stop being so goddamn immature and petty. To not let hurt feelings and differences of opinion destroy a nearly fifteen year friendship. Sam had pointed out to her husband that Danny had long ago accepted his mistakes and had paid for them ten fold and didn't need to be treated like a second class citizen for what he'd done. And that in time, Flack too would accept the consequences of his own actions. Lindsay in turn had reminded Danny, that the shoe had once been on the other foot. That during the whole Rikki fiasco, Flack had always been supportive and non-judgemental of him. And Danny hadn't shown his friend that same respect.

So while their wives -accompanied by their respective children- had gathered at Flack's place for dinner and Disney videos and a basement camp out for the kids, Danny and Flack had taken a trip to a sports bar in downtown Flushing. The first hour had been spent in an uncomfortable silence. The two friends sitting side by side and the bar and nursing their drinks, each struggling for the proper words to get the ball rolling, and each not wanting to be the person to give in first. Eventually, Flack had polished off his third glass of JD on the rocks and nodded in the direction of the television set mounted on the wall behind the bar.

"Rangers are having a shit post season," he'd commented. "Hope it's not a sign of things to come."

No apologies had ever been exchanged and none had been needed. By Flack taking the reigns and attempting in his own way to bring things between them back round again, Danny had known that neither had needed words to help repair their relationship. They'd done their proverbial kiss and make up without any hard work on either of their parts. And their friendship had been quickly and effortlessly rebuilt.

Danny was worried about his best friend and what Jordan Gates' death and the emergence of baby Hunter would do to Flack and his family. And he was also concerned about what would happen to that innocent child that had never asked to be dumped into the sordid mess he now floundered in. Danny knew for a fact that there was no way that Samantha would punish that baby because of his father's sins. That her anger and hatred for Jordan wouldn't cloud her judgement. As a woman who'd been told after the birth of twin daughters that she'd never had another child of her own, Sam respected and appreciated life. She knew what a miracle each and every baby brought into the world was. And there would be no way she'd turn her back on Hunter. Whether he was created through an extra marital affair or not.

But Flack…Flack worried Danny. Tremendously. Danny was unsure if Flack was willing to step up to the plate or not. He'd been adamant that the child not bear his last name and that he never lay eyes on it. And it left Danny wondering if it came down to it, Flack would up and bail on his family because he was unwillingly to open his heart to his son. Hunter was an unpleasant reminder of Flack's mistake. And Danny worried that if Sam chose to accept the baby into her heart and home, that Flack would simply walk away.

* * *

"He wouldn't be that goddamn stupid," Danny said aloud.

Lindsay's eyes snapped open at the sound of her husband's voice. She had just begun to drift off to a pleasant sleep when his words had cut into her brain. She yawned noisily and glanced over at him. Noticing how his jaw was tense and his lips set in a grim line and how his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"What did you say, babe?" she asked.

Danny didn't respond. His eyes remained riveted on the road. What he could see of it given the condition of the weather.

Lindsay frowned. "Dan…" she reached over and laid a hand on his knee and shook his leg lightly, attempting to capture his attention. "Dan…Danny…Danny…Daniel!"

He gave a small start and cast a quick glance at her. "What?" he asked.

"You said something a couple of minutes ago," Lindsay replied. "Something about somebody not being that goddamn stupid or something like that."

"I did?" Danny looked, and sounded, perplexed.

She nodded. "I was just falling asleep and I heard you say it. Who were you talking about?"

"Flack," he said with a heavy sigh. "I was just thinking about this fucking mess he's gotten himself and his entire family into it."

"He got them into it months ago now," Lindsay reminded him. "They've been dealing with what he did for a while now."

"Yeah…but now this with Jordan…"

"It wasn't Flack's fault that someone killed her," she said. "How was he suppose to know she was going to be murdered? That would have been the last thing on his mind. It's not his fault that his crappy choices are being tossed into his face all over again."

"But the baby, Linds. The baby. Makes me sick to think what might happen to that kid. He didn't deserve what happened to his mother. And he doesn't deserve to be abandoned just 'cause his birth father couldn't keep his goddamn dick in his pants."

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Lindsay murmured.

Danny frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?" he inquired.

"It means that you're the last person who should be judging him. You made a similar choice a long time ago. So you shouldn't be sitting there condemning him and wanting to stone him for having an affair. It happened. It happened and they dealt with it and you need to…you need to just let it go already."

"I won't just let it go. Kellan and Kallison are my goddaughters. Our goddaughters. Sam's your best friend. She's been like this little sister to me ever since she started at the lab. And I can't just shrug my shoulders and turn my back on what went down."

"And neither can I," Lindsay told him. "But you know what, Danny? Flack and Sam have dealt with what he did. And they'll deal with this too. Stop underestimating them so much. They'll both step up to the plate and do the right thing."

"It's not Sam I'm worried about," Danny murmured.

"There is no way that Flack is going to turn his back on his own child," Lindsay argued. "You know him, Danny. You know what kind of man he is. And you should know that he doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. Outside of a work he's a softie. You see what he's like with his girls. He loves them and adores them. And once he gets to know his son, he'll feel the same way about him too."

"You sound awful optimistic about the whole thing," Danny commented.

"Sam and Flack are great parents," Lindsay reasoned. "They have so much love and so much patience and it broke them when Sam had the hysterectomy and they couldn't have any more babies of their own. They aren't going to lift a gift horse in the mouth, Danny. That baby may be half Jordan's, but he's half Flack's too. And Sam…Sam will welcome him with open arms and love him like her own. There's no doubt in my mind. Flack will take a little longer to get used to the idea of having Hunter around. That baby is a constant reminder of how badly he hurt his wife. How he almost lost everything that mattered to him. And once he gets past that way of thinking, he's going to realize how precious his son is and love him just as much as he loves his girls."

"And if he doesn't?" Danny asked.

"Well…" Lindsay sighed heavily. "If that's the case…I guess Flack's going to have to live with himself after he does lose everything that matters most to him. Sam won't tolerate that shit. That isn't the man she married. If he shuts down like that, she won't waste her time getting him to change his mind. She'll take the girls and that baby and leave. Because making sure her children are well cared for and loved are most important to her. And if he can't love his own son? She won't put up with that. And to be honest, I wouldn't blame her one bit for walking away from him. A woman can only take so much. And that just may be the last nail in the coffin."

Danny nodded slowly as he considered her firm words. And realized that everything she was saying was the truth. Baby Hunter could either bring them even closer together, or drive them apartment. He would either heal the remaining fractures, or disintegrate them all together.

And it was the latter that he was terrified of. And determined to stop.

* * *

The drive into mid-town was slow and tedious. Average travelling time by car from Ridgewood was forty five minutes, even with the backlogs on the Queensboro Bridge and the many snarls you encountered as soon as you hit lower Manhattan. The ferocious snowstorm had not only shut down most of the city, but had doubled the duration of the trip.

After the girls had been tucked into bed and last stories had been finished up, Adam, knowing that whatever Mac had stop by for wasn't pleasant, had retreated to the basement to watch television. Giving Sam and Flack the opportunity to talk behind the closed and locked door of their bedroom. She had taken it a lot calmer and smoother than Flack had expected. Shock had registered on her face and in her eyes when he'd told her that Jordan had been murdered. After a couple of moments of quiet contemplation, she'd began to ask questions. About what had exactly happened and if Mac had any suspects in mind. Flack had said he had no idea. He was being kept as far way as possible from the investigation, but that he'd have to give prints and DNA and a formal statement in order to protect Mac's ass, and his own. She'd nodded slowly, letting all the information sink in as they sat side by side on the edge of their bed. Their voices low, the twins' and Amanda's giggles floating down the hallway and into their room.

* * *

"_What about the baby?" Sam asked, breaking the silence that had descended upon them. "Is he okay?"_

_Flack nodded and stared down at the wedding band he wore, absentmindedly twirling it around his finger and then pulling it to his middle knuckle and sliding it back down again. Over and over. A nervous trait that he'd possessed for years now. "Jordan's son is at Angel of Mercy," he told his wife. "He wasn't injured or anything, but the CPS agent in charge of his case felt that keeping him there until permanent arrangements can be made was for the best. They'll have to figure out what to do with him."_

_Sam's eyes narrowed. "They'll?" she asked. "Don't you mean we'll?"_

_Flack ignored that. "Jordan has no family except for that douche bag ex of hers whose in jail 'cause he hired Suspect X to kill her. So I guess all CPS can do is wait for a spot in a foster home to open up."_

_Sam was horrified that he'd even suggest such a thing. "He is NOT going to a foster home!" she spat. "Are you out of your goddamn mind, Don?"_

"_Jordan's son needs…"_

"_He needs a proper, stable family to take care of him!" Sam angrily cut him off. "He needs hugs and kisses and cuddles and everything warm and wonderful a baby deserves and needs to grow and develop properly. How can you just sit here and consider tossing him into a foster home? Into our grossly mismanaged and neglected system? You know what happens to most of those kids, Donnie! What if something happened to me? Would you just shrug your shoulders and say 'shit happens' and send Kellan and Kallison to a foster home?"_

"_You know the fucking answer to that!" Flack snapped, anxious to defend himself against her oncoming tirade. "That's completely different! I'd never abandon my girls and you know that!"_

"_But you're quick to abandon Hunter!" she cried, jumping to her feet, as if sitting next to him any longer would be detrimental to her health. "You're quick to just let him become another statistic!"_

"_He's different! You're my wife and Kellan and Kallison are my daughters!" he argued._

"_And he's your son!" she fought back. "He's not just Jordan's! He has half of your DNA inside of him! You helped make him, didn't you? Did you not lie down in bed with her and get her pregnant?"_

"_I fucked up! I know that! But you and the girls don't need to suffer because of it!"_

"_We have suffered, Don!" she hissed. "We began to suffer the second you decided that getting laid and getting your rocks off on a regular basis were more important than your family! And then all hell broke loose when that crazy ass bitch called her and ratted you out! You don't think we've suffered? Me and you? We separated! The girls and I lived with Sid for fuck sakes! You don't think that was hard on me and our girls?"_

"_I know it was hard," Flack said, his voice quiet. "I know that it was rough. On all of us."_

"_Your daughters missed you! They cried for their daddy every night and hated me because I took them away from you! You were the one that fucked everything up yet I was the bad guy! So don't you dare even begin to think you know how badly you hurt me!"_

"_And I've apologized every day for eight months. Sam! And we went to counselling and you took me back and we became a family again. What more do you want from me?"_

"_I want you to get your head out of your ass and accept the consequences of what you did! Jordan isn't the only guilty party here. You slept with her and you got her pregnant! Hunter is your son! How can you just turn your back on him like this? He's an innocent little baby! He didn't do anything wrong! He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask for his mother to be killed! He didn't ask for you to be a complete and utter fucking tool and cheat on your wife for three months and get another woman pregnant! Our girls and your son are the only innocent parties in this whole God awful shitty ass mess!"_

_Flack shook his head. "You didn't deserve what I did," he said._

"_No. I didn't. But you know what, Don? I accept my part in it. I expected too much from you. I was sick and dumping all kinds of shit on you. I didn't take the time to realize that it was all too much for you to handle. Your work, my illness, the girls. I took advantage of you and I used you and I pushed you away. And I'm sorry for that. I've done my share of apologizing too, you know."_

"_I know…" he told her. "But I didn't do all of that 'cause I felt obligated. I tried to handle everything 'cause I love you and our girls and I just…I wanted to hold it all together. Yet at the same time I was terrified, baby. I was worried I was going to lose you. And then all of a sudden you went from needing me to do everything for you to not even wanting me around you. And I shouldn't have felt the need to go somewhere else, but…"_

"_We are both to blame for what happened between us," she concluded. "I could have just opened up to you more and appreciated you and you could have just said no. We both made mistakes with our marriage. Huge ones. But we love each other, Donnie. If we didn't we wouldn't be here right now. We wouldn't be married anymore. Would we?"_

_He shook his head._

"_But none of that is important right now," she said. "Hunter is. Your son is important. He's lost his mother and he has no one else. And you being so cold and so insensitive and such a bastard, to be so willing to toss him away…" she shook her head. "That is not you. That is not the man I fell in love with and married. Who I had two beautiful little girls with. That is not my husband."_

_Flack sighed heavily and put his face in his hands. Once again, silence descended on the bedroom. After several long minutes he felt the mattress shift underneath him and heard the squeak of springs as his wife sat down next to him. He could smell the subtle lavender of her lingering body lotion as she leaned in close to press a soft kiss to his ear. He felt her one hand settle on his back, rubbing it soothingly as the fingers of her other hand combed through his hair. Simple gestures. Yet filled with so much love and tenderness that he didn't deserve._

_He removed his hands from his face and turned to look at her. Their noses touched, their warm breath wafted over each other's faces. "What are we going to do?" he asked._

"_We're going to go to the hospital and see Hunter," she replied. "And then we're going to call whoever we need to and sign whatever we have to and bring him home. He's your son, Donnie. And I love you. So much. And I can love him too. Just give me a chance to do it."_

_He smiled, touched by her words, and closed his eyes as she leaned in close and kissed him. Long and soft. And at that moment he felt an absolution he thought would never come. And when she wrapped her arms around him after the kiss had ended and she clung to him with all the strength in her body, she cried like she'd never cried in front of him before. All consuming, body shaking sobs that he'd never witnessed in all the years he'd been with her. And he realized then that she wasn't just forgiving him. But herself as well._

* * *

Yet the pain and the hurt still lingered. And Flack knew they probably always would. There'd be times she'd think about what he'd done and it would break her heart and hurt her as if it was just yesterday. That there'd be moments where she'd rant and rave at him for what he'd done to her and their family. He wouldn't, and couldn't, deny her those feelings. He had brought them on and he had to live with that. She had forgiven him, but would never forget. And he hated himself all over again as they drove to the hospital. Despising himself for forcing her to accept the child that he had created out of pure selfishness and stupidity.

"Snows much more and we're going to have to call your aunt and uncle up there in Canada and ask to borrow their dogsled," Flack teased, as he took the trip over the empty Queensboro Bridge. In all his thirty-eight years, he'd never seen the bridge without bumper to bumper traffic on it.

Sam gave a small smile at his comment. Her uncle Jimmy had once been employed as a concierge at the Widdington and had shown up at the lab unexpectedly one day eight years ago to reunite himself with the niece and nephew he hadn't seen since they've moved to Arizona. He had had no idea that either Ross sibling were back in town until he'd spotted Adam's name and picture in the paper after he'd nearly been obliterated by a bomb while playing street hockey. Uncle Jimmy had since met a woman with dual American/Canadian citizen, and two years ago had married her and moved up to her hometown of Sudbury. It was a beautiful, peaceful place once known for it's mining and now home to many retirement communities. And of course, the giant nickel. The Flacks had taken a trip there last summer, and the girls had been in complete awe of the massive nickel that graced the side of the road at the entrance into the city.

"Both Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Doreen would boot you in the ass if they heard you," Sam said. "You and your 'All Canadians own dogsleds and live in igloos'."

"And use snowshoes and constantly use the word 'eh," Flack added. "I mean, is that even a word?"

"They do not all say 'eh all the time," Sam said.

"What? Come on. They do. It's a known fact about Canadians. They use it nearly every sentence. Your Aunt and her entire family say it. Even your Uncle uses it and he's from Brooklyn! What's up with that? Traitor."

"It is not a fact that they say it all the time," Sam informed her husband. "It's a stereotype."

"Yeah? Well all them Canadians talk weird if you ask me."

She laughed. "That's funny…'cause Aunt Doreen's whole family say the same thing about you and your accent."

"My accent?" Flack frowned. "I don't have an accent."

Sam stared at him, her eyebrows raised.

"Okay…so maybe I have a bit of a Queens thing going on…but it's nowhere near as bad as your Brooklyn one. I mean, you left town at sixteen. Lived in Arizona for fifteen years. And then you came back and still had an accent. Shows you how bad of a Brooklyn accent it is if you can have a fifteen year sabbatical from the city and still have it."

"Leave me accent alone," she giggled. "You love my accent."

He rolled his eyes. "I can barely understand you some days," he teased.

She swatted his shoulder playfully.

Flack chuckled. "And Kallison's starting to sound just like you."

"And Kellan sounds like you," she said. "So we'll have one Brooklyn girl and one Queens girl."

"We're an eclectic bunch," he declared.

Sam nodded and smiled. Leaning her head back against her seat, she closed her eyes. The pounding headache she'd been inflicted with after their emotional moment in the bedroom was starting to wane thanks to the Tylenol she'd popped on her way out the door. But just slightly.

"Maybe tonight wasn't the best time to do this," Flack commented, concerned about her health and well being.

"I'm fine," she assured him. Her eyes still closed, she reached out laid her hand on his thigh. "I just have a headache from crying. It's starting to go away. By the time we get there, I won't have it anymore."

"I'm just saying that I doubt anyone expects us to come to the hospital tonight. Especially in this weather. So if you want to…"

"If we don't go tonight, chances are they'll put on a rush on finding a foster home," Sam said. "CPS won't want to keep Hunter in the hospital when there's no reason for him to be there. And the hospital will want him out of there because he's taking up a room that could be given to a child who needs it."

"Do you really think they're just going to hand him over to us?" Flack asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't think they have a choice. Your name and your signature is on the statement of live birth and I have that copy of the DNA results in my purse if they want to see it. He's yours. We have proof. And when Hawkes called before we left, he said that he found Jordan's will and she had written in it that she wanted custody to go to him if anything happened to her. It's all legally binding, Donnie."

"But why would she put me in her will? She knew how I felt about all of this."

"Because she knew what kind of person you are and she knew you'd never abandon him." Sam said.

Flack sighed heavily. "How are we going to just bring him home? We don't have anything for a baby. Where will he sleep?"

"We have that portable playpen that we use for Makenna when we watch her. We'll set that up in our room and he can sleep with us. He must have been taken to the hospital in a car seat so we don't have to worry about that."

"He can't sleep in a playpen forever," Flack told her. "And what about clothes and toys and diapers and all that? A stroller and all the other crap that comes with a baby?"

"When the crime scene tape comes down and we can get into Jordan's apartment, we'll get all of his things. His clothes and his toys. If he was breastfeeding she probably has a stash of milk in the fridge and freezer like we did with Kellan and Kallison. We'll grab that too and then switch to formula when it runs out. And I know for a fact that Danny and Lindsay have tons of clothes in storage that belonged to Dan-Dan that we can borrow. As for a crib…we'll just buy him what he needs furniture wise instead of going through the hassle of taking everything at Jordan's apart, bringing it to our place and putting it back together."

He nodded slowly. "You're going to have to call Stella," he said. "You're going to need to put off going back to work for her in order to take care of Hunter."

"That's fine," Sam assured him. "There's no need to stress, baby. We'll be fine."

"How are we going to afford all of this, Sammie? Taking care of another kid while we're trying to move? There's all this shit going on and we.."

"I want to stay in New York," she announced.

Flack stole a glance at her.

"I want us to stay where we are," she continued. "Everything's changed now that Hunter needs a home. We need to put some things on hold. If not cancel them all together. We need to concentrate on him and the girls, Donnie. We don't need any other worries on our minds. Our family needs to be first and foremost right now."

He nodded slowly as he considered her words. "I'll call Sinclair in the morning," he decided. "Take back my resignation."

"And I'll call Stella," Sam said. "Tell her I can't take the job. I'm sure she'll understand. She had about ten other candidates after me that she can look at again. Maybe Mac will hire me back part time in a couple of months. Once we get Hunter settled and the girls get used to the idea of having a brother. Even if he can just hire me back as a lab tech."

"So much to think about," he sighed. "It's insane. And what do we tell people? Our friends? Our families?"

"We tell them the truth. They'll understand why we kept it from them."

"Sarge is going to come all the way here and kill me," Flack concluded. "And never mind what kind of evil revenge your brother might plot. He looks all innocent and boyish, but I bet you can come up with some sick and twisted shit."

"Adam already knows." Sam sheepishly admitted.

Flack looked over at her.

"I told him months ago," she said. "After you told me that the DNA test had proved that Jordan's baby was yours. I was so hurt and angry and I couldn't keep it inside of me. We hadn't told Danny and Lindsay yet and I needed someone to talk to. Someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. Aside from you, Adam is the one person I trust the most. Who I know has my best interests at heart. And who I know won't go around and blab anything I tell him. I'm sorry, Donnie. I should have told you I told him."

"What did he say?" Flack asked.

"Do you want me to answer that honestly?" Sam inquired.

He nodded.

"He told me that I was stupid for staying with you. That I shouldn't use the girls as an excuse to stay in a relationship where I was being treated as a door mat. That I should just cut my losses and file for divorce and take you for everything you had. And that I should make sure you never saw your children again."

Flack's eyes widened but he said nothing in response.

"He's my brother, Donnie. Adam and I went through so much when we were kids. We were always around to protect each other from our dad. And he just…he doesn't want me to get hurt. And he saw how badly I was hurt and he wanted nothing more than to take care of me. He was upset because of the state I was in."

"He had every reason to be," Flack said. "I guess I should be glad that you didn't listen to him."

"Can I be totally honest about something else?" she asked.

He sighed. "I guess now is as good of a time as any," he replied.

"I actually did go and see a divorce lawyer," she admitted. "I had the papers drawn up and I signed them. And I was this close," she held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "…this close to either having you served with them or dropping them on your desk personally."

"Why didn't you?" he asked, struggling to hide how stunned and hurt he was at her announcement.

"Because I love you," she replied. "Because we have two amazing little girls. Because no matter how angry and betrayed I felt, when I thought about my life without you…I couldn't imagine not having you. And I knew that if our love was as strong as I thought it was, we'd be able to survive anything."

"It is strong, Sammie," he said. "And it's become even stronger since all of this."

She nodded in agreement. "But it still hurts," she told him. "When I think about what you did…it still hurts. A lot. It wasn't just one time. It was three months. And I never thought you'd ever do something like that to me."

"I never thought I'd do it either," he admitted. "And believe me, babe, if I could go back and time and change it, I would."

"I know," she said, and giving a small smile, rubbed his leg softly. "But we can't change it. We need to just deal with it and move on. And Hunter…" she sighed. "…it may seem like taking him and raising him is the worst thing that could happen to us. And I know you're thinking that it's the last thing we possibly need. But he is your son. And I the love I have for you and for our daughters…I want to be able to give him some of that. He's a baby and he needs us. He needs you. His daddy."

"I just…what do we tell Kellan and Kallison? When they get up in the morning and see this baby in the house? What do we say to them? They're too young to get the whole, daddy had a kid with someone else scenario. What do we tell them, Sammie?"

"We tell them that Hunter's mommy got hurt and went to live with Jesus and His Angels. We tell them that he needed a home and God blessed us with the chance to take care of him. To be his mommy and his daddy. And that God granted their wishes to be big sisters. That they're going to be the best big sisters in the whole wide world. They'll be ecstatic, Donnie. It's all they've wanted for so long. They've been praying and begging and pleading every day for over two years. Imagine what that will feel like to give them their new little brother."

Flack smiled at the thought.

"And when they're older, maybe we'll tell them the whole story," Sam said. "But right now…right now let's just stick with that, okay?"

He nodded, and dropping a hand from the wheel, laid it over her hand sitting on his thigh and entwined his fingers tightly with hers.

"It's really not as complicated as it seems," Sam said, sounding optimistic.

"It's not that it's complicated," he told her. "It's that it's…scary."

She nodded in agreement and leaned across the seat to press a kiss to his cheek. "Let's be scared together," she suggested, and gave a gentle smile.

He returned her smile with a nervous one of his own. And raised their hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"Together," he agreed.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you and thank you all for your ongoing support! I hope you continue to read and enjoy! So please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

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**PrInCeSsJeNn**


	47. One baby, two 'brothers'

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. AND I AM AWARE, AS ALL OF YOU ARE, THAT SAM ISN'T ON THE SHOW. OBVIOUSLY, I OWN HER.**

**A/N: **THIS IS AN OC FIC, AS I AM SURE YOU ALL KNOW BY NOW ;) BUT I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT IF YOU'RE NOT AN OC FAN, THERE'S REALLY NO SENSE WASTING YOUR TIME READING MY STORIES. SO WHILE I THANK ALL OF YOU FOR YOUR CONSTANT SUPPORT, I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE THAT ANYONE JUST LOOKING TO TOSS ABUSE AT ME AND **ESPECIALLY MY READERS **TO JUST KINDLY FIND THEIR WAY OFF OF MY STORIES. SURELY THERE'S SOMETHING BETTER AND MORE PRODUCTIVE YOU CAN BE DOING WITH YOUR TIME OTHER THEN INSULTING PEOPLE. THERE'S THOUSANDS OF OTHER STORIES I AM SURE YOU'LL LOVE AND THAT **DON'T INCLUDE SAM**. SHE IS IN NO WAY TAKING OVER THE FANDOM. ALL THE GREAT STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE PROOF TO THAT. THERE'S ENOUGH HATE IN THE WORLD, FOLKS. THERE'S NO REASON FOR IT TO EXIST IN A FICTIONAL WORLD, TOO. THANKS!

SO THIS CHAPTER AND THIS STORY IN GENERAL, ARE DEDICATED TO **MY PHENOMENAL READERS. **WHO HAVE ALWAYS SUPPORTED ME AND NEVER SHIED AWAY FROM EXPRESSING THAT SUPPORT, OR THEIR LOVE FOR THE CHARACTERS AND THE STORIES. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL OF YOU.

THANKS TO **IMASUPERNATURALCSI. **THE MAJORITY OF THE DANNY AND FLACK CONVO AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER WAS INSPIRED BY THE INCREDIBLE PM SHE SENT ME YESTERDAY! CHEERS TO YOU, HUN!

* * *

**One baby, two 'brothers' **

"Well I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind  
I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time  
But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon  
I feel there is nothing I can do, yeah

I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon  
After all I knew it had to be something to do with you  
I really don't mind what happens now and then  
As long as you'll be my friend at the end  
And if I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?  
If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand?  
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might  
Kryptonite

You call me strong, you call me weak  
But still your secrets I will keep  
You took for granted all the times  
I never let you down  
You stumbled in and bumped your head  
If not for me then you'd be dead  
I picked you up and put you back on solid ground."  
-Kryptonite, Three Doors Down

* * *

Mac had taken the liberty to order that a uniformed officer be stationed around the clock outside of Hunter Gates' private room on the fourth floor of Angel of Mercy Hospital. The paediatric ward was enveloped in a peaceful veil of tranquility. The lights in the hallways and at the nurses station had been dimmed for the night. Just enough to give patients proper conditions to sleep in, but not enough to compromise the work the nurses still had to tend to. Rooms were shrouded in near darkness. The only source of light the faint glow cast by medical equipment parked at bedsides and illuminating innocent, angelic faces. The only sounds trickling down the corridors were the nurses speaking in hushed, respectful volumes at the front desk, the click of a computer keyboard, and the soft beeping of monitors inside various rooms.

"This place makes me nervous," Sam whispered to her husband, as they headed hand in hand, posing a united front, towards the young officer sitting in a chair outside of Hunter's room.

The uniform was a fresh face. Neither Flack or Sam had seen the kid before. His long, lean legs were stretched out in front of him as he sipped a take out cup of coffee with one hand, and read a wrinkled, ancient Time magazine with the other. He had broad shoulders and a thick, well muscled neck. His vibrant green eyes a stark contrast to the café au lait colour of his skn. He obviously hadn't been out of the academy or out on the streets very long. There wasn't a thread out of place on his crisp uniform or a scuff on his highly polished black boots.

"Why's it make you nervous?" Flack asked. Although he had to admit, he was pretty damn nervous himself. He had promised himself he'd be the calm, cool and collected one. That he'd keep his emotions in check and handle whatever was thrown at him with ease. It was a well known fact that Sam was the emotional and overly sensitive one. That he was the rock of that relationship. And now was not the time to let her down.

"Because we've been in and out of the hospital with Kellan so much that I just…it creeps me out. Brings back way too many memories. Unwelcome memories."

Flack nodded in agreement. There'd been way too many sleepless nights spent on a roll out cot by his daughter's hospital bed for his liking. And he hoped that there wouldn't be any medical worries, at least on the twins' behalf, any time in the near future. Sam on the other hand…well she was another story all in herself.

"Well let's just hope that we can get out of here as soon as possible," he said, giving his wife a reassuring smile as she looked up at him. "That we can just sign whatever we need to sign and take the baby home and get on with our lives. Sound good?"

She gave a nervous smile. "And what about Jordan?" she asked.

"What about her?"

"You already said that Mac was going to send someone over her to take your prints and a formal statement." Sam fretted. "I can't honestly believe that they would think you'd ever do something like that."

"No one thinks I did anything, babe. They know me. They know what kind of person I am. What I'm all about. So they know that I'm not capable of killing someone. They just need to cover all the bases, exhaust all their leads. Make sure that all their I's are dotted and all their T's are crossed. It's all about covering asses. Theirs and mine. You know all of this. You've done the job for how many years?"

"I know…" she sighed. "I just…it's hard to grasp when it's hitting so close to home. When it's personal the cop side of my brain completely switches off and I just concentrate on the concerned wife and mother side of me. Whereas with you.."

"All cop, all the time," he mused.

"I'm just a little freaked out that this has even happened," she admitted. "And the thought of people looking at you suspiciously because you've coughed up your prints and…"

"Only thing that my prints and a statement are going to do is show to the brass that Mac's running a tight ship," Flack told her. "That he's all business with this case. He's not showing any favourites by letting me off with no questions asked."

"But who do you think could have done it, Donnie? I mean you…" Sam chose her words carefully. "…spent time with her. Did she ever talk about having any enemies? People that might have an axe to grind against her? A score to settle?"

Grinning down at her, Flack released her hand and wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders. Pulling her tight into his side, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You going all detective on me now?" he teased. "You going to analyze the evidence? Put me through an interrogation? Use Japanese water torture on me? Or are you going to bring out the cattle prod and the rack?"

She frowned. "How can you even be cracking jokes at a time like this?" she asked.

"I figure now is as good a time as any," he replied. "If we can't find some humour in the midst of all this headache and stress, we're liable to go goddamn insane."

"Too late for that," she muttered, slipping her arm underneath the back of his winter jacket and curling it around his waist.

"Can I help you?" the uniform officer asked, his eyes riveted on his magazine as the couple stopped in front of him.

"We're here to see Hunter Gates," Sam replied.

"No visitors allowed," the young man told her. "It's why I'm here. Keep everyone out. Especially the press. Word got out about the murder and the baby being left behind…those vultures have been hovering around ever since."

"Do we look like reporters?" Flack inquired. "Do you see press passes or cameras hanging around our necks?"

"I just know what I was told," the young man sighed. "No letting anyone inside. Anyone."

Sam frowned, and reaching into the back pocket of her husband's jeans, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. "How's this for a all access pass?" she asked, as she knocked the magazine out of the officer's grasp with one hand and shoved the badge and identification in his face.

The uniform looked at the items in front of him, his eyes widening at the sight of the badge and at the information printed on the department ID. The chair scraping noisily against the worn tiles as he quickly jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he stammered and stuttered, easily intimidated by not only Flack's physical appearance, but the cold blue eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. "I had no idea that…"

"If you had have pulled your face out of your magazine long enough to take a peek at that there," Flack nodded down at the clipboard sitting underneath the young man's chair. "You would have checked on that list you got going there and saw our names instead of sitting here with your thumb up your ass and that useless twit expression on your face, wasting our time."

The young officer appeared terrified. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes trembled.

Sam coughed noisily to break the tension and snapped the wallet closed and slipped it back into Flack's back pocket. "Is it okay for us to go?" she asked in polite, friendly voice.

The uniform nodded. "Kid's been screaming non stop for an hour," he commented, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "I don't know what's going on but I wish they'd just…"

"I'd keep your mouth shut if I were you," Sam suggested, and turned towards the door.

"You're lucky I'm not that much of an asshole," Flack said. "Even more lucky that I don't call your CO and make sure he has you writing parking tickets for the rest of your life."

The officer swallowed noisily. "Lieutenant, I.."

Flack held up a hand to silence him and dismissed him with a long, hard glare.

"Meanie," Sam whispered to her husband, as he joined her at the door.

"Think I made him piss himself?" Flack asked with an amused grin.

"A couple of more minutes and I'm pretty sure you would have. Are you ready for this, Donnie? This is…it's a huge step. We're going to be bringing a baby home with us tonight. Are you prepared for that?"

"Not really," he admitted. "Are you?"

Sam shook her head.

He placed a kiss to the back of her head, and wrapping an arm around her neck, pulled her back against his chest and pressed his lips to her ear. "Together," he whispered. "We're in this together."

She managed a small smile and reached for the handle on the door.

_Now or never,_ she thought.

* * *

Flack felt rooted to the spot he now stood in. Barely a foot in the door, he'd caught one sight of the baby crying and failing in the confines of a cold, metal hospital grade crib and felt as if he couldn't move. His breath caught in his lungs and his heart pounded in his chest as he came face to face with the monumental fuck up that he'd made months before. He suddenly hated himself all over again. Ashamed by what he had done. What he'd put his family through and what he knew they still had yet to face. Yet he couldn't deny the emotion that tugged at him at the sight of that tiny baby, a mess of thick, black hair covering his head and his face bright red and his tiny hands balled into tight fists as he screamed loud enough to wake the dead. It took Flack back to many nights five years ago, standing at the side of a crib in a cramped apartment in lower Manhattan, talking softly and calmly to one, or sometimes even both, of his daughters as they cried relentlessly.

He vividly remembered picking them up and cuddling them tightly and either walking the floors with them until they calmed down, or peeling them out of their sleeper and then taking off his own shirt before sitting down in the glider chair by the window. Where he'd sit for an hour, a baby against his chest. Bare skin pressed against bare skin. Kangaroo care, the doctor had called it. Flack had scoffed at the idea of 'bonding' in such a fashion with his newborn daughters. Only to have to bite his tongue when he realized how well the technique worked at soothing both girls. Five years later, he realized that those late night hours he'd spent with his baby girls had been ultimately precious. And irreplaceable.

Yet those fatherly instincts and skills had temporarily abandoned him. And Flack felt completely and utterly useless as he felt his wife's hand slip from his grasp and watched as she made her way to the crib across the room. Where a weary, frazzled Child Protection Services agent smiled warmly and held out a welcoming hand.

"You must be Mr and Mrs Flack," she said. "I'm Margaret Pierce. I'm in charge of Hunter's care and well being."

"I'm Samantha," the petite brunette shook the hand offered to her. "And this is my husband, Don. He's…" It hurt to actually say it out loud. At least to a complete stranger. And she took a deep breath and steeled herself before continuing. "He's Hunter's father."

Margaret simply nodded and gave a polite smile as she shook Flack's hand. It wasn't her place to judge, or wonder about the problems and strife that existed in peoples' personal lives. She had learned, in her years on the job, that regardless of how happy and in love a couple looked, or no matter how much money someone had or what outside appearances were, issues always existed behind closed doors. No one's life was perfect and problem free. Many good men -and women- made questionable decisions and bad mistakes. People didn't live in a fantasy world where things were roses and sunshine and smooth sailing. No relationship was picture perfect.

You simply couldn't have happily ever after without bumps in the road and tears and heartache.

That was life.

"Detective Taylor told me that you'd be stopping by some time this evening," she said.

"We would have been here sooner," Sam told her, as she unzipped her jacket. Shrugging out of it, she tossed it into one of two nearby chairs. "But the weather is terrible and we had to come all the way from Ridgewood, Queens. Where about ninety percent of the streets haven't been cleared properly."

"We haven't seen this bad a storm in ages," Margaret said. "It's a wonder you could even get here."

"Well, we're a determined bunch," Sam told her with a grin, pulling her over sized NYPD sweatshirt down over her hips before taking the bold move of reaching for the release latch on the side of the crib and lowering the railing. "Is he okay?" she asked. "He wasn't hurt or anything?"

"He wasn't injured," Margaret assured her. "The doctor's given him a clean bill of health. But the crying…it's been non stop. He won't sleep, won't settle down for anyone that holds him. He won't even take a soother or a bottle."

"When was the last time he had something to eat?" Sam asked, and reaching into the crib, gently and soothingly stroked the baby's back and hair.

"Six hours ago."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's not good. Not good at all, is it little one?" she ran a hand over his silky black hair and trailed a fingertip down his nose. "You need to eat, sweet pea," she said, smiling down at that innocent life before her. "You need to eat so you can grow up big and strong like your daddy. You're such a handsome boy. All your hair and your beautiful blue eyes. You even have the same ears and chin and lips as your sisters. Same dimple, too," she lightly touched each part she named. "You look just like them."

Flack cleared his throat noisily and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He felt…suffocated. As if the walls were quickly threatening to close in on him. Seeing his wife bonding and accepting Jordan's son was surreal. And overwhelming.

Sam suddenly gave a laugh. The musical sound filling the room and breaking the tension. "He's definitely hungry," she said to the CPS agent. "He's got my baby finger in his mouth and he won't give it back."

"Could it be a colicky cry?" Margaret asked as she approached the crib. "I never was blessed to have my own children so I wouldn't know one cry from the other."

"I doubt it is," Sam replied, and finally managing to remove her finger from the baby's mouth, scooped him up into her arms. "We have twin daughters at home," she said, as she settled Hunter against his chest. Holding him with one hand on the back of his head and the other under his behind, she pressed kisses to the side of his head and attempted to console him. "Both of our girls were colicky. Big time. And all the time. And that's a cry you never forget. I think he's just tired and hungry and missing his mommy. Even someone your wee size knows your mommy right?" she nuzzle his ear and breathed in his powdery, intoxicating scent. "The officers who brought him here must have brought along a baby bag," she commented. "Maybe there's something in there that has his mom's scent to it."

"They did," Margaret confirmed. "But the only things inside were some diapers, a change of clothes and a burp towel. The nurses have been supplying the formula. The bottle on the bedside table is still fresh, in fact."

"Well we'll just have to see if we can get some food into you, sweet pea," Sam spoke lovingly to the baby. "You smell so good and so yummy. I could just eat you up. Cuddle you and kiss you and call you mine."

Flack looked over at the smiling CPS agent. "My wife has a thing with babies," he said.

"I love babies," Sam gushed. "The way they smell and the little noises they make and their tiny feet and hands and ears. He's got your ears, baby. He looks just like you. Just like Kellan and Kallison did at this age."

"Those are your daughters?' Margaret asked, as she fetched the baby bag from underneath the crib and zipped it open.

"Twins," Sam replied. "Identical twins. They're five going on fifteen."

Flack nodded in agreement from where he lingered by the door. Feeling like a complete outcast as he watched, with the utmost love and pride, as his wife so effortlessly and patiently, bonded with his son. He was content to just stand and observe. In no way ready to take that next step himself.

"How about this?" Margaret asked, as she held aloft a slightly soiled burp towel.

Sam leaned over and sniffed it. Pleased to find there was a feminine, floral scent lingering on the fabric. "I think that might do it," she replied, and then moved over to the rocker in the corner. "Just put it over my shoulder and across my chest, if you don't mind," she said to the other woman, then reached for the bottle on the table next to her. "We'll see if it helps at all."

Margaret nodded in agreement and proceeded to drape the towel across one of Sam's shoulders and down her chest.

"It's going to be okay, Hunter," Sam whispered to the baby, running her thumb across his ear and then switching his position in her arms so his cheek was pressed against the towel. She closed her own eyes, began to rock back and forth and held her breath in nervous anticipation. Within moments the piercing, heart breaking crying slowly calmed to a whimper.

Flack breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Good boy," Sam opened her eyes and smiled down at the infant. "That's all you needed, huh? To feel close to mommy? Your sisters used to be like that when they were babies. They used to wake up in the middle of the night and your daddy would be at work and they'd never settle down for me. So you know what I would do? Take one of his shirts out of the laundry and put it on. So that I smelled like him. And it worked every single time. Now do you think we could try a bottle, love?"

In response, the baby rubbed his face against her breast.

Sam giggled. "Well I'm afraid I can't do THAT for you," she said. "Those days are long, long gone I'm afraid. So how about we try this?" she ran the nipple of the bottle along his lips, encouraging him to take it into his mouth. "It's good stuff. Not what you're used to, but perfect for growing boys like you."

After a few attempts, Hunter finally opened his mouth and accepted the bottle. A tiny fist opening, and then closing tightly on Sam's sweatshirt, just over her left breast.

"You are definitely your father's son if that's where you want to keep your hand," she quipped.

Flack couldn't help but laugh at that. Her wry comment cutting through his frayed nerves and the tension inhabiting his body.

"Detective Taylor said that you were bringing copies of the statement of live birth and DNA results," Margaret said quietly, as she approached him. "We need to see them and compare them to records we were given by Ms Gates' attorney."

Flack nodded in understanding, and unzipping his coat, reached inside and pulled an envelope from the inside pocket. "Is he going to have to stay overnight?" he asked, as he held out the papers.

"I just need to have these verified and make some phone calls to make sure things are all in order. Legally we need to have all of our ducks in row. It should only be a couple of hours. After that, if we're given the all clear, you and your wife will be able to take him home with you."

"I should call Adam," Flack told Sam. "Let him know we're probably going to be pretty late."

She nodded and looked over at where he stood. She knew he wasn't ready. That everything was happening so fast and so soon that his head was spinning and his stomach tied up in agonizing knots. And that was okay. He'd take it one step at a time. Deep down inside, that hard ass homicide detective was human just like everyone else. He experienced fear and uncertainty and moments of profound sadness. He ached and bled just like everyone else. He just had a knack of hiding his trials and tribulations and his emotions very, very well. Few people experienced seeing the 'real' Don Flack Jr. And most say right through his smart ass, tough guy façade.

She smiled. A warm, loving smile that let him know that it was going to be okay. That she was there and Hunter was there. They weren't going anywhere. Ever. And that one smile was enough to nearly crumble those walls he'd long ago learned how to erect so quickly and effortlessly.

"Take your time," she said, and then turned her attention back to the baby. "We're enjoying getting to know each other."

He gave a small smile and managed to tear himself away from his place by the door. Crossing the room, he paused by the side of her chair and ran a hand softly down her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He stole a glance down at his son and felt…fear. It was fear. Not of the child himself, but of what he represented. A long, difficult road in the past.

_But it's not his fault, Flack,_ he reminded himself. _He didn't ask for this. He's innocent._

He reached out and ran a hand over the baby's hair. His baby's hair.

Sam noticed the way her husband's hand trembled but said nothing. He was dealing. And dealing admirably well given the circumstances. That simple touch was a giant leap for him.

"I'll be back," he told her, and kissed her temple before backing away and heading for the door.

"We'll be here," she assured him.

Flack paused in the doorway and stole on last glance at his wife and his son.

_Their son._

That thought brought a genuine smile to his face and tears to his eyes. Choking back the lump of emotion that swelled in his throat, he turned away and stepped out into the hallway.

* * *

Someone had brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the parents lounge located at the back of the ward. Something that Flack would be eternally grateful for. When he had walked in, he'd been greeted by the curious eyes of exhausted, weary and worried parents that lingered in the spacious, welcoming room. With it's pale green carpeting and it's cream walls and brightly patterned wall paper, the lounge was a retreat for those dealing with their child's hospitalization. A massive aquarium, inhabited by a wide range of tropical fish, bubbled noisily across the room that was decorated with several hunter green couches and chairs and light wood tables. There was a plasma television mounted on the wall near the door and a full service kitchen.

From his experiences in Women and Children's for both his wife's and his daughters stays, Flack had learned to appreciate having a safe haven. A place where he could be away from medical equipment and countless and relentless tests and doctors speaking a language he didn't understand. He had also learned, from being in the company of other parents, that things could always be worse then what you were experiencing. When he'd been at the lowest of lows when Kellan was constantly ill, he'd been brought back down to the brass tactics of life by meeting mothers and fathers of children with horrific, incurable diseases and severe disabilities. He'd met people who children weren't expected to ever get out of the hospital. Not alive, anyway. He had made friends and attended funerals for kids taken long before their time. And he'd gotten cards and updates from dads who were keeping him in the loop on their son's or daughter's progress. Silently rejoicing when he received word that one of the kids' he'd come to know had been released from the hospital and on their road to recovery.

Most of all, he learned that life was short. To never take it, or the people in your life, for granted. Anything could happen in the blink of an eye.

And it could always be so much worse. His children were healthy -for the most part- and alive. They still drew air into their lungs and woke up in the morning with their blue eyes bright and ready to meet another day head on. They still greeted him every time he walked through the door with their cries of "Daddy!". And their hugs and kisses and the time he spent with them were precious. Moments he relished because he knew that it could all be taken away. And that they grew up so fast.

He'd poured himself a mug of coffee and left the lounge. He wasn't in the mood to engage in conversations. What he needed was to sit somewhere, quiet and alone, and get his head in order. So he retreated down the hall to a bench across from the elevators, where he could both think, and use his cell phone to call home.

"Who dis?" Kellan answered on the fourth ring.

Flack frowned. More at the time of night and the fact that she was still awake as opposed to her rude greeting.

"What are you doing up still?" he inquired.

"Hi, daddy!" she chirped. Completely ignoring his question. "Where are you? Are you at work? Are you catching bad guys? Where's mommy?"

"Why aren't you in bed?" He asked. "When mommy and I left, you were with Kallison and Amanda."

"I woke up," Kellan informed him. "I was thirsty and needed a drink. So Uncle Peanut gave me one. And then I couldn't get back to sleep 'cause Holly and I were hungry. So Uncle Peanut let us have a cookie."

"And you're not back in bed because…?"

"'Cause Uncle Peanut said that you and mommy had to go out and do something 'portant. I got worried. I can't sleep when I'm worried, daddy."

"There's nothing to worry about, pumpkin," he assured her. "Nothing at all. I'm fine. Mommy's fine. We're just going to be a little later then we first thought. So I need you to go back to bed and get some sleep. Okay?"

"Okay…where are you, daddy? Where's mommy?"

"We're taking care of some business," he told her.

"'Portant business?" Kellan asked curiously.

"Very important business," Flack replied. "And when you and Kallison wake up tomorrow, mommy and I are going to have a big surprise for you two."

"A sa-pize?" she giggled. "I love sa-pizes."

"Well if you want this surprise you have to go back to bed and stay there, alright? I need you to be a good girl for Uncle Peanut. Can you do that?"

"I think so," Kellan said. "What kind of sa-pize is it, daddy?"

"It won't be a surprise if I tell you. Now let me talk to your Uncle and you go back to bed."

"Okay…I love you, daddy. Bunches."

He smiled and sipped his coffee. "I love you, too, Kellan. Bunches and bunches."

"Bye!" she cried.

There was a soft rustling as the phone was passed from one hand to the other. Followed by Adam's calm, quiet voice suggesting that Kellan and Holly get back to bed. Before he called Santa to come and take back all of their presents.

"Stone cold threats," Flack chuckled into the phone. "Smooth, Ross. I'm proud."

"Whatever works," Adam said with a sigh. "How are…things?"

"Things are going okay," Flack told him. "We're going to be a few hours I think. There's things to sign and the CPS lady needs to verify that the papers I brought are legit."

"And the baby?" Adam asked. Sounding as if it pained him to even consider it, let alone say it.

"He's fine. He wasn't hurt or anything. He's just…a little out of sorts not being with his mom I guess."

"And Sam?"

"She's doing good. Better then me, actually. Look Adam, I know this is really weird. And I know how pissed off you were with me when I did what I did, and you've got every right to hate me 'cause of what's gone down. But I really need someone here. Someone that will be there for me. 'Cause this is intense and surreal and I…" Flack took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I don't know if I can do this."

There was silence on the other end.

"Adam…"

"You can do this, Don," the younger man assured him. "You're a strong person. You can do this. And you will. Just like I'm going to be able to deal with all of this shit with Paisley. And you know when I'm going to be okay? 'Cause I have you to help me through it. Just like I'm going to be there for you through this. Yeah…you pissed me off when you hurt my sister. There were times I even thought of how nice it would be to kill you over it. But the fact is, she loves you. And you love her and you have a family and the two of you worked through all of that. And what I see now…well that makes it all seem a little better."

"Just a little," Flack sighed.

"A little is a start right? Better then nothing."

Flack couldn't argue with that. He looked up at the sound of the chime signalling the arrival of the elevators. The doors slid open and he gave a small smile in greeting as Danny and Lindsay, accompanied by Detective Bernstein, stepped out.

"I've got to go," he said into the phone. "I'll call you if we're going to be really late."

"I'll be here," Adam said, and disconnected the call.

Flack pressed end and snapped his phone closed. Then stood up as the trio approached him.

* * *

"Back working already?" he teased Lindsay, as she propped herself up on her tip toes and embraced him.

"I just tagged along," she said, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks. "I figured while you guys were doing the cop thing, I could keep Sam company. She's down with the baby?"

Flack nodded. "Room 414. Just tell that moron uni out front you're a friend of mine if he gives you a hard time. Sorry about the whole having to come back from Lake Placid thing."

Lindsay waved it off. "Family is far more important," she said, and giving Danny a small kiss in farewell, started off down the hall.

"I take it you guys aren't here for a social call," Flack quipped, taking in the crime scene processing kit in Danny's hand and the notebook already open in Berstein's. The latter was a phenomenal detective. Thorough, precise. And took no shit from anyone.

"I need to take an official statement," Bernstein said, reluctance tingeing his voice. "Danny needs to process you. Take some prints, measure your hands. That type of thing. Up to you which we do first."

"Let's get the processing over and done with," Flack decided.

"I'll go and talk to the nurses and the CPS agent," Bernstein said, and promptly left the two men alone.

"I really hate the fact that I have to be the one to do this," Danny told his best friend, as Flack led the way to the darkened quiet room across the hall.

"Last thing I wanted to do was fuck up your plans with your wife," Flack assured him, and flicked on the lights.

"I don't mean that," Danny told him, closing the door. "I mean that I hate to be the one that has to come here and treat you like a common criminal. We all know that you had nothing to do with this, Flack. This is just utter fucking bullshit."

"You gotta do what you gotta do." Flack said, and sat down at the only table in the room.

"Doesn't mean it's not crap," Danny concluded, and setting his kit on the table, snapped it open. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on.

No words were exchanged between the best friends as the CSI busied himself with taking Flack's fingerprints cheek and swabbing the back of his wedding ring to check for Jordan Gates' DNA. Sealing the cotton swab inside of a plastic test tube, Danny stowed it and the prints inside of his kit before pulling out computer generated photograph Hawkes had made of the perp's hands based on the measurements of the bruises on Jordan's neck.

"Just put your hands on there," he instructed. "Palms down."

Flack simply nodded and laid his hands down on the photo.

Danny pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and used it to trace around Flack's hands. Then capping the pen, nodded to say that he was finished and then folded the paper and slipped it into his kit.

"You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking tonight," he said, as he closed his kit and sat down beside his best friend. "About what went down between you and Jordan…"

Flack sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"Let me just finish," Danny implored. "I'm not hear to judge you, Don. Or say anything nasty. We both did enough of that months ago. I've just been thinking. Or comparing I should say. Comparing what you did with her to what I did with Rikki. And I know you're going to argue and say they're two completely different things. And that we did what we did for two completely different reasons. But let's face it, Flack. We both fucked up. Doesn't matter why or how. We just did. There isn't anyone that was in the right with what they did. And I just want you to know that when I compare us…it's not 'cause I think we're alike or what we did is the same. It's more because it makes me realize that it's wrong no matter how we try to justify it. What we both did was wrong and we're complete fuck ups for it."

Flack sipped his coffee but didn't respond.

"People can say what they want. Not everyone cheats. But what is it? Forty percent of the population? If not more? That does cheat? Things happen. People screw up and make messes of their lives. This isn't some goddamn fairy tale where everything is perfect and life is wonderful and there's nothing bad that ever happens. Fuck, can you imagine how boring life would be if every relationship was awesome? If no one ever faced crisis' or screwed up? How dull would that be?"

"Would be a lot easier on your sanity," Flack mused.

"Maybe," Danny said and shrugged. "But that's like saying it would be a lot easier on the sanity if we never took chances. If we never got involved with anyone. Love is hard work, Flack. You know that. Love can bring you to your goddamn knees sometimes. And it's moments like that…I don't know. I guess I feel that it's the less then stellar and perfect moments that build character. That teach people what real love is all about. That if you can get through all that crap and still be in love, then all the bullshit and heart ache is worth it."

A smile tugged at the corner of Flack's lips. "Have you been drinking, Messer?" he asked.

Danny snorted and waved the question off. "What doesn't kill us will make us stronger," he said. "I truly believe that. Think about everything we've learned about Lindsay and Sam in the years we've been with them. We're still learning. Every day. And you can't learn anything about someone without having to deal with shit. 'Cause when you're dealing with shit, you're finding out just how strong you, and they are."

"You have been drinking," Flack told him.

"Whatever…" Danny scoffed. "I'm just putting in my two cents and then some. Think about it though, Flack. All the years we've been with those girls? There's definitely been more great times then shitty times. And the shitty times…well it makes for great drama, doesn't it? We could be in our own television show. As the World Turns According to Messer and Flack. Or some shit like that."

The detective laughed at that.

"We'd kick ass in ratings and reviews," Danny grinned. "Two incredibly handsome leading men. Who could resist watching something like that? Gotta love the angst. The whole soap opera shit that goes on in life. You know why?"

"Enlighten me," Flack said. "Go ahead. You've been doing it non stop for ten minutes now."

"Think about the shows on television these days. You're more likely to see the crap ass relationships then the perfect ones right? It's like life. And you know why they show that shit? 'Cause if you've ever noticed, wherever there's incredible angst and shit, there's an even better makeup scene at the end of the hour."

Flack laughed and shook his head. "You're insane, Messer. Legitimately, certifiably insane."

"Maybe just a bit," Danny concluded. "But this is our lives, Flack. This is what we chose and who we chose. And like television or books, if people don't like it then they can turn the damn channel or just pick something else to read."

"You know, Dan-o…" Flack said as he nodded slowly. "There are times you're talking serious and there's nothing but crap coming out of your mouth. And then there's time that it seems as if you're talking nothing but nonsense shit and in reality, you're cutting right to the core. And this is one of those times."

"Bet it makes you glad that we're friends, huh?" Danny asked, giving Flack a playful punch to the arm before picking up the detective's coffee and helping himself to half of it.

"Makes me glad that you're my brother," Flack replied, sincerity oozing out of his blue eyes.

Danny smiled and reached out and laid a reassuring hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"Your brother is here, Don," he promised. "For as long as you need him to be."

* * *

**A huge thank you goes out to all of you who are reading and enjoying this and my other stories. I am truly grateful for all of the wonderful readers and fans that I have. You are all a great blessing and I appreciate all your support and kind words. **

**Hugs and kisses to all. Even the lurkers!**

**Please R and R folks! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**Hope4sall**

**afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru (prays and hugs to you, doll)**

**GregRox**

**Rebandmel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Delko's Girl88**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**


	48. Self defence

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS OBVIOUSLY. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA AND THE FLACK KIDS. MARI BELONGS TO THE FANTASTIC HOPE4SALL AND AGAIN, AMANDA BELONGS TO THE LOVELY LAURZZ. THANKS TO BOTH OF THEM FOR LENDING THEIR CHARACTERS TO ME.**

**A/N: NO CHARACTER DEATH, I PROMISE. A CLIFFIE, BUT NO DEATH I ASSURE YOU**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO AFROZENHEART412. FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA OF A LITTLE BACKGROUND FOR HAWKES. HOPE SHE RECOGNIZES IT WHEN SHE READS AND IT KNOWS HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE HER SUPPORT!**

* * *

**Self defence**

"Don't damn me  
When I speak a piece of mind  
'Cause silence isn't golden  
When I'm holding it inside  
'Cause I've been where I have been  
And I've seen what I have seen  
I put the pen to the paper  
'Cause it's all a part of me  
Be it a song or a casual conversation  
To hold my tongue speaks of quiet reservations  
Your words once heard  
They can place you in a faction  
My words may disturb  
But at least there's a reaction

Sometimes I want to kill  
Sometimes I want to die  
Sometimes I want to destroy  
Sometimes I want to cry  
Sometimes I could get even  
Sometimes I could give up  
Sometimes I could give in

It's only for a while  
I hope you understand  
I never wanted this to happen  
Didn't want to be a man  
So I hid inside my world  
I took what I could find  
I cried when I was lonely  
I fell down when I was blind."  
-Don't Damn Me, Guns 'N Roses

* * *

"Good news," Danny announced two hours later, a photograph in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other as he breezed into Mac's office. Where the older man, a scowl on his face and a travel mug of steaming coffee within reach, flipped through mounds of case files behind his desk. In between heading the investigation into Jordan Gates' death, Danny also knew that his boss was up to his ears in a nasty fight with the brass over the crime lab's budget, and what Mac felt was necessary overspending.

"I definitely could use some of that," Mac said with a heavy sigh.

"Flack's hands do not match the perp's," Danny told him, dropping the sheet of paper and the photo in front of his boss. "This here is the composite and measurements of our perp's hands based on the bruises on Jordan's neck," he laid a finger tip on the photo. "This here…" he moved his finger to the paper. "…is a trace I made of Flack's hands. I measured the width of his palm and of his fingers when they're stretched out, and the length of his hand from the top of his wrist to the tip of his middle finger. His hands are three and a quarter inches longer and a full inch wider then our killer's. On top of that, I swabbed the back of his wedding ring and DNA picked up five distinct samples. His own, Sam's, and three unknown females. Peaks at the tenth and twelfth loci indicate that two are familial matches to both Flack and Sam."

"Kellan and Kallison," Mac concluded. "What about the third unknown?"

"It came back to an internal hit. Two internal hits, actually," Danny said.

Mac arched an eyebrow.

"To me and Lindsay," the CSI grinned. "It belongs to M&M."

"So these results just tell us what we already knew," Mac sighed. "Flack didn't kill Jordan."

"Like there was ever a doubt," Danny said. "Flack wouldn't do something like that. Guy gets all torn up when he has to pull the trigger and take a life in order to save his own. He doesn't have it in him to commit cold blooded murder. Acts all big and bad when he's got the badge and gun and vest on. Behind the scenes he's a goddamn gentle giant. A pussy cat."

Mac cleared his throat and stared pointedly at his young charge.

"What?" Danny asked, and then chuckled as he moved to the couch near the door and plopped down onto it. "Okay…so maybe you and I should keep what I just said about him between us, a'right? 'Cause if he ever heard that, he'd put me through a wall or make it so I have to eat all my meals through a straw for a month."

Mac gave a laugh, and reaching for his coffee, took a long sip. "Everything got straightened out at the hospital?"

Danny yawned noisily and nodded. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and ran both hands down his face. "Linds and I stuck around until the CPS agent released the baby to Flack and Sam. Once the papers Flack brought with him were verified, they were good to go. We're going to rustle up some of the things we have in storage for them. After the twins grew up of their stuff, Sam and Flack just got rid of it all. We've got tons of baby clothes for a boy and a few things we know for sure Makenna isn't going to use. And I was thinking maybe, if I can get people into the idea, we can have a baby shower for them or something. I know it seems kind of weird considering he's a love child and all…"

"A baby is a baby," Mac said. "Regardless of how he was conceived, he still deserves everything any other baby receives. Let me know when this is happening. You can count me in."

"Thanks…I'll start spreading the news around. Flack was saying that Jordan's lawyer is stopping by the house tomorrow afternoon so Flack can some custodial shit sorted out. I guess after that, Sam can legally adopt him, and they can change his last name and all that."

"There shouldn't be any issue as far as adoption goes on Sam's part. Jordan's dead, and once the papers are all signed, Flack becomes the custodial parent. Sam and him are legally married. It would be simple for her to do. Just the formality of going in front of a judge and signing the proper documents. That's if she wants to adopt him."

"I don't see why she wouldn't," Danny said. "Apparently she took to the kid right away. Couldn't have pried him out of her arms with a crow bar. Her and Lindsay almost got into a scrap 'cause they both wanted to carry him to the car. Can you believe that? The way those two are with babies? They're like addicts. They can't get enough of the tiny feet and hands and the powdery smell and the cute little clothes. It's not right, Mac. It's just not right."

"So things went well? The initial meeting with Hunter?"

"On Sam's part things went great, I guess. Flack told me she just walked into the room and took charge. Used some of her mommy instincts to get him to settle down and have something to eat. Said she spent nearly the whole two hours they were there rocking him and cuddling him. Flack on the other hand…I don't know…he seemed a little…distant with the kid."

"It's not doubt overwhelming for him," Mac said. "He was prepared to man up financially but not prepared to be an active participant in his son's life. And then all of a sudden, we're on his door step telling him that we all know about his secret child and that Jordan's dead and we need to question him about it. That's a lot to process all at once. For anyone."

Danny nodded. "I just…I can't help but wonder what the hell he was ever thinking. I'm not casting any stones 'cause everyone has fucked up huge at least once in their life. Just Flack…it was three months, Mac. Three months. Like what the hell was he thinking? It's not like it was a drunken one night thing. He carried on a thing with someone all that time. While his wife and his kids were sitting at home. He just walked in there and got another woman pregnant. Like what the hell?"

"It's no ones place to judge him or question why," Mac said. "We have a right to our opinion. But to condemn him for something when we don't know the full extent of other extenuating circumstances going on in his life…"

"It's just wrong, Mac. It doesn't matter if it's a one night stand or a long, drawn out thing. Stepping out on someone is just wrong. We've got no right to hurt someone like that. But we still do stupid ass things. We still hurt the ones we love the most. And for what? Self gratification? Sex? Companionship?"

The older man shrugged and leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "I don't think there's really an answer to that, Danny. I think everyone has personal reasons to why they do the things they do. I think everyone tries to justify their actions in some way, so the find a reason that makes them feel better about what they've done and ease their conscience so they can sleep better at night."

"I don't know…" Danny sighed heavily. "As far as I'm concerned, it's no one's place to say one is worse then the other, or who is the worse screw up. I'm just saying that's it wrong. And instead of making excuses to why we do it, we just shouldn't do it."

"Human beings shouldn't do a lot of things," Mac pointed out. "But we do them anyway."

"True…I just…I know that that baby is going to have a great life. He's going to a wonderful home. Sam and Flack…you've seen what they're like with their girls, Mac. How much they love and adore and cherish Kellan and Kallison. And Hunter's going to fit right in and they're going to love him just as much. Yet at that same time I'd love to slap Flack upside the head for getting himself that deep into things. For doing that to his family. I just…I can't comprehend it sometimes is all."

"Then stop trying so hard to make sense of it," Mac told him. "I know that Flack is your best friend. You two are close. But what goes on in his life Danny, is his business. And I know it's hard to sit back and watch someone you care about completely screw things up, but sometimes for their sake, and yours, it's best to just stay out of it and hope for the best."

"That's easier said then done though. 'Cause Sam and Linds are so tight. And those girls are our goddaughters. And when I think about him doing what he did and nearly losing all of that…"

"Danny…" Mac's voice bore a tone of warning. "Things happened. You can't go back and change them. Sam and Flack went on with their lives. I think it's about time you stopped feeling the need to both condemn him and support him and get on with yours too."

"Maybe you're right," Danny said with a sigh. "I just…I tend to worry about the people I love. Too much. Linds is always telling me it's my downfall. That I get so wound up in things that I forgot about what's going on in my own house. That and she tells me I'm just to goddamn nosy for my own good."

Mac smirked. "It's probably just the cop side of you kicking into high gear."

"Probably," the CSI agreed, and giving another loud yawn, pushed himself off of the couch and stretched until his back cracked noisily. "All I know, is that worrying about Flack and his issues is giving me a massive headache. Makes me appreciate the man more for dealing with all the headaches I've given him over the years."

"You know, Danny…" Mac said, as the younger man headed for the door. "I'm proud of you. The kind of man you've become. A husband and a father. You've really grown up over the years. It's been an experience watching that kind of transition in you."

"Trust me, Mac, it's been an experience being the one going through the transition. But thank you. Hearing that from you…just thank you."

"What really surprises me most is how…what's the word I'm looking for here…deep you've become. With the things you say. "

"Well, I figure. Eight years ago I was the fly by my seat of the pants kind of guy. I didn't have any responsibilities whatsoever. I could pretty well come and go as I wanted, didn't have anyone to please. I didn't have to worry about anyone else suffering emotionally if something happened to me. Since I've become a husband and a dad, I don't know. I guess having those kinds of things to be concerned about has changed me. Changed my outlook on certain things. Eight years is a lot of maturing, Mac."

The older man nodded in agreement.

"I think we've all changed a lot," Danny said. "And it's been for the better. For the most part anyway."

"Well let's just hope it continues on an upward spiral," Mac told him. "Now do me a favour and quit slacking and get back to work. We've got a murderer to catch."

Danny's face broke out in a slow, wide grin. "Music to my ears," he said, and stepped out of the room.

* * *

"So what we got, Doc?" Danny asked, pulling on a lab coat as he breezed into the DNA lab where Hawkes was permanently cemented to a stool, his black framed glasses on his face, eyes riveted on the computer screen in front of him.

"Not a whole heck of a lot," Hawkes reluctantly admitted. "The DNA sample that I brought in earlier? Or the saliva mixed with nicotine? Wasn't a large enough specimen to run. Now I'm just hoping that the scrapings from underneath Jordan's fingernails will get us somewhere."

"Don't you just love those crime shows on television?" Danny asked. "The ones that show results coming back in thirty seconds? I always laugh my ass off at stuff like that. Takes longer then thirty seconds to prepare the sample and start the machine never mind get results. What's the average on posts down in autopsy these days even? Something like twelve hours?"

"If you're lucky," Hawkes replied. "I normally don't watch shows like that, but I'll tell you what. Our lives would be a whole lot easier if we could magically hand our samples over to them to analyze. Considering they get instantaneous results and we're…"

"Left standing around scratching our asses until the all mighty man in the machine gives us something to go on," Danny finished.

"Very eloquently put," Hawkes teased. "I wouldn't have used the term standing around scratching our asses…"

"Well what can I say? I'm a colourful character. Did you end up finding anything in Jordan's phone records or financials that points to anyone of interest?"

Hawkes shook his head, and leaning forward, snagged a file folder from a small pile sitting next to him. Passing it over to Danny, he removed his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Aside from the personal check of Flack's that was deposited at the end of the month and payments from the scattering of clients she was still dealing with during her maternity leave, and some pre-authorized deposits and debits, there hasn't been any activity going into or out of her account that would be considered suspicious."

"What about her PDA?" Danny asked, as he skimmed through the folder in his hands.

"She had several meetings with clients over the past two weeks. Two were scheduled for yesterday. The last one being with a Robert Parker. A small business entrepreneur out of Long Island. He was scheduled to meet Jordan at eleven thirty in the morning at her apartment."

"That's an hour before TOD. Where's this Robert Parker now? We can bring him in and…"

Hawkes shook his head, cutting Danny off before he had the chance to finish his sentence. "Mac already talked to him. Parker cancelled the appointment because of a crisis at work with one of his employees. Both his workers and company surveillance tapes confirm he was in the building from nine in the morning until five thirty pm."

"So that rules him out," Danny concluded with a sigh. "What about the second appointment?"

"Wasn't scheduled until the late afternoon," Hawkes told him. "We had to call him and deliver the news that Jordan was somewhat detained."

"Somewhat," Danny gave a small laugh. "That's one way of putting it. What about the sign in sheets at the front desk? They give us anything?"

"We were able to get two weeks worth of records from the security staff. Jordan had the same clients that came and went like clock work. Always signed in on arriving, always signed out upon exiting. There is one exception to the rule," reaching out, Hawkes lifted the corners of the papers in Danny's hands until he came across the one he was looking for and pulled it out. "Every day for two weeks, the same person has arrived at ten in the morning, and left shortly before midnight. Three separate doorman confirmed to Bernstein that this same guy has been doing this on a near constant basis for the past five months."

"Boyfriend?" Danny wondered aloud.

"Could be. But no one in the building, tenants and doormen alike, ever saw this man and Jordan together. Ever. When Jordan left, she was always alone or in the presence of her doula."

"What the hell's a doula?" the other CSI asked.

"It's a woman that assists during childbirth," Hawkes explained. "Whose experienced in it and who provides physical, emotional, and informational assistance and support to a mother before, during, or after delivery of the child."

"When was the last time this doula or whatever saw Jordan?"

"Three days ago. Bernstein spoke to her earlier. She said that she never saw a boyfriend or even a male friend, or ever heard Jordan talk about any man outside of her baby's father."

Danny smirked. "Yeah…I can just imagine what flattering, glowing things she was saying about her baby daddy."

Hawkes frowned. "Flack wasn't an innocent party in all of this," he reminded his colleague. "He's just as guilty and just as much to blame for the affair as Jordan was. He could have just held true to the vows of marriage he took and remained faithful. He could have just said no."

"And she could have just stayed the hell away from a married man going through tough times at home," Danny retorted.

"I know he's your best friend, but you need to stay…."

"Impartial and professional," Danny finished. "I know. And why are we here slamming either of them? Shit happened. People need to just shut up about it. It's old news now. Why are we debating who the bigger douche bag out of her and Flack are? All that should matter is finding out who killed her. Fuck the past and let's just…focus on what's going on here and now."

Hawkes blinked at the forcefulness in his colleague's voice. He'd underestimate the lengths that Danny would go to in order to defend, and protect Flack, Sam and the girls. Flack's loyalty to Danny was both infamous and well respected. Time and time again the homicide detective had come to Danny's assistance whether the latter wanted it, or appreciated it at the time. Right from the get go, Flack had overlooked Danny's troubled past and his family ties to gangsters. He still shrugged his shoulders whenever it was called to attention, quickly and firmly reminding people that Danny had more then proved himself both professionally and personally.

"I know what side you're on Hawkes," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him. "Everyone always picks sides in these types of things. Just no one is outspoken and out there with it like you."

"How can there be sides in something like this? How can you honestly defend someone that carried on a secret life? Who made a baby with another woman? I just don't…"

"Do we have to talk about this?" Danny asked irritably. "Why can't this 'situation' just be laid to rest once and for all? I get that you're pissed off at Flack. We all were pissed at what a dumb ass he was. But it's in the past, Doc. Let them just go on with their lives. You want to be on Team Sam? That's fine. It's got a lot of members. But just be on it for valid reasons and not because…"

"Because of what? I am on her side because she's my friend. Nothing more or nothing less. So don't assume there's anything else behind my loyalty."

"No one is assuming anything. I'm just saying that…"

"Look," Hawkes sighed heavily. "I know what it's like to be on opposite sides of the infidelity spectrum. I've never been the cheater, but I had someone cheat on me. Someone that I loved more than life and trusted wholly and completely. It nearly destroyed me. And I also know what it's like to be the 'other person'. Mind you, this was all decades ago when I was in college and people change their thinking and their practices. But I do know how it feels to be betrayed. So yeah…maybe I do have an ulterior motive to why I defend her like I do. But it's not because I have feelings for her like the gossip mill likes to believe. So you can tell whoever starts nonsense like that to either have the guts to come and say it to my face, or just knock it the hell off."

Danny didn't respond. He was stunned by Hawkes' admission. Despite working closely together for years and considering themselves friends, the two men had never opened up about their personal lives. Past or present. They kept conversations about their respective wives and children to the basics. How Mari and Linds were doing, what the kids were up to, how they were excelling in school and extra curricular activities. Hawkes -and other members of the team for that matter save for Flack, Sam and naturally Lindsay- knew nothing about his past mistake with Rikki. Unlike Flack's affair with Jordan, Danny's sole misstep had never become public knowledge. And Danny had no plans, years later, to spill to anyone.

* * *

"So what else did this doula say?" he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room, anxious to get back to business.

"Just that during her pregnancy Jordan had been treated for depression. She expressed remorse over what she had done and stated on more then one occasion that it may be in the best interest of her baby to give him up."

"And this doula never thought of calling someone to check on the kid's well being after he was born?" Danny asked.

"She chalked the moods up to the depression and the way things had turned out in Jordan's life. A lot of women suffer from pre and post partum depression. She was treated and the baby showed no signs of neglect or abuse during visits."

"And no one ever saw Jordan with a boyfriend? Or even a male friend?"

Hawkes shook his head. "But whoever this was, it must have been more then business. If it was business, these visits would have been in her PDA. The way things were handled…seems very personal."

Danny nodded in agreement. "So what's the name of this guy that kept coming and going?" he wondered aloud, and flipped pages over until he came to the copy of the visitor's log supplied to them by the security at the building. Hawkes had gone ahead and highlighted, in bright yellow, the name of the person of interest. "Greg Harrison," Danny read.

"Notice that he didn't sign in or out the day of Jordan's murder. The doorman say him come in, but was so busy with another tenant that he didn't noticed that Harrison didn't sign the log. And he was on a break when Harrison left the building."

"So why don't we find this Harrison character and ask him some questions?" Danny suggested.

"Because Greg Harrison doesn't exist," Hawkes told him. "Well technically he does. I ran the name through every data base imaginable. There's two Greg Harrison's in New York State. One is in Albany and the other is in a nursing home in Jersey City."

"So why the hell would this guy be getting close to Jordan and giving her a fake name?" Danny asked. "It makes no sense."

"And check this out…" Hawkes reached for the papers once again and pulled out a sheet bearing Jordan's cell phone and landline records. "There's only one constant number going in or out on both her home phone and cell. All the others I placed to businesses and clients. But this one? It's been disconnected since yesterday morning. I called the service provider? It was registered to Jordan herself."

"This makes no goddamn sense," Danny declared. "Why would she be calling a number registered to herself?"

"Maybe she purchased the cell phone for our perp," Hawkes suggested. "That's the only logical thing I can think of."

"Nothing ever logical about murder," Danny said. "Or life in general for that matter."

Hawkes couldn't find argument in that. "So the baby…" he started.

Danny sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I was just going to ask how he is," the other man defended himself.

"He's doing good," Danny told him. "He's at his new home now. With a daddy and a mommy that are going to learn to love him to pieces and two sisters that are going to fawn all over him. Can you imagine what Kellan and Kallison's reactions are going to be? I told Flack he better have the camcorder going when he springs that surprise on them. They're going to freak right out. Guaranteed. Wish I could be there to see it. And you just know that he's going to have all these girls wrapped around his baby finger. Babies are more then capable of scheming you know. I just picture him sitting there, sucking on that soother and watching all these ladies and plotting how to charm them all."

Hawkes chuckled. "I only saw him briefly, but from what I did see, he's a cutie."

Danny nodded. "He is. Looks just like Flack. Not that I'm saying my best friend is cute or anything. I mean, I don't think of other guys in that way or anything. But this kid…he's adorable. Lots of black hair, huge blue eyes. Flack's got some strong genes, I'll give him that much."

"Mari will be shocked to find all of this out," Hawkes said. "But she'll be on their doorstep as soon as she does offering her help. If there's anything they need, Mari and I will help. No hesitation."

"I'll let Sam and Flack know that," Danny told him. "I figure we can do something for them. Like a shower. They've got nothing for a baby. Just what Linds and I have stashed away. They've decided not to take anything from Jordan's save for the kid's clothes and some blankets and toys. So I thought that…"

Danny's words were cut off by a loud beep emitting from the computer Hawkes had been running the DNA samples through. Both men glanced over, elated at the sight of the words MATCH CONFIRMED flashing across the screen.

"Let's see who this douche bag is," Danny said, as he and Hawkes both moved to the computer.

"Sal Grecko," Hawkes read off the screen. "In the system for armed robbery in 2000, assault in 2006 and drunk and disorderly in 2008..."

"So much for three strikes and you're out," Danny mused. "And check this out, Hawkes. Attempted murder charge in 2010. Tried to strangle his common law wife with his bare hands. She managed to fight him off and call nine one one."

"Certainly fits considering Jordan's COD," Hawkes said. "And it says here that he was released from Rikers eight months ago. And he hasn't been in contact with his P.O since."

"Probably 'cause he took on this Greg Harrison personna," Danny surmised. "By why would he befriend someone like Jordan only to snap and kill her? Look at that guy. Doesn't seem as if they'd run in the same circles. Why would he bother with her? And never mind that. Why would she bother with him?"

Hawkes shrugged. "They do seem like an unlikely combination."

"Yeah…but maybe…" Danny's eyes suddenly widened and he snapped his fingers noisily. "Rikers!" he exclaimed, tapping a finger against the screen. "Rikers is the connection!"

"To what?" Hawkes asked.

"Jordan. Jordan's ex husband to be exact! He hired Suspect X to kill her, remember! And when that fell apart, maybe he…"

"Looked for someone on the inside to finish off the job," Hawkes finished, nodding slowly as he put the pieces together. "But that was ages ago now, Danny. Why wait this long?"

"Because revenge is a bitch," the other man concluded. "Revenge is a bitch and some people hold grudges for a long, long time. And maybe word had somehow got back to him that Jordan was having a baby, getting on nicely with her life. And if he's sick enough to want to kill her, maybe he's twisted enough to be somewhat obsessed with her too."

"Maybe…but it's a long shot."

"Still a shot," Danny said, as he hurriedly peeled off his lab coat, snatched the information from the printer and rushed to the door. "And it's a straight out connection to someone that had a bone to pick with Jordan in the past. Do me a favour. Call Rikers and find out whatever you can about this Grecko loser and Jordan's husband."

"Where are you going?" Hawkes asked.

"To talk to Mac!" Danny called, and with that, disappeared from the room.

* * *

"Whoa…whoa…slow down, Danny," Mac implored, as he watched the younger man pace the width of his office. "Slow down and explain to me exactly what it is you and Hawkes found."

"The connection Mac! The connection to Jordan Gates and her ex husband! This guy here!" Danny leaned over his boss' desk and pounded a finger down onto the photo resting before them. "He's our killer, Mac! He killed Jordan! His DNA was already in the system for all kinds of offences. And he just got out of prison several months ago! Rikers! Which is exactly where they've been holding Jordan's ex husband."

"Rikers is a busy place," Mac reminded him. "There's thousands of inmates that come and go on a daily basis. We don't have any proof that Sal Grecko was commissioned by Jordan's ex to finish what Suspect X couldn't."

"Hawkes is checking all of that out right now. He's calling Rikers and talking to whatever CO he has to and he's going to find a way to link them together," Danny said. "There would be no other reason for this Grecko guy to go after Jordan. No reason at all. There's nothing to suggest they knew each other personally up until five months ago. That's when the doorman said that his visits to the apartment began. So he obviously befriended her in order to kill her."

"We don't know that, Danny. All we know is that he did befriend her. His reasons for doing that could have been perfectly legit. He could have had a genuine interest in Jordan."

"Genuine interest in her? I doubt that Mac. Nothing against the allure of pregnant women or anything like that, but she would have been close to six months based on Hunter's age. I seriously doubt he was into her while she was pregnant with another guy's baby. That just doesn't make my sense in my book."

"Until we have something that suggests he knew her ex, it's all we have Danny. Maybe they met in a coffee shop and hit it off. Maybe they met on the subway and became friendly. Maybe…"

"Maybe he was sent by someone to sneak his way into her life, make a good impression, build her trust and then kill her," Danny suggested.

"You're jumping to a lot of conclusions here," Mac told him. "I understand your desire to get this guy because of your personal interest in what happened between Jordan and Flack…"

Danny shook his head adamantly. "It's got nothing to do with that," he argued. "And everything to do with the fact that this bastard killed an innocent women and left her son without his mother. That's what it has to do with. He used her. He weaseled his way into her life and pounced on her, Mac. The doula Hawkes talked to already said that Jordan was depressed. Maybe he used that against her. Maybe he put on the charm and suckered her. Made her think she could trust him. Maybe he…"

"That's a lot of maybe's, Danny."

"I am telling you Mac, this guy and Jordan's ex are in on this!" the CSI exclaimed. "Who else would want to kill her?"

"Jordan was once the mayor's justice co-ordinator," Mac said. "She could have made a lot of enemies."

"Could have, should have, maybe, I don't know…" Danny sighed heavily. "What I do know and what my gut is telling me is that these two jackasses are in on this together."

"I told you years ago that it was okay to listen to your gut, but to always follow the evidence," Mac reminded him.

"And we have evidence!" Danny insisted. "We have a convicted felon frequenting Jordan's place! Getting acquainted with a woman that normally wouldn't give him the time of day! We have his stats and they match the measurements Kendall was able to compute for his height and weight off the surveillance tapes! We also have his DNA on Jordan's body! And we have a connection between him and…"

"I am not arguing over whether or not he killed her," Mac remained calm and collected. "I'm trying to make it clear to you that there's no proof Jordan's ex was involved."

"Actually, we do," Hawkes interrupted, as he rushed into the office. "I just got off the phone with a the head CO at Rikers. He pulled both Frank Gates' and Sal Grecko's inmate files and confirmed to me that for the eight months prior to Grecko's release, the two men were cell mates."

"BOOM!" Danny exclaimed jubilantly. "There it is! The proof that we need that those two bastards were in on this together!"

"What's our next move?" Hawkes inquired, as Mac pushed his chair away from his desk and snatched his suit coat from the back of his chair.

"Get a hold of Bernstein," Mac ordered. "I want you and Danny and him going to pick up this Grecko guy."

"Chances are he's long gone," Hawkes said.

"Well let's play the odds and assume he wasn't smart enough to skip town," Mac told him. "Take backup. And wear vests. He's a repeat offender. Obviously dangerous. We don't know what he's entirely capable of and we don't want to take any chances. We go into this prepared, understand me?"

Both Hawkes and Danny nodded.

"Where you heading to, boss?" Danny asked, watching as Mac hurried for the door.

"To put the final pieces of the puzzle together," he replied. "At Rikers."

* * *

"Look whose made it out of the wood work," Danny chided, as he, Bernstein, Hawkes and a small handful of uniforms, all in Kevlar, huddled on the sidewalk outside of Sid Grecko's rundown slum of an apartment in Brooklyn. "Where you been? On a long siesta or what?"

Maka flashed her million dollar smile as she climbed the curb and joined her colleagues. "Didn't know you'd miss me that much, Messer. Had I known, I would have sent you a postcard from Vegas."

"Lucky bitch…" he teased, giving her a wink. "I wish I was in Vegas right now. Anywhere but here actually. So how's that boyfriend of yours? He still doing good? Still running that lab down there like a well oiled machine?"

"Nick is doing very, very well for himself," Maka said, as she secured the straps on her vest. "He told me to tell you that you and your beautiful wife need to come down and pay him a visit. Do some gambling."

"We'll make a point of it," Danny assured her. "How come you two are still doing that long distance crap? It's been three years since that convention you met at. Aren't you getting tired of racking up all these frequent flier miles?"

"We like things just the way they are," she told him. "It's the perfect relationship. We're madly in love but far enough away from each other that we don't drive one another crazy being around each other all the time."

"So that's the secret," Danny chuckled. "Remind me to ship Linds off to Montana first thing tomorrow morning. And I think Flack would be right behind me buying Sam a one way ticket to Arizona."

"Come on, Messer, don't play that tough guy crap with me," Maka punched his shoulder playfully. "We all know that you two would die miserable and alone without the women in your lives."

Danny nodded in agreement.

"Everyone ready?" Bernstein asked.

The collective group nodded. Some gave thumbs up signs.

"Remember that we don't know what we're going up against," the detective reminded them all. "Let's go into this assuming that Grecko is armed and extremely dangerous. He's killed on person already. Let's not make it two, alright?"

"Way to give a pep talk," Danny joked. "Remind me not to ask you to ever give a motivational speech at one of them department conferences."

Bernstein gave him a long, hard stare.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," the CSI defended himself.

The detective locked and loaded his weapon and glanced up at the building.

Let's roll," he said.

* * *

The approached the apartment on the filthy, garbage strewn third floor in single file. Slowly making their way over layers of rubbish. Rats and roaches alike scurried away. As if anticipating the fall out of the strangers' late night visit. Televisions blared in neighbouring apartments. Tenants down the hall argued noisily and tossed things around their unit. Danny's hands trembled as he held his gun tightly in two hands and down at his side. Ever since the shoot out that he'd recklessly engaged in with Little Stevie Alvarez years ago, his nerves had never been the same when he went on raids. He had seen a therapist about it. Countless times in fact. And each time he'd been declared fit for work and sent on his way.

But as the sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his neck and back and his stomach knotted up and his head hammered in his chest, Danny wondered if maybe, just maybe, his time was running out as far as the job was concerned.

The group paused in the hallway. Bernstein moved to one side of the door as a uniform officer huddled at the other. Time seemed to stand still as they listened for signs of life. A light was on. Its rays trickling out into the hall from the bottom of the door frame. A radio was playing. There was soft scuffling as someone made their way around the apartment.

Bernstein nodded at the young officer, who raised his hand and pounded on the door.

"Sal Grecko!" the detective bellowed. "NYPD! Open up!"

No response came. The uniform hammered on the door once again.

"NYPD!" Bernstein repeated. "Open up or we're coming in!"

Again no answer. The detective took a deep breath. Danny slid in behind the uniform. Taking his position as the second person to head through the door. Better then being first. But not as good as being at the back.

_Quit wussing out, _Danny scolded himself. _You've been through thousands of these things. Pull up your big boy pants for Christsakes._

Bernstein gave another nod and the officer moved directly in front of the door. With one sure, swift kick, the door exploded off of its hinges and the team rushed inside.

Before eyes could be laid on their suspect, a loud boom of a gunshot rang out. Followed by the soul scream of a distraught female.

"DANNY!!!"

And the world as he knew it went black.

* * *

**I know, I'm just a little evil. But it's the mood I'm in today. It's just been one of them weeks, I guess. **

**Thanks to all of my readers, friends, supporters, lurkers…Thanks to everyone in general that has come into my life because of my stories. I truly appreciate all of you and look forward to all of your kind words and reviews. I know sometimes I deal with some 'dark' topics. Infidelity, abuse to name just a couple. I know our opinions may differ greatly from each other, but I appreciate that you take into consideriation that we are entitled to different beliefs. And to those who have supported each decision I have made regarding my work, I extend my deepest thanks. **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laurzz**

**Hardylover7477**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Anncorcam**

**AngelicStars**

**wolfeylady**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Delko's Girl88**


	49. In the blink of an eye

**WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH **

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I OBVIOUSLY OWN SAM AND I AM PROUD OF HER. JUST SO THE WORLD KNOWS ;) SHE MAY BE DESPISED BY SOME, BUT TO THOSE WHO LOVE HER, I THANK YOU!**

**A/N: THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!**

**OKAY, SO I KNOW I SAID NO ONE WOULD DIE. WELL THE MUSE HAD OTHER IDEAS. I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE, BUT ASSURE ALL YOU DANNY GIRLS OUT THERE THAT HE IS GOING TO BE PERFECTLY FINE!**

**JUST TO CLEAR UP CONFUSION, THE SAM AND FLACK PARTS AT THE BEGINNING TAKE PLACE AT THE SAME TIME AS THE DANNY SECTION. **

* * *

**In the blink of an eye**

"And they were all born pretty in New York City tonight,  
And someone's little girl was taken from the world tonight,  
Under the Stars and Stripes  
As strong as you were, tender you go.  
I'm watching you breathing for the last time.  
A song for your heart, but when it is quiet,  
I know what it means and I'll carry you home.  
And I'll carry you home."  
-Carry You Home, James Blunt

* * *

Flack couldn't sleep.

An hour and a half after climbing into bed, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted, he found himself wide awake, flat on his back in the rumbled queen sized bed, his right forearm draped over his eyes. The steady tick of the watch he sported on his right wrist and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the sleeping form that lay next to him sounded thunderous to his ears. He was uncharacteristically nervous and anxious. After stopping at Danny and Lindsay's to pick up used baby clothes of Danny Jr's that they'd been keeping in storage and their basement, they'd stopped off at the nearest twenty four hour pharmacy and stocked up on necessities. The disgustingly expensive pre-made liquid formula that came in small, glass single serving bottles, a couple of tins of the powdered kind, a wide variety of nipples and bottles, and an the largest box of Pampers Swaddlers the store had to offer. Sam, the paranoid mother hen that she was, also insisted on grabbing gripe water, infant Tylenol and a digital thermometer that went in the ear. He'd complained, as she'd dropped it into the cart, that they already had one just like it at home.

"But this is for babies, Donnie," she'd insisted. "The one at home is for the rest of the family. It's too big to go in Hunter's tiny ears."

He had submitted, naturally. He'd always had a hell of time saying no to her. One flash of those golden brown eyes and a flick of those impossibly long dark eyelashes and a tiny pout of those lips and he was putty in her hands. Of course, it didn't hurt that she was usually right. Although that would be a cold day in hell when he actually admitted that to her face. Instead, he'd grumbled and bitched as they made their way to the cash register, and had raised his eyes when the young girl working nights announced what their total was.

"You're going to have me living on a park bench soon," he'd informed his wife, but handed over his credit card anyway.

"It's for the baby, Donnie," she'd said, as cuddled Hunter, wrapped in a polar fleece Winnie the Pooh blanket they'd grabbed at the hospital gift shop before heading home, tight to her chest.

She looked years younger then forty one as she stood there, her short hair mussed, no make up covering the spatter of freckles across her nose, and her glasses perched on her face. A graceful smile on her face as she stared down in awe at the tiny angel that had come so quickly and unexpectedly into their family. While guilt continued to flood through him at the reminder of how badly he'd hurt her and how he'd almost lost it all, her face glowed with nothing but pure, unconditional love for that little boy in her arms. She may not have been able to completely forgive and forget, but the remaining key to her healing lay embedded in that baby she accepted with no strings attached. She had wanted another baby so badly. Had spent so many nights and days over the past five years over the fact that her chance to become a mother again had been ripped away from her. And now here was Hunter Gates. Unknowingly answering all of her previously unanswerable prayers.

Making her genuinely happy.

And much to the chagrin of the cashier, Flack had reached out, laid a hand on the back of his wife's head and pulled her into him for a long, tender kiss. He adored her. Always had and always would. And he was hell bent on putting his all into her and his kids.

And that included his son.

It wasn't going to be easy. Flack knew that. Hunter, as adorable as he was, was a constant reminder of his massive fuck up. The kid of course, was the only innocent party save for Sam and the girls- in the sordid mess. It wasn't Hunter's fault that his old man couldn't keep it in his pants. That his father simply just couldn't say no and walk away the first time that it ever happened. Hell, before that even. That he couldn't say thanks but no thanks to Jordan's blatant proposition. Flack had been a complete and utter ass. So desperate to rid himself of the stress at home and to feel that someone actually wanted him and loved him, that he'd been willing to toss his entire life away. He knew, even when he was doing it -doing her to be more precise- that he needed to just get the hell out of there and never go back. He never once spent the night at her place. He'd go there, once, twice, sometimes even three times a week, do his business and leave after a couple of hours. It had been nothing but sex.

Not that it made what he did any better. No excuse was a valid one. And he'd always, for the rest of his days, feel like the lowest scumbag on earth for getting himself mixed up with Jordan.

* * *

Sam stirred beside him. Muttering in her sleep and sighing heavily as she rolled over onto her stomach. He raised his arm slightly and glanced over at his own sleeping beauty. Her hands tucked under her pillow, her face turned towards him. Eyelashes falling on her pale cheeks and a gentle smile curving her lips. Even in her sleep she looked happy. And it had been a long time since Flack had seen her truly content.

Sighing heavily, he put his forearm over his eyes once more and willed sleep to come. Begged his racing heart and his anxious nerves to just calm the hell down. It was the first time, since his initial crime scene back from the bombing when truth be told, as he speed towards the call, had felt nauseous and tense at the thought of being back on the streets, that he'd been that uptight about the prospect of a raid. And he wasn't even a physical part of it. Mac had called, shortly after they'd stepped in the door with their new bundle of joy, and told him about identifying this Sal Grecko character as Jordan's killer, and finding the link between Grecko and Jordan's ex. Flack couldn't say he was surprised that the ex was in on it. Even from behind bars. Once a nut job, always a nut job was his philosophy.

Mac had told him that he was heading to Rikers. And that Hawkes and Danny were heading out to nail Grecko with Bernstein, Maka and a few uniforms. And it was that 'raid' that had Flack's stomach in knots and a million and one fatalistic, horrific thoughts swirling through his head. Something just didn't feel…right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt it. He only hoped that those involved would be smart.

A tiny sneeze, followed by a slight whimper erupted from the portable playpen he'd erected hours earlier by Sam's side of the bed. It had been a hell of long time since he'd heard baby noises coming from his home but Flack's ears pricked up immediately and he lay there, silent and still, wondering if it was just a restless night on Hunter's part, or if he was going to be waking the entire house in a matter of minutes.

The whimpering became louder and more insistent, bordering on full out crying. At the foot of the bed, Wiener raised his head and glanced towards the play pen. There was a slight jingle as the tags on his collar clinked together as he slowly got to his feet and cautiously made his way over towards the newcomer making such strange noises.

"Wiener!" Flack whispered. "Lie down and mind your own damn business!"

"He's just being protective," Sam mumbled, as she raised her head from her pillow. "You know what he gets like when the girls get sick. He plops down right on their pillows and stays with them until he feels it safe to leave. That they'll be okay without him."

"Lap dog who thinks he's a guard dog," Flack snorted.

"I'll have you know, Wiener-Beaner could do a lot of damage," Sam yawned. "If he's not gnawing your shins, he can jump up and latch on firmly to your ass. Who needs a pit bull or a Rotti? We have Wiener the vicious, man eating dachshund."

There was a slight rustling in the playpen as the baby managed to free his hands from the confines of the tight swaddling Sam had wrapped him in before putting him to bed, and Hunter let out one shrill, angry cry.

Sam groaned and propped herself up on her elbows. "It's been a long time since we've heard something like that in our lives."

Flack nodded in agreement. "We going to lie here all night and talk about it or are you going to take care of things before he wakes up the whole house?" he asked.

"And here I was thinking you were going to let me sleep," she mused, and leaning sideways, pressed a kiss to his lips. "Would you be a sweetheart and go into the bathroom and warm up that bottle I left on the counter? A little time under some hot water should do the trick."

"You're demanding," he declared, but shoved the blankets off nonetheless and slipped out of bed. Snapping on the lamp on the night table before heading for the en-suite bathroom.

She sighed heavily and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, she gave another loud yawned and stretched until her aching back and shoulders cracked. Aren't I in just fantastically awesome shape? Sam thought, as she pushed the comforter off over her legs and swung them over the side of the bed. Standing up, she hissed at the freezing cold hard wood under her feet, and turned to face the bed. Taking the time to arrange her pillows against the head board before finally taking the two short steps to the play pen.

"Well aren't you just a little stinker," she said, addressing the fussy baby in a gentle tone as she leaned over the makeshift bed to extract him from his swaddling. "You are way too little to figure out how to get out of that," she informed him, as she scooped him up into her arms. "You ARE just like your sisters," she declared, as she made her way back to the bed and climbed into the middle of it.

"Too smart for his own good you mean?" Flack asked, as he caught her last remark as he journeyed out of their bathroom, bottle in hand.

"Well I was going to say sneaky and crafty," she replied, as she laid Hunter along her arm. "But that sounds about right too. He managed to get both arms out of his receiving blanket. Even the girls took longer than that to grasp the whole concept of escape and freedom. But you…" she pressed a kiss to the baby's soft forehead. "You are just like your daddy. A huge study in contradiction. Aren't you, sweet doll."

Despite the fact that the baby's presence brought the pain and betrayal of her husband's affair to the surface, the love that she felt for that little boy was incredible. Not being able to have other children had been a tough, bitter pill to swallow. Before they had gotten married, she and Flack had talked long and hard about wanting a fairly large family. If her body -considering the trauma done to her uterus when she suffered her miscarriage with Zack's baby years previous- would allow them to. A well kept secret from their family and friends, the moment they'd moved in together they'd began to discuss, on several occasions in fact, having a baby. It had never been a definite yes we should, but they hadn't busted their asses to remember to use contraception every time they made love. Nor were they shocked or disappointed when she'd found out that September, that they she was pregnant.

The shock and disappointment had hit them hard when only two weeks after the test had come back positive, she'd lost the baby. She'd been less then three months, so the loss hadn't been a severe one.

Kellan and Kallison had been, and still were, the miracles of their lives. After almost a year of trying once they were married, finding out that she was finally pregnant had been a relief, but had also filled them with a sense of fear. Neither wanted anything to go wrong. Flack had held his breath and silently prayed each and every time his expectant wife stepped onto a crime scene. Hell, everything she stepped out the door for that matter. For two months, he'd nagged and begged and pleaded with her to go on sick leave. Or modified assignment. Sam in turn, had assured him she and their twins, were feeling great. She was under a doctor's strict care and everyone at work was watching out for her. She would pull herself out of the field once she felt she was endangering the babies. And he'd been relieved when that time had come when she was six months pregnant.

Having the radical hysterectomy had nearly destroyed her. It had caused her to feel like less of a woman. She was angry and ashamed for not being able to give her husband more children. On more than one occasion, she'd told him she'd understand if he wanted to move on. To find someone who could give him a bigger family. To which he'd narrowed his eyes and not so politely warned her to never, ever say something like that again. It didn't matter to him that they couldn't have more kids. He had his girls. His angels. And they made him feel complete.

She'd been furious when Flack had come to her, in the midst of their marital turmoil and revealed that not only was Jordan pregnant, but that an amnio had proved that it was his. It was that announcement that had sent her scrambling to a divorce lawyer and bringing her dangerously close to ending everything. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd decided to forgive him and take him back. Part of it was purely selfish on her part. She was ill and knew she couldn't take care of their children alone. Another part was because deep down she loved him and didn't want to break up her family. She herself had come from a seriously dysfunctional, broken home and she didn't want her girls going through that.

She'd never thought in a million years that Hunter would ever come into their lives on a permanently basis. But he had and she was tumbling into love with him. He needed a family. People to love him and care for him. He was completely dependent on them and there was no way she could abandon him. Or disappoint him.

* * *

"I'm starting to feel a little left out here," Flack complained, as he climbed onto the bed alongside of her and leaned back against the head board.

"Why's that?" she asked, eyes never leaving the baby's face, her fingertips gently gliding across Hunter's forehead, tracing his eyebrows and drifting down the bridge of his nose.

"I've been the only guy in the house for five years," Flack reasoned, stretching his legs out. "Only guy in your life for nearly eight. Now all of a sudden there's another guy here to give me competition. All this time I've had all the females around here wrapped around my finger. Dotting on me and thinking I can do no wrong. And now…well now he's just come along and upset the balance of things. Infringed on my popularity."

She laughed at that. "You're a silly man, Donnie," she said, and leaning sideways, pecked his cheek.

"I mean look at you and your new boyfriend there. He sucked you right in. How can I ever compete with that?"

"Because he's my little boy," she told him with a soft smile. "And you're my man and my one and only. You know that."

He gave a smile of his own and kissed her tenderly.

She giggled against his lips and pulled away. "He's going for my boob again," she said.

"Like you said in the hospital, he's a boob man like his old man," Flack grinned and handed her the bottle.

She accepted the milk from him and glided the nipple along Hunter's lips before he finally opened up and took his drink eagerly. "He's a very, very good eater," she declared. "Like the girls."

"He's my son. Was there any doubt he'd have a huge appetite?"

"He acts like he hasn't eaten in forever. I know the doctor said that he was healthy and all of that. But I seriously hope that she wasn't…I don't know. Mistreating him in anyway."

"CPS said that there'd be no complaints against Jordan," Flack reminded her. "She was being treated for depression, but that his doctor said he showed no signs of neglect. Maybe he's just extra hungry. He's a growing boy after all."

She nodded and stared down at the infant as he sucked aggressively at his bottle. "Feels weird after five years, doesn't it." It was more a statement then a question.

"Just a little," Flack said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. "You're doing alright, though."

"He's everything I ever wanted," she admitted in a quiet voice. "After the girls and the operation and after all of those requests to adopt blew up in our face, I never thought I'd get this chance again. And I know it's hard for you. That he brings back a lot of bad memories for you, but he's so beautiful, Donnie. And we can give him a really good home."

"We can," he agreed with a smile, and laying a hand on her hair, drew her head down to rest on her shoulder. "And we will."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The only sounds in the rooms their hearts beating, their collective breathing, and the soft suckling as Hunter concentrated on his meal. Their eyes riveted on the baby, and their thoughts on the drastic turn their lives had taken. Flack couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. While he knew he couldn't be actively involved in the case, a huge part of him wanted to be behind his friends going through that door on the raid on Sal Grecko's place. He was worried about them. A genuine worry that he hadn't felt in a long time. He knew that Danny and Hawkes were more then qualified and experienced to handle picking up a dangerous felon. And with Bernstein and Maka and uniforms there, the chances of something going wrong were remote.

But then again, Flack never thought he'd be blown up in a building that Sunday afternoon many years ago. It had been the last thing he had expected to happen to him. And in such a short expanse of time, from when he met Monroe at her department issued vehicle to when he'd turned to go after the shmuck in the noise cancelling headphones who hadn't heard the alarms, his life had been seriously shortened. And had reinforced his belief that anything could happen.

"You're worried about Danny and Hawkes," Sam said, her voice breaking through the silence.

"A little," he admitted with a sigh, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"They know what they're doing, Donnie. They wouldn't go into something like that unprepared. They've done tons of arrests just like this."

"I know…it's just…something doesn't feel right, Sammie. I can't put my finger on it. I just feel it."

"I'm sure everything is fine," she said. "Mac will call you to let you know how everything went. Try not to get too anxious, okay? Besides, Danny's not the same Danny anymore. He's not that guy who used to run into a building after perps with no vest. Having a wife and kids smartened him up. And Hawkes…well Hawkes is the epitome of going by the book. You're probably just out of sorts because this case is so personal."

"Probably," he agreed, watching as she removed the empty bottle from Hunter's mouth, placed it on the bed and lifted the baby to her chest. "You want me to do that?" he asked curiously.

"I'm okay," she replied. Then looked at him. "Why? Did you want to do it?"

"I'd like to," he told her.

She smiled brightly and carefully passed the infant to him. "You always did do the big, strong, tough guy with a baby thing very, very well," she observed, as he laid Hunter against him, the baby's stomach to his chest, one hand supporting the infant's head , the other rubbing his son's back in soft, slow circles. The white gold of his wedding band sparkling in the lamp light.

"Yeah…I remember you telling me on many occasions how it did something for you," he teased, grinning at her as he attempted to illicit a burp from the baby. "Besides, I was always the master of getting the girls to burp, remember? You used to hand them to me to do it."

"That's because they would never cooperate for anyone but daddy," Sam mused. "They're still like that."

"Daddy's girls," he said proudly. "And now I've got a daddy's boy too."

She rolled her eyes. "Isn't it suppose to be a mama's boy?" she asked.

"Only if we want him to turn into a wimp," Flack replied.

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "That's mean. Just because a little boy loves his mommy does not mean he's a wimp. It just means that he's…"

"Soft?" Flack offered up.

"In touch with his emotional, feminine side," Sam finished.

"Metro-sexual you mean."

"That is not what I mean!" she scolded him.

"Look, be as close to him as you want, babe. I'm just saying that I don't want you turning my kid into some…what the hell was that guy's name years ago? He was in that rock band. Fall Out something or other. He was married and had a kid with one of them Simpson girls."

"Pete Wentz," Sam told him. "Fall Out Boy. He was married to Ashley Simpson. Probably still is. Who knows?"

"Well whatever. Guy used to wear eyeliner and all that crap. Makeup, babe. No guy should be wearing makeup. That's just wrong. No way are you turning my kid into a Pete Weirdo."

"Wentz!" Sam cried, and pulling a pillow out from behind her, smacked him lightly with it. "Pete Wentz!"

"Wentz…Weirtz…Wierdo. Whatever. I'm just saying there's no way Hunter is turning out like that. He's going to be playing football and hockey and looking like a dude. Kapish?"

"I think you need to get in touch with your feminine side," Sam informed him and lay down on her side facing him.

"Only touching of a feminine side I need to be doing, is getting my hands on your…"

She smirked and gently yanked at a piece of hair on his thigh. "Keep that thought to yourself, babe," she said.

"I am just saying…"

"I know what you're saying and I think you're being a tool about the whole thing. So what if your son turns out a little girly?"

He stared at her as if she'd grown two heads.

"You worry about him going soft but what about Kellan or Kallison? One of them might go totally hard and come to you one day when they're fifteen and tell you they want to dress like a boy and that they like girls. As in like them, like them."

Flack frowned. "I have said this on many occasions and I will say it again. You are all kinds of sick and twisted.

Sam stuck her tongue out at him. Laying her hand on his thigh, she closed her eyes. "Donnie?" she asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

"What, babe?"

"I need to ask you something and I don't want you to be upset when I do."

"Then maybe you shouldn't ask it," he teased.

She sighed heavily.

"Just kidding, Sammie. You know you can ask me anything."

Her eyes flickered open and she looked up at him. "Did you at least take your wedding ring off when you…you know…when you…with Jordan?"

He blinked.

"I know that it shouldn't really matter and that it's behind us. But I just need to know if you…"

He sighed heavily and pressed a kiss to his son's head. "Every time, Sammie. Each and every time I took it off."

She gave a small smile.

"Not that it made a difference," he said. "I just shouldn't have done it to begin with."

"No…you shouldn't have," she told him. "But we're going to get passed it eventually right? Like completely get past it?"

He nodded slowly and looked down at her. "I hope so," he sighed.

She pressed a kiss to his leg and closed her eyes once more. "I hope so too," she said sleepily.

* * *

"Danny!…Danny!"

The frantic, terrified screams echoed through his brain and sliced through the thick, black shroud that suffocated him. His entire body felt numb. His limbs felt heavy and useless. All noises and words were muffled and garbled. As if he was thousands of miles underwater trying to make sense of what was happening above. His lungs burned and his back ached. Discomfort coursed through his body with each breath he took. Raising his right arm took tremendous effort and he let out a guttural moan as fire shot through his entire body. His bloody fingertips briefly touched warm flesh sprawled on the ground mere inches away before a trembling hand grasped his tightly.

"Danny!" the figure hovering above him screamed his name once more. It was…female. Through his agony he was able to determine that the warm, shaking hand so strongly holding his and the voice belonged to a woman.

"Lind-say…" he choked each syllable out. With all the strength in his body, he used his free hand to reach for the mass of brown hair and that smooth, angelic face that represented everything that was comforting and welcoming in his life. The woman who'd made him the happiest, luckiest man in the world the day she became his wife. Who had given him the greatest, most precious gifts in the form of their three children.

"Listen to me, Danny…you're going to be okay…just lie still…you're going to be fine…"

He shook his head. The simple act sending daggers of pain through his brain.

"Yes…yes you are…" she insisted. "There's nothing to worry about...just breath nice and slow…deep, slow breaths…no sudden movements…just try and relax…"

He coughed noisily, then moaned as his lungs burned and failed to draw proper breaths.

"Danny! Open your eyes! Open your eyes and look at me goddamnit! I need to know that you're hearing what I'm saying…"

He whispered her name once more. He felt weak and disoriented. He could hear shouting and quick, panicked movements next to him. He wondered where he was. And what the hell had happened to him. Slowly he opened his eyes and light returned to his world once more. He found himself staring up at a dirty, water damaged ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of another body stretched out alongside of him. He could see legs shaking frantically, uniformed officers in Kevlar vests hunkered down. Shouting for help into walkie talkies as they tended to the injured party before them. Through his haze, Danny was able to see Detective Bernstein, a grave look on his face, marching a handcuffed suspect out the front door, a sawed off shot gun in his free hand.

It was then that Danny broke free of his fog and realization hammered down. The events of the evening flooded through him. Jordan Gates dead. Sam and Flack taking baby Hunter home from the hospital. A con named Sal Grecko being linked to Jordan's ex husband. The nearly hour drive from the lab to that rat trap of an apartment building in Brooklyn. Strapping on a Kevlar vest. Teasing Maka about her trip to Vegas. Standing outside the apartment door, waiting to make his move. Rushing through the kicked in door.

And then…a strong hand on his shoulder forcefully yanking him out of the way as a gunshot rang out. Stumbling backwards, he'd lost his footing on the trash that littered the apartment door and gone down hard. Had he hit his head? Knocked himself out?

Turning his head to the side, he reached out for that prone figure beside him. A burgundy shirt with the cuffs rolled to the elbows. Black pinstripe pants. Smooth dark skin.

Hawkes.

Danny struggled to get into a sitting position. Anxious to get to his friend. Propelled into action at the pool of blood quickly spreading across the floor. Only to have two small, yet firm hands shove him back down. He shouted profanities, fought his captor off, screamed Hawkes' name over and over again.

"Danny! Listen to me!" Maka shook him forcibly. "Listen to me! You need to lie there and calm down! You've been shot! Do you understand me? You've been shot!"

He shook his head. "One shot…" he managed. "I heard one shot…"

"You only heard the first one. It caught you in the vest. You've had the wind knocked out of you. It probably collapsed your lung. You fell backwards and hit your head. Knocked yourself out. Are you understanding me, Danny?"

"Hawkes…grabbed me…he grabbed me and…"

"He grabbed you and pulled you out of the direct path but you still took it in the vest. It would have hit you in the side where there's no Kevlar. If he hadn't have grabbed you…"

"Hawkes…" Danny wheezed. His bloody hand once again reaching out for his friend.

"They're doing everything they can," Maka assured him. "He took the second shot in the neck. It ricocheted off the wall and hit in the left side of his throat. EMS is on the way. He's going to be fine. The best thing you can do for him is stay calm, okay?"

Danny shook his head. He heard the uneasiness in Maka's voice. The uncertainty. The frantic calls being made to the ambulance on route. He saw the uniform office straddling Hawkes' chest as he attempted, in vain, to staunch the flow of blood from the wound with his bare hands. He could see the way Hawkes' left hand twitched uncontrollably. The gold wedding ring on his finger glittering in the light of that crappy apartment in Brooklyn. He was seizing. Danny could recognize those movements anywhere.

It can't end like this, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut in order to hold back the threat of tears. Not this way. Not this night. Not Hawkes. Anyone but him. It wasn't his time. It was far from his time. And as he lay there, listening to the officers work on his friend and colleague, Danny Messer was besieged with years of memories. The Marvin Heckman case. The super-sized music producer who'd fallen to his death from his apartment balcony while attempting to retrieve chocolate he'd stashed inside a gargoyle. Hawkes, making one of his rare trips out of the morgue, had called the canopy their big man had fallen onto an awning. Danny however, had been quick to correct him. It was a canopy. His cousin made them for a living.

He thought of countless other moments at work that he and Hawkes had shared together. The way that the former ME had slightly scolded him on the way to a crime scene about his bitching and moaning because his girlfriend at the time was insisting that he go to her boss' son's Bar Mitzvah. He remembered, during the investigation of murdered weather girl Tara Stansfield, going to the television station and meeting up with slimy producer Ethan Fallon, and stumbling upon the homemade sex tape featuring their deceased and the very marred Mr Fallon. And then watching it, poor quality as it was, in the lab with Adam Ross.

He easily recalled the trip they'd made to Coney Island during the search for Scott Colson's killer, and while Danny himself had silently thought the sideshow performers they were questioning -as nice and down to earth as they were- were complete and utter freaks, Hawkes had never blinked an eye or talked down to them or looked at them as if they were anything but regular people. Hawkes had that kind of heart. He accepted people, no questions asked. He was compassionate and kind and soulful. Gentle.

But Danny's most vivid memory, save for the personal moments they'd shared over the years - their respective weddings, kids' birthday parties, the death of Hawkes' mother- was of the time that Danny had had to save his friend while he was trapped under the mast of a sunken ship. It wasn't so much that act of saving Hawkes that Danny relished the most. He had just been thankful that he'd been able to do it. It was the light hearted moment they'd shared at that back of the ambulance. Danny teasing the good doctor about what he was thinking about as his life flashed before his eyes, and Hawkes, despite the pain from a dislocated shoulder and a fractured rib, had given a chuckle and a charismatic smile and told him that his only thought playing through his mind was laying on a slab down in autopsy while Sid fired up the bone spreader.

There'd been many other moments. Too many to mention, in fact. The injustice of Hawkes being arrested for Kelly Jones' murder. Danny would have defended him to the death if need be, and would have stopped at nothing to prove that his friend was innocent. And Danny realized, as he lay there, his head swimming both from the years of memories tumbling through it and the horrific headache that was quickly and effortlessly assaulting him, that while he'd usually been the one that needed defending, he had had his stellar moments over the years that had defined him as a pretty damn good friend.

Danny felt nauseous. Both from the injuries he'd received and from the realization that Hawkes lay close to death beside him. And he thought of Mari and the kids. Of how she'd cope without her husband, the man she called the most beautiful, tender soul on the planet and the love of her life. How Jasmine and Elijah would cope without him. Hawkes was a patient, attentive and loving father. He adored Jas as if she were his own. He never missed a school or extra curricular event. He bragged about both his children and kept framed pictures on his desk. When he spoke of them -of Mari in particular- his entire face lit up with pride and adoration. He had found true, unconditional love and was not afraid to express it to the world.

"Danny?" Maka's voice cut into his thoughts. His memories the only thing keeping his mind off of the burning in his chest and the agony in his head. The only thing keeping him sane as the thought of losing such an influential person in his life swept through him.

His eyes flickered open.

"EMS is here now…they're going to take Hawkes' out first, okay?…then the second crew will come back and get you…are you understanding me?"

"Quit talking so fucking much," he responded. "I've got a bad enough headache without listening to you go on and on and on and asking me stupid questions. I can hear ya. I'm not deaf, ya know."

A grin tugged at the corner of Maka's mouth.

"Just…" Danny struggled to comprehend what was happening around him. His head slowly turning to the side to watch as EMS workers wasted no time in loading Hawkes, now shirtless with an oxygen mask over his face, heart sensor pads affixed to his chest and IV lines running into him, onto a stretcher. "Make sure you call Lindsay…tell her that I'm fine…that I'm going to be fine…and tell her that she has to tell Mari herself…I don't want anyone else going to that house and scaring Mari and the kids…tell Lindsay what happened and that she has to get to Mari first…"

"I will," Maka promised him. "You're going to be okay, Danny…you're a tough little shit, you know that? You're lucky all you got was a knock to the head and a twenty two to the vest."

"Lucky…" Danny gave a small, dry laugh. "Hawkes though…"

She gave a grave smile. "They're doing what they can," she assured him. "It's in God's hands now. Put your faith there, too."

Danny sighed and shook his head and closed his eyes.

Terrified at the realization that faith had deserted him a long time ago.

* * *

The shrill ringing off the beside telephone shattered the peacefulness of the Flack household. Flack's eyes snapped open immediately and his hand reached out in the dark to fumble for the offending object in the dark. The last thing he wanted was Sam and the baby to be disturbed. Hunter had gone back to sleep immediately after his feeding, and once he was safely swaddled and placed in his temporary bed, the lights were switched off and his parents were able to return to bed themselves.

A quick glance at the clock radio next to his head told Flack they'd been asleep for just shy of an hour. Definitely not long enough, he thought, issuing silent profanities at whoever had the nerve to so rudely interrupt their slumber. And then the reality of the night hit him full force. The memory of Mac's phone call and the news on the raid replaying in Flack's mind. And immediately his heart began to hammer in his chest and his stomach knotted.

Beside him, Sam stirred. At the end of the bed, Wiener shifted position but didn't awaken. In the playpen, Hunter gave a soft sigh. And then was silent once again.

Flack snatched up the cordless and sat up quickly, moving the phone to his right hand as the left reached out to flick on the bedside lamp. Sam rolled over onto her stomach and raised her head to look at him just as he hit the talk button on the phone.

"Yeah…this is Flack…" he said in way of greeting. "Whoa…whoa…" his eyes widened and he was already throwing the covers off of his legs. "Slow down…take it easy Kaile…take a breath and go a little slower…what's going on?…what happened?"

Panic registered on Sam's face. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and then moved into a sitting position. Watching nervously as her husband jumped out of bed and hurried for his dressing, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he began a near frantic search for clothes.

"When?" Flack asked, as a pair of jeans a sweatshirt were tossed onto the bed, followed by boxers and a pair of socks. The items narrowly missing the sleeping dog. "How in the hell did that happen?…Is Danny okay? What did the doctors say?"

"What happened to Danny?" Sam asked, her entire body trembling. "Donnie? What happened?"

He ignored her as he turned towards the bed and began stripping off his bed clothes and yanking on the boxers and jeans. "So he's okay then? Linds is with him?"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"And what about Hawkes?" Flack asked. "What?…When?"

Sam didn't like the sound of her husband's voice, nor the way he stopped what he was doing and the way shock registered on his face.

He raised his eyes and looked at her. Blue eyes meeting golden brown. His were serious and dire. Hers were terrified.

"Donnie.." fear crept into her voice. "What…?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he said into the phone, and then hung up and tossed the cordless onto the bed.

"Donnie…" Sam said again, her tone pleading. "Everything's okay, right? Please tell me that everything's okay."

He shook his head slowly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. "What…?"

"It's Hawkes…" he told her. Fighting his own emotion. "He…he was shot…during the raid…he…"

"Don…don't say what I think you're going to say…please don't say it."

"I'm sorry, Sammie…"

She shook her head, then covered her mouth with her hand as a sob threatened to erupt.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "But he's…"

"Please don't…" she pleaded. "Please…"

Flack abandoned dressing himself and climbed onto the bed. Kneeling before her, he gently took her face in his hands. Forcing her to look him dead in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered. "Hawkes is dead."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of your support! Even all the lurkers! So please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

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**Forest Angel**

**muchmadness**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

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**OneHotMessER**


	50. Where the heart belongs

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OBVIOUSLY. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK. **

**THANKS TO AFROZENHEART412 FOR PASSING ALONG THE AWESOME SONG AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER**

**

* * *

  
**

**Where the heart belongs**

"Hello world  
Hope you're listening  
Forgive me if I`m young  
For speaking out of turn  
There`s someone I`ve been missing  
I think that they could be  
The better half of me  
They`re in their own place trying to make it right  
But I`m tired of justifying  
So I say you`ll..

Come home  
Come home  
'Cause I`ve been waiting for you  
For so long  
For so long  
And right now there's a war between the vanities  
But all I see is you and me  
The fight for you is all I`ve ever known  
So come home."  
-Come Home, OneRepublic

* * *

In the silence of the cavernous basement of the New York City Crime Lab, Mac Taylor stood before the glass wall that separated him from the offices of the Chief Medical Examiner. His stomach a hallow, aching pit and his nerves and emotions a shattered mess. While outwardly he displayed his usual stern, collected and unshakable demeanour, inside he was falling apart. Anger, grief and years of memories surged through him as he quietly watched the actions of the young coroner he'd had to call in to perform the autopsy. After Sid had balked and Mac had had to force the man to go home when his grief became to severe, Mac in turn had called in the one and only ME who didn't have personal ties to members of his team.

Karen Billings was only here years out of her formal training, but she had once been the star of the show at the Detroit Medical Examiner's Office. When Sid had needed more help in the overburdened New York City morgue and personal circumstances had found Karen seeking new employment, Sid had gone to the Motor City himself to recruit her. Mac had never once questioned the man's decision. While she was young, Karen was professional, thorough and precise.

Which was why she was perfect for the job that had been entrusted to her. She knew Hawkes and the other members of the team only in passing. She had no personal or emotional ties to any of them, and Mac trusted her explicitly. And as she stood alongside of Sheldon Hawkes' body as he lay on a cold, metal slab, naked and covered to the chin by a crisp, white sheets, she paused in the notes she was jotting down on the clipboard in her hands, raised her head and glanced over to where Mac stood, his hands planted firmly on his hips. Their eyes met and locked and she gave a small, sympathetic smile before going back to her work.

Sighing heavily, Mac ran a hand over his weary face, the up and over his head. Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest as his fingers firmly worked at releasing some of the tremendous tension that knotted the muscles in the back of his neck. It was the first time he'd ever lost a member of his team. During active duty, that was. While Aiden's death had rocked him and tore off a small piece of his heart, nailing DJ Pratt had lessened the severity of his grief. As had the stark realization that in a way, Aiden had voluntarily put herself in harms way but launching her own private investigation against Pratt. She hadn't deserved what had happened to her. Eleven years later it still pained Mac to think about her death. He even still kept a framed photograph of them together on his desk.

Until that night, Mac had never lost someone on his watch during his entire policing career. He had always prided himself on having a highly skilled, well respected and valuable team. They were second to none and he'd always admired their resilience and determination. Save for the damage that had been done to Danny and Adam at the hands of the Wilder Gang years earlier, injuries -even very minor ones- had been a rare occurrence. His people were careful. Even Danny, who'd once been the quintessential 'fly by the seat of his pants' kind of guy who never thought twice about rushing into a building after a heavily armed perp or offering himself up in a dangerous situation, had completely mellowed since becoming a husband and a father.

But Hawkes…

Mac couldn't accept the fact that out of all people, it was Sheldon lying there, awaiting the young coroner to being his autopsy. Exceptionally intelligent, tremendously gifted and beautifully compassionate Sheldon Hawkes. And Mac couldn't help but think of how many lives the man had touched. How many murderers, even as an ME, that he had helped capture. The families he'd brought solace and closure to. And how many lives would be affected by Hawkes' senseless and tragic death.

With his eyes still closed and his grief threatening to overwhelm him, Mac heard the soft ding down the corridor. The chime announcing the elevator's arrival to the basement. There were footsteps approaching him, shuffling noises along the tiles that grew closer and closer. And moments later he became aware of a presence beside him. Soft breathing and the smell of nicotine mixed with soap and water. It was a scent that had become all too familiar to Mac in the past fourteen years. Something personal that he attributed to just one man. He didn't need to see the face of hear the voice. And for several minutes they stood side by side in silence. Mac's eyes closed and his fingers still working on the back of his neck. The man beside him nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"What are you doing here, Flack?" Mac asked curiously. He knew that The morgue had never been the other man's favourite place. Despite years of seeing blood, gore and death on a constant basis, the detective avoided the basement and the sights and smells that accompanied it like the plaque.

"I was at the hospital," Flack replied. "Headed over there as soon as Maka called me and told me what happened. I wanted to catch up with Mari, offer my condolences and all of that, but Kelli was already with her and the kids and there was a department chaplain there and I…I guess I didn't want to interrupt them. I only would have felt out of place anyway so it was better I didn't."

"Did you see Danny?" Mac asked, ceasing the self administered massage. Pinching the bridge of his noise between his thumb and forefinger, he sighed heavily and raised his head and opened his eyes.

Flack nodded. His hands were shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his blue eyes riveted on the young ME taking notes in the next room. "He was out like a light but I talked to Monroe for a bit. Says he's got a collapsed lung and a nasty concussion. Thank God he's okay. She asked if Sam and I would watch Amanda for a few extra days. To not tell her about what happened. To just let her think her parents are out of town until Linds is ready to tell M&M herself."

"Probably the best way to do it," Mac agreed.

"I don't even know what to tell my own kids," Flack admitted. "Hawkes was like an uncle to them. They called him Uncle Shelly for Christsakes. They were suppose to go and spend the weekend with him and Mari and the kids while Sam and I went to New Jersey. And now they've got this Hunter thing being tossed at them. How are they going to handle hearing Hawkes' is dead on top of that?"

"Give it a few days," the older man suggested. "Wait until the shock and wonderment of having a mysteriously appearing baby brother dumped on them wears off a little. That alone is a huge deal for a five year old. You don't need to overwhelm them with anything else."

Flack nodded in agreement. "Maka told me you were here. That you'd escorted the body personally."

Mac sighed. "It seemed like the proper thing to do," he said. "I had to order Sid home. There was no way he was able to emotionally handle doing Sheldon's autopsy."

"Kinda like when he couldn't do the one on Pino's wife," Flack mused. He nodded in the direction of the woman in the next room. "She just getting started in there?" he asked.

"She's washed the body and sent his personal belongings up to the lab to be processed."

"What about the perp?" the detective asked.

"He's in custody and awaiting arraignment in a cell at Rikers," Mac replied. "He confessed to Jordan's murder. He's going away for the rest of his natural born life."

"He say why he offed her?"

"Jordan's ex husband had nothing to do with it surprisingly enough. The link that Danny and Hawkes found was nothing more than a coincidence. The two men weren't friends and only shared a cell for three weeks. It was enough time for them to learn particulars about each other. Why they were in there, what their family members names were. Jordan's ex, who'd found out that she was having a baby through a visiting sister, had told Grecko that she had been having an affair with a married cop and that she'd gotten pregnant. The ex told me that Grecko started talking about getting the baby away from her. Making a profit off of it."

"The douche bag admit to that?" Flack asked.

"Grecko had partners on the outside. A ring of people that were befriending single, vulnerable expectant mothers. Conning their ways into these women's lives by pretending he was a counsellor from a Pro-Choice clinic who would privately arrange for them to give up their babies upon birth. All it took was ten thousand dollars and the baby was off of their hands the second it was released from the hospital."

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"Jordan fell for it hook, line and sinker," Mac sighed. "Only problem was, once she'd gotten some treatment for pre-partum and post-partum depression and she actually got to bond with her son, she reneged on the deal. She called Grecko over to her place. Demanded that he give her all the money back and get out of her life before she called the police. They argued, things got out of hand."

"If he wanted Hunter why didn't he just scoop him up when he had the chance?" Flack wondered aloud.

"He said that when the baby started crying it spooked him. He was worried that the longer the kid cried, it would alert the neighbours. So he took off. It was pure coincidence that he bore a resemblance to you."

"He's lucky he never got a hold of my kid, Mac," the detective's voice was cold and full of vehemence. "He had have touched him at all…" he shook his head, his words trailing off. "And what about Hawkes?" he asked. "How'd this Grecko guy managed to get the drop on the cops?"

"He had an old fashioned police scanner," Mac replied. "He knew that time was running out and we'd catch up to him so he thought he'd be prepared. Bernstein said that they barely got in the door and Grecko opened fire. Danny took the first round to the vest. Hawkes grabbed him, yanked him out of the way. Danny fell, cracked the back of his head off the floor. The second shot hit the door frame, ricocheted and struck Hawkes in the left side of the throat."

Flack sighed heavily.

"He died in the ER," Mac said.

"This is just fucking insane," the detective declared, and raking his fingers through his hair, commenced pacing in width of the hallway. Unable to watch as Karen peeled the blanket off of the body and picking up a scalpel, began the standard Y incision. "Of all people Hawkes. I thought for sure that it this time ever came, you'd be standing there watching them cut me open. Or that I'd be getting the bad news about one of my guys or even Danny. Last person I expected it to be was Hawkes."

"I think we're all feeling and thinking the same things," Mac said. "It's going to be…difficult. I'm going to make sure that Mari and the kids are well taken care of. Her mother is going to go and stay with them as long as she needs to. And we'll start up a trust fund in Hawkes' memory to make sure those kids never have to go without."

"Anything Sammie and I can do, just let us know," Flack implored.

"Have you told her?" Mac asked.

The younger man nodded and returned to his spot at the window. Leaning against it, his back towards the autopsy taking place. "She's taking it pretty bad. Her and Hawkes were always pretty close. And her and Mari are like two peas in a pod. Adam's with her so I think she's going to be okay. If it isn't one thing, it's another, you know?"

"Definitely a lot going on in your lives," Mac said. "Taking Hunter into your home, a move to New Jersey, a new career…"

Flack shook his head. "We're not going," he told the older man. "We made a collective decision. We're not going to New Jersey. Our family needs to come first. There's too much going on right now to make a huge jump like that. I'm going to call the realtor and get the house taken off the market. We'll move into an apartment in the city if we have to if things get tight money wise. I figure I'll call Sinclair, do some grovelling to get my job back."

"I doubt grovelling will be necessary," Mac said. "He's just going to be ecstatic to have you back. And honestly? I'm glad that you're not leaving."

Flack managed a small smile. "So what's going to happen?" he asked. "With Hawkes' funeral and all of that? I know it's a little soon but…"

"Any funeral arrangements are up to the family," Mac replied. "Because Hawkes' wasn't a sworn member of the NYPD, he won't receive a departmental funeral."

The detective shook his head. "That's fucking bullshit," he declared. "Guy does the department's bidding, dies in the line of duty and they can't even give him the funeral he deserves? He's just like the rest of us Mac. He did the same line of work. He wore the badge, carried the gun. He died serving and protecting. He should be treated just like any cop would."

"I know. But it's all politics, Don. And we both know politics has been running this department for years."

Flack nodded in agreement. "Still think it's fucking bullshit though. So what will happen with Grecko? Charges wise? You kill a cop and its automatically murder one. But with Hawkes not being an actual cop…" he made air quotes around the words 'actual cop'.

"It will be up to the DA to decide what charges to lay," Mac said. "But because there will be definite public outcry if Hawkes' death doesn't get the same punishment…"

"He'll push the issue and make sure the charges stick," Flack concluded. "So that the shit doesn't hit the fan."

Mac nodded.

A long, heavy silence descended on the two men. Flack's eyes remained riveted on the scuffed tile floors as Mac's watched every second of the autopsy taking place before him. Eventually, Flack gave a drawn out, forlorn sigh and checked his watch.

"I feel like a shit for having to say this Mac. But it's six thirty and the girls will be up in an hour and with the new baby there, Sammie's going to…"

"Go home and be with your family, Don," the older man said. "There's nothing that you can do for anyone by being here. Go home to your wife and your kids. Throw your arms around them and hold onto them as tight as you can. Tell them you love them."

"I'm going to," Flack assured him. "And I ain't ever going to let them go. I just…I feel bad for leaving at a time like this. For leaving Hawkes when…"

"He's dead, Don. There's nothing you can do for him. Or for Mari. The best thing for you to do, is go home and be with your loved ones. It's where you want to be. And it's where you need to be."

The younger man nodded, then lay a strong, supportive hand on Mac's shoulder. "Anything you or anyone else needs, just let me know, okay?"

Mac nodded. "Thanks for coming down, Don."

"No problem. I guess I just needed to see it for myself, you know? I guess I needed to make sure if just wasn't some mistake. That it had really happened."

"It has," Mac sighed. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately," Flack echoed. "I'll catch ya later, Mac."

The older man gave a grim smile and watched as the detective headed down the hall towards the elevators.

"It was kind of déjà vu, huh?" Flack suddenly asked, as he reached out to press the 'up' button.

Mac arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"Last time we had a moment like that, a heart to heart, was years ago. When Danny and Stella were questioning that Johnny O'Dell kid. Remember? I was worried about you not sleeping and you told me about Peyton. That's a long time ago."

"A lot has happened since then," Mac said, a smile of recollection spreading across his face.

"We got ourselves a weird relationship, Mac," Flack observed. "We open up to each other at the strangest times it seems. You told me about the 333 caller, then about Peyton. Then I made my way to Chicago to collect you and you told me about all that crazy shit when you were a teenager. Is it me or do I just seem to have a habit of being there at the oddest times in your life?"

"You do seem to be the get to guy for personal baggage," Mac said light heartedly. "Maybe one day, I can repay you for all of that."

"Oh trust me, Mac," Flack gave a small chuckle, the elevator chiming as it arrived. "My baggage would give you one massive hernia. Or put you in an early grave."

"My door's always open, Don."

The younger man nodded his appreciation, then gave a wave in farewell before stepping onto the elevator.

Mac sighed heavily and turned his attention back to the young woman attentively working on the body of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes.

_And now there's one less person to walk through that door,_ he thought sadly.

* * *

"_The city remains mourning as day breaks and new details emerge concerning the shooting death of a member of the New York Police Department. Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, a forensic investigator with the city's crime lab, was killed while serving an arrest warrant with other officers. Department officials say that proper protocol was followed, and that Doctor Hawkes' death was simply a horrific, unfortunate accident. It is the NYPD's first death in the line of duty o since three patrol officers were shot by crazed gunman Tyson Greene six years ago. Once head of the medical examiner's office, Doctor Hawkes leaves behind a wife, a teenage daughter and a young son. Funeral arrangements are pending. But this tragedy brings to light the dangerous job facing the men and women of the NYPD, and critics are wondering if this may bring about a sweeping epidemic of the 'blue flu', as officers begin question whether they are receiving their net worth."_

"Fucking bullshit…" Sam spat and snatched the remote for the television from where it lay beside her on the sectional couch in the family room.

She flicked off the tv, and leaning her head back against the sofa, closed her weary eyes. As the clock on the top of the entertainment unit ticked noisily, the house was in complete silence. She hadn't been able to go back to sleep when Flack had left for the hospital. He had spent nearly an hour holding her tightly and stroking her hair as he rocked her back in forth in hopes of counselling her, then, without a word, had followed her to the bathroom when she had announced she was going to be sick. He'd sat silently on the ledge of the tub, concern in his eyes, holding back his own grief as he rubbed her back and held a wet wash cloth to the back of her neck.

Afterwards, he'd waited until she swallowed down half a dozen glasses of water, washed her face and brushed her teeth and then escorted her back to bed. No words were spoken as he tucked the covers securely around her and made sure a box of kleenexes were parked within reach. Then, he stood at the side of the bed gazing down at her, tears in his eyes as he caressed her hair and her cheek for several minutes. His heart breaking as she sobbed into her pillow, her entire body quaking from her powerful, all consuming grief. And when she finally quieted, he'd pressed a tender kiss to her temple and told her he'd loved her. That he'd never told her that enough. That he promised to tell her, and show her more.

It was the way with death. Losing someone made you realize what, and who, you had in your life. It made you realize that there were changes that needed to be made. That you needed to put them first and stop taking their presence for granted. And it was shame that such gentle souls had to be taken so suddenly and violently to make you realize how much you cherished the people around you.

An hour after Flack had left, Sam had gathered a sleeping Hunter up and strapped him into his carry seat, covered him with his fleece blanket and took him downstairs with her. She'd made herself a tea and a bowl of cereal and tried to control the roller coaster of emotions surging through her. All she could think about was Mari and the kids. What they were going through and what they would be going through during the coming days and the rest of their lives. She couldn't begin to image the force of sorrow that her friend was feeling at that time, and it had taken all of Sam's will power to not get on the telephone and express her condolences. Now was not the time to be making chit chat. There'd be hours and days to do that sort of thing. The last thing Mari would feel like doing would be talking on the phone. Especially to someone who couldn't reign in her emotions for more then five minutes at a time.

And selfishly, she couldn't stop thanking God for not allowing it to happen to her. It made Sam feel horrible for even letting such a thought creep into her mind. But as the spouse of a cop who'd given buckets of blood, sweat and tears to the city he'd vowed long ago to protect to the best of his ability, even as far as resolving to make the ultimate sacrifice if need be, she felt she had the right to be thankful that it wasn't her husband. That she didn't have to receive the worst possible news or face the rest of her life alone. That she didn't have to wake her girls up in the middle of the night to tell them that daddy was never coming home. That she didn't have to plan a funeral and essentially, abandon the life she had once known and attempt to make a new one for her and her family.

You are vicious, selfish bitch, she scolded herself now, as she stretched her legs out in front of her. Her back tucked into the corner of the sectional and a wool blanket spread out over her and tucked under her chin. She was ashamed that she was grateful that her husband still drew air into his lungs. That he was going to be walking back in the door in a matter of hours.

And she knew, as tears threatened to consume her once more, that her entire life could be so cruelly ripped away without warning.

She had thought that coming downstairs and turning on the television would take her mind off of things. Even if it was just for a fleeting moment. A foolish thought, considering news regarding deaths of police officers or firemen always drew huge audiences. Every station was talking about Hawkes. Even CNN was keeping their viewers on top of the breaking news regarding the incident. So far, details were coming in at a slow trickle. But speculation, as was the norm in journalism, was running fast and furious.

_Blue flu_, she thought, a smirk covering her face. _What kind of crappy nonsense is that? My good friend dies and all people can talk about is if his shooting is going to cause cops to want more money and walk off the job? That's shit. Pure and utter shit. Sheldon deserves more than that._

_So much more._

* * *

"Mind if a tall, not so dark but exceptionally handsome and charming man joins you?"

Sam's eyes opened and focused on the familiar yet extremely tired and worn face standing before her. She grinned and looked around the room. "Sure," she responded. "When he gets here, let me know."

Adam gave a dramatic gasp and laid a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Sammie," he said, and plopped down on the shorter section of the couch. Manoeuvring his body until he lay flat on his stomach, his arms crossed in front of him and his chin resting on the tops of his hands.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He had been awakened during the wee hours of the morning by the phone ringing in and could hear, through the paper thin walls that separated the spare room from the master suite, his brother in law speaking to the caller. Phone calls at that time of the night were never good news. Especially when they were made to the land line. Work related calls always went into Flack's cell phone which he kept turned on throughout the night, sitting on the night table. So when the house phone rang at ungodly hours, the news was never good.

He had lied in the dark, staring up at the ceiling as he picked up bits and pieces of the conversation that had ensued between Flack and Sam after the call had been disconnected. Adam hadn't been able to make out the words, but he had heard his sister's crying and later on, her subsequent throwing up in the en-suite bathroom. Adam had stayed there in the spare room, nervously speculating about what had happened and fearing the worse about one of his co-workers. And when he'd heard the master bedroom door open and then close and Flack's heavy footsteps on the stairs, Adam had jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room after his brother in law.

He'd been shocked when he'd heard the words, "Hawkes is dead" coming out of Flack's mouth. It was if someone had physically slapped him or kicked him in the stomach. He stared at the other man before him for what seemed like an eternity, before the force of the announcement had hit him ten fold and he'd stumbled backwards, having to place a hand on the wall to keep himself on his feet. Despite the shooting deaths of three uniform officers six years before and the death of Aiden Burn, a former CSI more than a decade before, Adam had never suffered a significant lost. Aiden and the officers had been complete strangers to him, and while he'd been sad about their deaths, he'd been able to continue on with his job and not lose sleep over it.

Hawkes on the other hand was a completely different story. They'd been so close for so long. Not just in the confines of the job, but outside of it as well. Adam had been truly blessed to consider Hawkes one of his nearest and dearest friends. And the respect and brotherly love had gone both ways. Hawkes had never made him feel stupid and less of a person back in the day because he was a lowly lab tech. While he'd been the brunt of many jokes and teasing by both Danny and Flack, Hawkes had always accepted him and his often quirky, eccentric ways and had always valued and appreciated both his opinion and his work. When Adam had decided to make the jump from lab tech to CSI, it had been Hawkes that he'd gone to with advice. Who'd given him pointers on the exam and who'd helped him study on many an occasion. He was also quick to support Adam in his 'new guy' status when he finally did strap that badge and gun on. Hawkes, from his own experiences coming over from the ME's office, knew full well what it was like to be a 'probie'. To be constantly challenged by others and to be constantly second guessing yourself and your abilities.

On the personal side, each had served as both an usher, and as Master of Ceremonies for each other's weddings. Jasmine had acted as a babysitter for Adam's children on more than one occasion. And while Hawkes and him had very little in common -save for being the two smartest people in the world, never mind at the New York City crime lab, as Adam often quipped- they had managed to find a peaceful, common ground during Sunday dinners and weekends away with each other and their wives and kids.

He would miss Hawkes. He'd miss those soulful dark eyes and that warm, smooth voice. That encyclopedia for a brain that the man possessed, and his quiet resolve and tenacity when it came time to catch the bad guy. He'd miss the strong, supportive hand on the shoulder and the votes of confidence Hawkes tossed his way in Adam's early CSI days when the newest member of the team often hedged on speaking up during team meetings.

Most of all, he'd miss seeing that smile and the ever present body behind the desk in the office they shared together. The way Hawkes, without saying a word, always let you know that he was there for you through thick and thin.

Tears burned Adam's eyes and a lump of emotion threatened to cut off all oxygen. And as he sniffled noisily, he felt a delicate hand fall on the top of his head and fingers softly comb through his unruly tresses.

He raised his head. Sorrow filled aquamarine eyes locked on tortured golden brown.

"Don told you?" she asked, her lower lip trembling. "I heard the two of you talking on the stairs before he left. He told you? About Hawkes?"

Adam nodded and swallowed noisily.

She sighed and shook her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe it…I just…for years I've been almost preparing myself, you know? Donnie's always out in the field and always in harms way. He comes in contact more with the perps then we all do. And since the day we started dating I've been mentally preparing myself for that phone call. Morbid, I know. But I figured if I was at least half way ready for that phone call or knock on the door it wouldn't destroy me so much when it happened. And now…" her eyes flickered open and she wiped tears away with the sleeve of her housecoat. "Now it's the last person I ever expected."

"Isn't that usually the way?" Adam mused. "It always seems to be the person that you least expect. I mean, between Hawkes and Danny, who would you think would be the one to go?"

"Danny's definitely used up the last of his nine lives," Sam said. "I called the hospital and talked to Lindsay. He's got a collapsed lung and a fractured skull to go along with his massive concussion. He's definitely going to be out of commission for a while."

"At least he's still alive," Adam surmised.

She nodded in agreement. "I haven't been able to sleep since Donnie left. I know he's not on duty, but I just feel…I don't know…I feel scared."

Her brother gave a soft, reassuring smile. "He's going to be okay. You're just on edge with what's gone down. It's been a hell of a twenty four hours if you ask me. First you find out that Jordan's been murdered and that you're going to have to take Hunter in…"

"It's not that I had to, Peanut. It's that I wanted to. If I hadn't have wanted to, Don wouldn't have forced the issue. But I couldn't let him fall into the system. He didn't do anything wrong. Just because Don and Jordan did what they did, it didn't mean Hunter needed to be punished because they were the two stupidest people on the face of the earth. And he definitely didn't deserve what happened to his mother."

"Most women wouldn't have been so forgiven as you, Sammie. To not only accept what your husband did but to take his love child into your house? Most women would have kicked his ass to the curb and told him to go be with his girlfriend."

"What do you think I did?" she asked defensively. "Did I not take my kids and get the hell out of here? Did I not go and talk to a divorce lawyer and have the papers drawn up? It wasn't as if I just threw my hands in the air and let him do whatever the hell he wanted."

"I never said that. I know only meant that…"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said, dismissing the subject. "Why does any of that matter? Hunter's here and we're going to give him a great home. And I hope that you can accept him. As your nephew."

"Why wouldn't I?" Adam asked, sounding hurt. "I'm not going to hold what Don did against the poor kid. He's a baby. He didn't ask for any of this to happen. And look at him…" he glanced over at the sleeping infant in the car seat next to the couch. "He's damn cute. Who couldn't love a face like that?"

Sam smiled as she looked down at the baby. "He's been really, really good. His temperament is just amazing for an infant. After we got him over that spell in the hospital, he's been as good as gold. Even when he wakes up for his meals he barely makes a peep. He's just…an angel."

"Sure beats the two hellions you popped out," Adam teased.

Frowning, she roughly yanked a handful of his hair.

"Owww!" he cried, and reached up to pry her fingers loose. "You're vicious. Must you be so abusive so early in the morning? You would have thought you would have gotten over the whole beating up on your little brother thing years ago. You know, the second you hit ten and stopped growing!"

"Keep it up Adam Gregory Ross and I'll tear out every stitch of hair you have and then beat your ass up and down this house," she warned, tightening her grip on his hair.

"Okay! Okay! Uncle! Uncle! I surrender!" he howled. Then dissolved into laughter when she finally relented her assault and released the firm, painful hold on his hair.

"Wimp," Sam snorted, then burst into giggles of her own.

* * *

Eventually their jovial noises died down, leaving the room wrapped in a heavy blanket of silence. Adam rolled over onto his back and rested his head on his sister's thigh and placed a forearm over his eyes. Sam reached under her blanket for a mug of lukewarm tea that she'd stored safely between her legs and took a sip, grimacing at the taste before issuing a long, sad sigh.

"I feel so guilty," Sam said.

Adam raised his forearm and looked up at her.

"I mean…how can we be sitting here like this? Joking around and laughing when Sheldon's…" her voice caught as her emotion finally caught up to her and she could no longer hold the grief inside of her.

Adam sighed heavily and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Scouting closer to his sister, he wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and drew her tightly into him. "It's okay, Sammie…" he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know it hurts like a bitch….but it's okay…"

"We shouldn't be laughing like that!" she cried and wrapped her arms around his torso. Ignoring the cup of tea that slipped from between her legs and tumbled to the floor, the light brown liquid quickly spreading across the carpet. "It's not right! We shouldn't be laughing when he's never going to get the chance to again! It's not fair that we get to joke around and have fun and he gets to lie there in the morgue! Or that Mari doesn't have a husband or Jas and Elijah don't get to have a father! It's not fair, Peanut!"

"It's not," he agreed, rubbing her arm softly with one hand as the other stroked her hair. "But you know what else isn't fair? What isn't fair to Hawkes?"

She shook her head.

"It's not fair to him if we just toss our hands in the air and give up on life. If we never laugh or smile or have fun again. He wouldn't want that, Sammie. He wouldn't want us to stop living our lives because his got cut so short. That would be last thing he'd want. We can't stop living because of this. And laughing and fooling around isn't forgetting about him or pushing our grief away. It doesn't mean we don't care. It's just…masking the pain for a little while."

"I just…" she wipe frantically at her eyes. "I just feel bad 'cause all I keep thinking about was how I'm so glad it isn't me. That it wasn't Donnie. How horrible of a person am I for thinking that? How terrible is that for me to think when my friend has just lost her husband! How can I be like that! How can I be so cruel and cold and…and so much like mom?!"

Adam couldn't help but laugh at that. "You are nowhere like the wicked witch and you know that. These are normal thoughts, Sammie. You're just counting your blessings is all. Your husband is a cop. He faces danger every single time he walks out that door. You're just grateful that it wasn't him. There's nothing wrong with feeling like that."

"Maybe…" she sniffled. "But I just don't know what to do. I don't know what to do for Mari. I don't know what to say to her. I want to call her but I just don't know what to say."

"Well, give it a few hours and then call her up and tell her exactly how you feel. Be honest. Just tell her you don't know what to say. No one is going to fault you for that."

"I know…" she said, and wiped her eyes and nose on the front of his shirt.

"Oh that's it…" Adam grumbled. "Wipe your boogers on me."

She gave a small laugh and sat up. "That's me getting you back for the time you blew your nose in my hair when we were kids."

"I was six!" Adam defended himself.

"You used my hair as a Kleenex!" Sam cried, and snatching some tissues from the box resting on the coffee table, dabbed her nose.

"I didn't have anything else," he said with a shrug. "I can't help it if your hair was down to your ass and so soft and silky and perfect for doing the trick."

"You were just a total pain in my ass back then," Sam informed him.

"And now?" Adam asked.

She managed a smile and reached out and tousled his hair. "Now you're even a bigger pain in my ass," she replied.

Frowning, he tossed both arms around her and enveloping her in a huge, tight bear hug, pulled her into his lap. "You're lucky I'm the pacifist out of the two of us," he said. "Or I'd be laying the mother of all beatings on you right now."

"Please…" Sam laughed and pinched his stomach. "You're pudgy belly would prevent you from getting a good swing in."

"My pudgy belly…" he snorted. "Better then your thunder thighs," he declared, and playfully pinched her left leg.

Sam giggled and curled both arms around his neck and placed her head on his shoulder.

Closing their eyes, brother and sister lapsed into a long, comfortable silence. Their minds assaulted with memories of their deceased friend. It was the first real, significant loss either of them had ever suffered. And the grief was raw and painful. Eating away at them and testing their weakened resolve.

In the quiet, peacefulness of the room, they were able to easily hear footsteps as they journeyed across the grass and up the front steps. Snow and salt crunching with each foot fall. After a moment, they heard the screen door squeak open and the rattle of keys in the lock of the heavy wooden front door.

Sam pulled away from her brother and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Will you…?"

"Keep an eye on the munchkin?" Adam asked, as she climbed off of his lap. "Would I ever say no to watching my nephew?"

She gave a soft smile and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Peanut," she said, laying a hand on the side of his scruffy face. "For everything."

"What are brothers for?" he asked. "Go upstairs and see your husband. Toss your arms around him and tell him how much you love him. It's what you want to do, right? What you need to do?"

She nodded.

"Go," Adam ordered, nodding in the direction of the stairs. "If any time ever called for that type of thing, it's this one."

* * *

Flack toed off his snow covered boots and set them on the rubber mat by the side of the door. Unzipping his winter coat, he shrugged out of it and hung it in the hall closet. His plan was to tiptoe upstairs, climb back into bed fully clothed, and cuddle up to his wife. Spent those quiet, early morning hours with her until the insanity of their lives started off full throttle. He locked the front door and turned to head into the living room, slightly startled at the sight of his wife, in her house coat and pyjamas, her eyes red and swollen, standing in the doorway wringing a Kleenex in her hands.

"Did you see Danny?" she asked, in a tiny voice. "I called Lindsay and she told me about his injuries and how she needs us to keep Amanda a bit longer and to not say anything. But did you see him? Is he okay?"

He nodded. "He's going to be fine. He's really banged up and doped up on pain meds, but he'll be out of there in a week. Not sure when he'll end up back to work though."

"What about Mari?" she inquired. "Did you talk to her? Did you…"

Flack shook his head. "Kelli was with her and Jas and Elijah. One of the department chaplains was there too. I didn't think it was the right time to try and talk to her. I stopped by the lab. Talked to Mac. That young ME was just getting ready to do the autopsy. Sid couldn't take it."

"What did Mac say? How did it happen?"

"He said that the perp was waiting for them. Heard they were on their way through an old fashioned scanner. He fired on them the second they kicked in the door. Danny took the first shot to the vest and Hawkes yanked him out of the way. Danny ended up getting hurt when he smacked the back of his head off the floor. Hawkes…" Flack sighed heavily and shook his head. Struggling to comprehend what had happened. "The bullet missed him, ricocheted and then hit him in the throat."

Sam's eyes widened in horror.

"He died in the ER. They didn't even get him up to the OR."

"Just like that?" she asked, sounding, and looking, as if she was near years yet again.

"Just like that," Flack replied.

She shook her head, then gave a small choked sob and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Come here, baby," he said, and reaching out, drew her tiny body into his strong arms. One hand holding her head to his chest, the other stroking her back. "It's okay…" he whispered, his lips buried in her hair. "I know it hurts, Sammie…but it's going to be okay, I promise."

"All I could think about was that I was so glad it wasn't you," she cried. "That's all I could think about! What kind of person am I for thinking something like that? What kind of friend am I for thinking that Donnie?"

"It's just something that crosses your mind, babe. It doesn't mean you're a bad person. It just means…I guess it just means you're human. Is it wrong that I thought the same thing? That I was glad it isn't me? That I'm glad it's not my autopsy Mac's watching? That I'm glad it's not my wife and kids going through that? Is that wrong?"

She shook his head and clung desperately to the front of his shirt. "I just want you to…I need you to hold me," she sniffled. "I need you to hold me like you're never going to let me go."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and did as he was told.

Thankful that God had granted him just one more day.

And hoping and praying that there was many more to come.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of the support and all the friends that I have made! A huge thank you to anyone that is reading and enjoying. It's been a blast writing these stories for all of you, and while confidence is lacking at the moment, I hope to continue doing this for all of you! And for myself! **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**High Queen Reicheru**

**Laurzz**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**hardy lover 7477**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**uscrocks**

**wolfeylady**

* * *


	51. Now THIS is what I call International

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. 'NUFF SAID.**

**WARNING: I RATE THIS CHAPTER A MILD M. WHILE IT'S IN NO WAY EXPLICIT, JUST APPROACH IT WITH A BIT OF CAUTION. I DON'T WANT TO GET PINCHED BY THE SMUT POLICE. THIS CHAPTERS ALSO INCLUDES VERY MINOR SPOILERS OF THE LAST EPISODE**

**THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER. MY BROKEN HEART NEEDED TIME TO MEND SO I THOUGHT I'D SCATTER ALL THE SAD STUFF. **

**A/N: I THOUGHT I'D TOSS IN A LITTLE SHOUT OUT TO THE LATEST EPI. NO, IT'S NOT DL. SORRY. THERE WAS MORE TO THE EPISODE AND I COULDN'T RESIST USING WHAT I DID. I JUST THOUGHT, WHY THE HELL NOT? COOKIES TO WHOEVER IS THE FIRST TO PICK UP ON IT. TRUST ME, IT'S PRETTY SIMPLE BUT OF COURSE, DOES NOT INVOLVE ONE OF THE 'GUILTY' PARTIES FROM WEDNESDAY NIGHT. ENJOY!**

**WHILE WE'RE AT IT…LET'S PLAY NAME THAT EPI! THERE'S THREE MENTIONED! MORE COOKIES TO WHOEVER CAN PICK THEM OUT! **

**ALSO (THIS IS THE LAST ONE I SWEAR) I'VE GOT RENOVATIONS BEGINNING ON SATURDAY SO THE POSTINGS WILL SLOW DOWN FOR A BIT. HOPE YOU WILL ALL COME BACK WHEN I DO!**

* * *

**Now THIS is What I Call International Relations**

"You're a song  
Written by the hands of god  
Don't get me wrong 'cause  
This might sound to you a bit odd  
But you own the place  
Where all my thoughts go hiding  
And right under your clothes  
Is where I find them  
Underneath Your Clothes  
There's an endless story  
There's the man I chose  
There's my territory  
And all the things I deserve  
For being such a good girl honey."  
-Underneath Your Clothes, Shakira

* * *

If the sight before him had been deliberately arranged in order to both entice him and reward him for the blood, sweat and tears he'd shed in the course of his lifetime, Don Flack vowed to be forever grateful.

After spending a double shift dealing with the dregs of society, and listening to every stupid, lame excuse in the book for why the slimy echelons of humanity did the things they did, walking into his bedroom and finding a nearly naked woman was one hell of a reward. On the way home, it had taken all of his will power to not fall asleep during the twenty minute subway trip from the station two blocks from the lab in mid-town Manhattan to his apartment on the lower east side. Even the extra large black coffee that he'd purchased from his favourite vendor on the way to catch the train hadn't been quite enough to keep his eyes from drifting close and his head from snapping forward on many occasions throughout the ride. It had been thoughts of the life that awaited him once he stepped through his front door that had kept him from falling asleep and missing his stop completely and ending up miles away from home.

It had been a month since who would prove to be his future in laws showed up unannounced and at a inconvenient, embarrassing time. A whole thirty-two days to be exact, since he'd made possibly the worst first impression on a girlfriend's mother in his entire life. She despised him the moment she'd laid eyes on him and the feeling was mutual. Unfortunately for her, Lynne Ross-Chambers had finally met her match. The new guy in her daughter's life was not the type to kiss anyone's ass, nor the type to allow anyone to walk all over him, or Sam. It was no skin off Flack's ass to tell her exactly what he thought of her. He wasn't afraid to call her on the snotty way she looked at him from across the breakfast table the morning after she'd arrived in New York City. He wasn't afraid to mouth back to her when he felt she was ever so gently sliding in a cheap shot at her daughter. And he damn well didn't take it when she talked to him in that condescending, my shit doesn't stink way she had about her. He was a grown man. And there was no goddamn way she was treating him like some snot nosed punk off the street. He didn't take that crap from the scum he dealt with every day, and he certainly wasn't taking it from someone who'd allowed her kids to be abused and tormented every single day of their childhoods.

Once it became perfectly clear she wasn't going to be able to walk all over him and especially her daughter, the silent treatment became Lynne's weapon of choice. To Flack, it was nothing short of a blessing. He simply couldn't stand the woman, and the more she avoided him and stayed out of his way, the happier he was. Thankfully, once past the initial awkwardness of meeting Sarge while he was half naked and covered in war wounds inflicted on him by the man's precious step daughter, Flack found that the older man was extremely personable. Sarge had shown up at his desk twice, both times unannounced, and they'd gone for coffee together and discussed Flack's intentions. He'd been up front and honest. He was madly and crazily in love with her, but still tightly guarding his heart. There were times that her cold, defensive demeanour left him second guessing how she actually felt about him. Times where she pushed him away and shut him out and left him wondering how in the hell to get through to her. Even times where her behaviour had been enough to make him consider walking away. Only he knew, even when things got tough, that his life would be completely miserable without her in it. He knew that they both had what it took to survive the relationship game. To get past all the highs and lows and shove aside the personal baggage in order to have forever. And he was damn determined to make sure that that happened. Regardless of how many times she pushed him away.

Sarge had listened intently to his uncharacteristic rambling. Nodding slowly and taking in every word, every shred of body language. And when Flack had finally finished spilling his guts to a man he'd just met and was, in all honesty, terrified of, a heavy, almost uneasy silence had fallen between them. And he'd just been ready to come to the conclusion that he'd majorly fucked up with the future father in law and haul ass on out of that coffee shop, when Sarge had reached across the table, laid a strong hand on his forearm and looked him dead in the eye.

"That's all fine and dandy and I wish you luck son," he said in a stern, calm voice. "But let me make something clear to you. I get a sniff of you mistreatin' my lady bug and I will personally see to it that you never see the light of day again. Am I making myself clear?"

To which Flack had responded with a resounding, "Yes sir."

Since then, Sam's parents had agreed to take over the lease of her apartment and Flack found himself with a 'roomie'. One that cooked (occasionally), cleaned (once in a blue moon) and gave him the most incredible, intense sex he'd ever experienced in his life (all the time). And for the a guy who'd once been the type to skip town as soon as he got his clothes on after sex, he was enjoying those blissful afterglows and the lazy Sundays when they did little more than lounge in bed all day. He was loving having those quiet, after sex chats. The dreamy way in which they laughed and the languid way in which they touched and kissed. He loved feeling her moving against him in the middle of the night. The way she shared his pillow with him and he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her vanilla honey shampoo. The little sighs and murmurs she made in her sleep. Even the full out conversations she managed to conjure up.

Most of all, he simply loved having someone to come home to. Someone who was glad to see him and greeted him with a hug and a kiss and a smile that let him know she'd missed him.

Someone that loved him.

Currently, that someone was lying on her stomach in the middle of their rumbled bed. Enjoying the second morning of her two consecutive days off, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine while Maury Povich relayed DNA results to arguing parties on the television across the room.

And doing all of that in nothing more than a matching white bra and panty set. On the back of the barely there underwear was written in bright yellow and green letters, KISS THIS IT'S IRISH.

_I must have gone something amazingly good in my previous life,_ Flack thought, as he bit his lip and let his eyes wander the entire length of his girlfriend's body as he stood in the doorway. Visually feasting on her slender, well toned legs, creamy thighs and that ass that could give a run for her money.

"You know," Sam said, her eyes never leaving the television as she spooned cereal into her mouth. "If you take a picture it will last longer."

"Well now that I've been given an invitation," he teased, and pulled his cell phone out of the inside pocket of his suit coat. "Say cheese."

She rolled over onto her side and glared at him. "Don't even think about it Hugh Hefner."

"Come on…a couple of pictures between me and you won't hurt…something I can look at on the lonely nights," he chided. _Good lord, _he thought, when he noticed the same phrase was written on the FRONT of her panties as well. And green beaded shamrocks on the cups of her bra. _I must have been really, really, really, really good._

"I'll buy you a subscription to Hustler," she said, and went back to lying on her stomach. "You worked a really long shift," she commented, as he approached the bed, shedding clothes as he did so.

"Too long," he sighed, and placing a hand on the bed, leaned over to kiss her softly as she turned her face up towards him.

"Did you have play well with the other boys and girls?" she asked. "Did you share your snack or trade your lunch? Did you manage to stay out of the principal's office?"

"Barely," he said with a grin as he plopped down on the foot of the bed. "Nearly got hauled into Whitmore's office. 'Cause I got into a thing with a perp."

"What kind of thing?" Sam inquired. "And what's up with the sunglasses indoors? Channelling our buddy Terrence or what?"

Flack sighed and removed the shades from his face. A smirk on his face as he showed off a nasty black eye and the three stitches at the corner of his eyebrow.

Sam's eyes widened and her hand came up to gently poke at his right eye. "What in the hell?" she asked.

"That guy we were after? One I told you about last night? Who knifed that old lady walking through Central Park and stole her purse? She keeled over from a heart attack she was so scared and all he got was fifteen bucks and her false teeth wrapped in a Kleenex?"

She nodded.

"Well we managed to ID him 'cause he lost his gum at the scene and Danny ran his DNA and got a hit in CODIS. Guy was already in the system for assault with a deadly weapon and petty larceny."

"Okay…"

"That's all good right? We snag the guy outside his apartment in Jackson Heights as he's going to grab a newspaper from the box on the corner. Only no one ever bothered to tell me that the deadly weapon he'd used to get his ass in the system were his fucking fists."

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call me?"

"What was I going to say? Babe, I just got my ass handed to me on the corner of Vine and Prospect. Can you bring an ice pack for my face? I didn't even get within half a foot of him and he nailed me. I didn't even see it coming for Christsakes. Luckily Danny did a Messer's Secret Weapon on him."

"Which is?" she asked.

"A head butt. Guy went down and we jumped on him and managed to cuff him. But not before I knocked his front teeth out," he replied, and held out his right hand to give her a look at his bruised and cut knuckles.

"Jesus, baby…" she breathed, and took his large, strong hand in both of hers. Her fingertips tenderly explored the damage done to his knuckles. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I've been hit by bigger trucks," he said. "Dean Lessing nearly ripped all my insides out and he was miles away at the time. I think I'll survive a black eye and busted knuckles."

"Let's not make light of something like that," she said. "That's not something to joke about."

"It's my something and I'll joke about it all I want," he informed her, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It was my insides Mac tied together with a dirty shoe lace."

She glared at him.

"Okay…okay…okay…my bad. I'll keep my sick and twisted, self deprecating humour to myself. What are you up to?"

"Breakfast in bed with Maury," she said, nodding at the television. Then gestured down at the magazine. "And that cracked up bitch Octomom."

"And what's the deal with the pig tails?" he asked, picking one of the thick braided sections of hair.

"I like them," she replied simply.

"At least you know what you can dress up for as Halloween," he commented.

She arched an eyebrow.

Grinning, Flack twisted the pig tail into a tight roll and held it close to her head. "Princess Leia," he said.

"You are such an ass," she laughed and yanked her hair out of his grasp. "I should have thought twice about getting involved with you when you made that damn Star Wars canteen crack at Club Random that night we went trolling for Suspect X. Damn Star Wars freak."

"You would have fit right in if you'd worn that Slutty Tinkerbell get up and your Princess Leia hair."

Frowning, she scooped up a spoonful of cereal, held his chin in her free hand and shoved the spoon into his mouth. "Go and take a shower before I blacken your other eye," she said, and kissed him.

"I'll go on one condition," he told her, standing up and yawning noisily.

"What's that?" she inquired.

"You let me find out just how lucky them shamrocks are."

"Get the hell out of here!" she cried and shoved him away.

"Come on, Sammie. You can't tell me you don't want to kiss the Blarney Stone."

"You are taking St Patrick's Day way too seriously," she laughed.

"Maybe," he said, and leaned down to kiss her softly. "Can I say one more thing to you?"

"Please nothing about travelling to the end of my rainbow and delving into my pot of gold," she pleaded.

He grinned. "Now that's good. I wish I'd thought of that."

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

Flack laughed and laid a hand on the back of her head and kissed her once again. "All I was going to say was Top of the Mornin' to ya, wee lass."

She grinned and allowed him to kiss her even longer.

"That being said, I wouldn't mind travelling to the end of your rainbow and diving right into your pot of gold."

She snagged her pillow from under her chest and tossed it in his direction as he headed for the washroom. He effortlessly caught the object tossed at him and disappeared into the bathroom. His laughter trickling into the room.

"Men," she said aloud. An enormous smile spreading from ear to ear.

* * *

"We still going to Sullivan's tonight with the team?" Flack asked fifteen minutes later, as he sat in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, his legs stretched out and his back resting against the headboard of the bed, while his girlfriend, munching on her second bowl of cereal, remained in her stomach down, head at the foot of the bed position.

"As long as you still want to," she replied. "I'm game if you are."

"I'm definitely in. I need to fill the tank with some of their famous green beer. You know what would really make my St. Patrick's day though? What would really get my green juices flowing?" Flack asked, as he gently laid his hand on the back of her knee and proceeded to walk his middle and index finger up her satiny skin.

"I'm scared to even ask."

"If you'd let me do exactly what your undies are begging for and then let me talk some dirty Gaelic to you while you whisper some naughty French in my ear."

Sam snorted and went back to her cereal.

"Come on now…" he leaned forward, a broad grin covering his face as he slipped his hand around to the inside of her thigh and allowed his fingers to travel a slow and teasing path further up her leg. Feeling the goose bumps that assailed her flesh as he used a fingertip to trace the lacy hem on her high cut panties. "Don't act like you don't like it. Don't be going all virginal on me and pretend that we've never talked dirty to each other before. Especially in foreign languages."

"You're disturbed," she declared. "I'm eating breakfast here."

"Yeah…and your Lucky Leprechaun cereal will still be there when we're through. Cut me some slack here. Let me play Lucky Leprechaun for ten minutes."

"You're going a little overboard with your Irish heritage," she said, then bit her bottom lip and tried, in vain, to disguise the shiver that wracked her body as his hand glided over her hip.

"Why are you giving me such a hard time this morning? What do you expect when I come in from night shift and find you lying in the middle of the bed in a get up like that?"

"They're just a bra and underwear, Don. In honour of St Patrick's day."

"Yeah? And my Irish is standing at attention here. Your panties are speaking to me loud and clear."

"Never mind a lucky leprechaun," Sam chided. "More like a lusty leprechaun."

"So then cut me some slack here," he said, and leaning over, placed a trail of warm, moist kisses up the back of her leg. The tip of his tongue easily finding the extremely sensitive spot at the back of her knee. He concentrated on the area, using his tongue and lips and teeth to drive her wild.

"Do you mind?" she asked, and attempted to yank her leg away.

"Not at all actually," he replied, and trailed the tip of his tongue tantalizingly up the back of her thigh. His strong, calloused hand blazed a feathery, illicit path up the side of her leg and over her hip, then around to the lightly caress her ass. "Don't even try telling me that you don't like it," he said arrogantly, then used a fingertip to tease the skin at the small of her back, just under the wait band of her panties. A victorious smile spreading across his face when he heard her sharp intake of breath and a loud clink as she dropped her spoon into her bowl.

Of course she liked it. There was never any question about whether or not he knew exactly what to say or do to drive her insane. But the longer their relationship went on, the more confidant she became in herself in and in her body. In what the latter would do to him, and for him. And she'd learned how to use that body to her utmost advantage. He'd never relegated himself to begging a woman when it came to intimate situations. He was confident in his abilities and had had his ego stroked on a regular basis by the driving them women to begging and demanding

She was the first one that had ever managed to bring him to his knees and resort him to a quivering, pleading mess. The only one he'd ever relinquished complete control to. On the rare occasions she'd desired that control that was. Usually she preferred to be the submissive party. But when she wanted to she could possess the most amazing will power and self restraint that he'd ever witnessed before. Times when she made him work for what he wanted. And that challenge only made him want her even more.

"It's not that I don't like it," she said. "It's just that…" she tightly fisted the sheets in her hands and allowed a tiny squeak escape her lips as she laid her forehead on the mattress. All words and rational thought alluding her as she felt his fingers slowly pull down the back of her underwear, exposing the tattoo that stretched hip to hip. A shiver of pleasure rocking her entire body as his tongue began to trace the entire outline of the art work that graced her body.

"It's just what?" he asked, manoeuvring his body so that his knees straddled her legs. He laid one hand on the bed, next to her head as the fingers of the other travelled the entire length of her body. Slowly, agonizingly. All the way from her tailbone to the nape of her neck and then back again. His chest heaving with ragged breaths as he wondered just who the teasing was getting the better of. Patience and self restraint, at least in this kind of situation, were not his strong suits. But this was one moment he was determined to have utter control of. No matter how hard she resisted. "You got a hot date or something?" he inquired, as he pressed kisses along her shoulders and down her spine to the middle of her back. "Is there somewhere more important you need to be?"

"No…" she managed, her voice muffled as he face lay buried in the rumpled comforter underneath her.

"Then you just be quiet and let me do what I gotta do, alright? First…" he sat back on his heels and yanked her socks off of her feet and tossed them aside. "Let's get rid of those stupid things. No way I can get all dirty with you while you're wearing socks with hearts and teddy bears on them."

"Care Bears," she informed him, lifting her head off the mattress.

"You really gotta stop shopping in the Juniors department," Flack said. "I know you stopped growing before you left middle school, but you've definitely gotta get some clothes and socks without cartoon characters on them."

"If you're trying to talk yourself into my pants, you're going about it all the wrong way," she told him. "I mean, insulting me isn't the best course of action for you."

"And what do you think is the best course of action?" he asked, his fingers yanking at the green ribbons that rested on her hips. The tiny bows the only things holding those underwear on her body. One quick tug at each and they were open and his fingertips were lightly grazing across every inch of pale, smooth flesh that now lay below him. Christ, sexy was a word that didn't even come close to what she actually was. He didn't even think there was an appropriate word for her. Or for the way that she made him feel. The way he teetered on the edge of self destruction without her even doing a damn thing.

"I don't know…" she murmured. "Whatever it is that you're doing right now."

"You mean this?" he asked, licking at the small of her back as he skimmed the knuckles of both hands along her sides until they settled at against the curves of her breasts. "Or do you mean this?" he inquired, and dragged the tip of his tongue the entire length of his side. "Which did you mean?" he asked, his voice low as he leaned over her, his scruffy cheek pressed against her own smooth, unblemished one.

"Je ne sais pais," she said, a devilish smile on her face as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Je veux just un petite mort, s'il vous plait."

A grin spread across his face. "You have no idea how sexy you are when you do that. I have no idea what you just said, but it totally does something to me. I mean, you could have just told me to go fuck myself for all I know."

She shook her head and managed to roll over onto her back. Curling her arms around his neck, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then to each eye. "Je tu veux," she said, tenderly kissing the space between his eyes. "J'ai besoin de vois," she pecked each corner of his mouth. "Je t' aime," she covered his lips with hers in a long, slow kiss. Then, breaking away, gazed adoringly into his eyes. "Et je ferai pour toujours."

He brushed strands of hair away from her face. "You going to tell me what you just said?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Mon petite secret," she replied. "Mais j'ai raiment besoin d'un orgasme."

"I think I understood that last word," Flack said with a smirk. "And baby, I'm your man."

She yanked his head down towards her and placed her lips against his ear. One of her hands sneaked between them and slipped down the front of his sweat. Eliciting a low, throaty groan from him as her warm, small hand enclosed around his throbbing erection. "Je veux tu lecher de la tete a l'orteil et tu faire venir."

"You going to tell me what THAT meant?" he asked, shuddering violently as she traced the outline of his ear with her tongue, then sucked the lobe before biting it gently.

"How about I show you?" she suggested, and easily pushed him over onto his back. She reached for the waist of his sweats, then paused, dropped one hand from his pants and used it to lift the bottom of his wife beater. Licking her bottom lip suggestively, she bent her head and licked around the outside of his navel, the inside before blowing lightly on the damp area.

Flack's back arched off the bed and his hands gripped the sheets below so tightly they threatened to tear. _I am going to die before this morning is over, _he thought, wincing as he felt her teeth nip at the top of his navel area. _She's going to be the death of me. And I don't even care. At least I know I'll go with a smile on my face._

"Did you want me to show you?" she asked, her voice sultry, her eyes locked on his as both hands settled on his sweats on again.

"Oh absolutely," he replied quickly and without reservation.

She smiled, trailed kisses from his navel and along the right side of his stomach and back again. Then repeated her actions, only travelling to the left this time. Her lips and tongue pausing on the thick, jagged scar that he no longer felt embarrassed about. Every woman he'd been with since the bombing had always looked at his scars as if he was some kind of freak. As if they were the most hideous things they'd ever seen and would ever see. Sam had been the first one to show no expression whatsoever when she'd laid eyes on them.

She was neither horrified or filled with pity for him. And he would never forget how she'd tenderly explored them with her fingertips, her eyes never leaving his. That moment would live in his memory forever. Her feathery, loving touches solely responsible for teaching him how to love, and accept himself. As is. From the very first night they'd slept together, she been unfazed by the night terrors that often plagued him. And he'd been brought out of his episodes numerous times by her whispering softly and reassuring into his ear, both arms around his sweaty, trembling body. Her words and her embrace easily and effectively calming him and sending him off to a comfortable, undisturbed slumber.

She gently kissed her way across his scar and looked up at him. Smiling when she found him staring at her intently.

"Scars are sexy," she declared.

He broke out into a wide grin.

She giggled. "You've been a very patient boy, Don," she said, and running a finger along the expanse of his waist just under the top of his sweats, she took the fabric into her hands. "You certainly deserve everything you're going to get."

He was about to say, "Then quit screwing around and give it to me already", but all words escaped him as she yanked his pants down. He lifted his hips, allowing her to divest him of the sweats.

_So much for having control, _he thought, shuddering at the feel of her tongue drifting along his legs. From the top of his feet to the top of his thighs.

_But thank Christ she's been such an amazing student. _

_Especially in high school and college French. _

* * *

Flack was pretty sure he'd died and gone to heaven.

As beautiful and sultry as the last syllables she'd spoken to him in French had been, he hadn't been fully prepared for what those words had actually meant. How the hell was he suppose to know that she'd been telling him that she wanted to lick him from head to toe until he came? In English, the words seemed bland and boring. Kinky yes. What guy wouldn't be jumping on a girl offering to do THAT? But in French, it sounded so exotic and beautiful and made the whole experience a hundred times better. And he'd been more than pleasantly surprised when he'd realized what she had in mind for him, and he'd simply laid there like a submissive, willing participant and let her do her thing. It wasn't often that she even made an attempt to do anything of the sort, but when she was ready, willing and able…

Maybe relinquishing control WASN'T such a bad thing after all.

Once every couple of months, that was. He couldn't take the risk that she'd get used to possessing that kind of power or that she'd become hungry and anxious to be in charge. He was going to keep that little confession to himself and spring it on her at the last possible second. That way she wouldn't grow accustomed to it and expect it all the time. Because while he loved her…well there was no way he'd ever be able to hand over control TOTALLY.

But for now, he was comfortable and extremely satisfied in defeat. He had no complaints as he lay there, eyes closed, flat on his back, that warm cuddled in tightly to him. His arm around her, the fingertips of his battered right hand tracing slow, circles on her bare arm. Listening to her heart beat in unison with his and feeling her soft breath on his shoulder and her hand moving lazily up and down his body, her fingers combing lightly through the thick black hair that covered his chest.

Sleep was just on the horizon. Taking over his body effortlessly. Relaxing him starting at the tips of his toes and moving gradually at a steady upward pace. He felt her body move against his and her moist lips as they pressed against the spot just below his ear. He was aware of her fingertips tenderly exploring his face, lingering on the hideous black eye now coming into its full glory. The caresses were feathery and soothing. He'd never had a woman do things like that before. The quiet, gentle intimacy beyond the physical act of sex. Truth was, he'd never been into that kind of thing, even in the later relationships of his life. Devon had been all about pleasure. On both of their parts. Once that pleasure had reached it's peak and the job was done, she'd been almost anxious to get him out of there. Not once in their short relationship had he ever fallen asleep and woken up beside her hours later.

Jessica Angell had been the first one to come close to achieving that intimacy with. They'd spent many a night in at their respective apartments, and he'd woken up many a morning with her next to him in bed. But when he'd tried -legitimately tried to get close to her in an emotional way- she'd been the one to give him the cold shoulder. When he attempted the whole cuddling and pillow talk thing after the main act was all said and done, she'd been the one to kiss him chastely on the lips, say "Goodnight, Don," and simply roll over onto her opposite side and call it a night.

And now he had found the complete opposite. Not only was he all for the whole afterglow cuddling and silly pillow talk -not always silly, as more often than not they had some of their deepest, most heartfelt conversations after sex when emotions were still running high- but he actually looked forward to it. And he had a woman, who although prided herself on being fiercely independent and who vowed to never rely on a man for anything, actually wanted him to share in that intimacy with her. He had been able to, almost from the first day he'd met her, see right through that tough Brooklyn girl act she put on. He knew that the sarcasm and often dismissive behaviour were nothing more than a well orchestrated act of self preservation. She was protecting herself from being hurt. And while he didn't call her on that, he also didn't toss it up in her face when she actually let her guard down in front of him. Truth was, she needed him. She liked being taken care of and having someone that made her feel safe and secure. And it made him feel good to be able to say he was the man who would do all of that for her.

No matter how damn emotionally painful it was to deal with her sometimes.

Right now however, he was enjoying that softer side to her. The way she combed her fingers through his hair and pressed tender kisses to his forehead and under his eyes. Down the bridge of his nose and over his top lip and along his jaw line. Her lips warm and delicate against his chin and across his bottom lip. He kept his eyes closed and his fingertips skimming up and down her spine. Until he felt her hand drift across his chest and she covered his lips with hers in a long, tender parting kiss before pressing her lips to his shoulder and moving away from him.

"Where you going?" Flack asked, feeling the warmth of her body leave his side. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her bare back as she sat on the edge of their bed facing away from him.

"I told you last night on the phone that I had some errands I needed to run today," she replied, yawning noisily as she reached for the t-shirt she'd yanked aggressively off of his body less than an hour before.

"Fuck the errands," he said. "Just come back to bed."

"I have a doctor's appointment," she reminded him. "You know…the whole birth control issue we've been talking about for the past month."

"To use it or not to use it," he mused. "That is the question."

She smirked as she slipped into the t-shirt. "You're being very corny this morning."

"Too much work and not enough play," Flack reasoned. "It's starting to catch up to me."

"You're starting to grow up you mean," she teased, and kneeling on the bed, covered his mouth with hers in a languid, delicious kiss. "I'm also going apartment accessories shopping," she added, as she climbed off of the bed and pulled her pigtails out of the back of her t-shirt.

"We don't even have an apartment yet," he pointed out.

"What do you call this?"

"I mean a new apartment. Wasn't the whole deal that we were going to find a new apartment and then you were going to go to town and buy stuff? Within reason."

"Well I didn't say I was going to buy anything big," she argued. "I mean, a few things here and there won't hurt, right? Some curtains, some throw cushions, some new dishes and silverware and glasses. I can leave the whole furniture thing until we actually find a new place."

He cracked his eyes open. "Within reason," he repeated. "Within reason does not include you buying new furniture."

"Hey, in case you haven't noticed, this bed is a little…what's the word?"

"Ratty?" he tossed out. "Old? Noisy?"

"I was going to say well used," she said.

"Hey…the only DNA gracing the sheets is mine and yours," he said with a chuckle.

"I meant that the springs are sticking out all over the place and the damn thing shakes if you even roll over onto your side," she told him. "I wasn't talking about the little pieces of ex girlfriends that may be lying all over the place."

"Fine…fine…fine…" he sighed. "Buy what you want. Within reason."

"Your two favourite words," she mused. "I'm going to go and take a shower while you catch up on your beauty sleep," she said, and headed for the bathroom.

"I forgot to tell you!" Flack called to her.

She paused in the doorway as he rolled over onto his side to face her.

"Remember Bernie Benton?" he inquired.

"The ex bank robber we went to talk to at his bar about the armoured car heist?" she asked. "The one that called me doll face over and over again and you rolled up your sleeves and played darts with him?"

Flack nodded.

"His daughter used that whole Satan's Ring get up he passed down to her to pull off the job? And she's still on the lam?" Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. "What about him?" she asked.

"I got a call from the warden at Rikers just before I left today. I guess Bernie had put my name down as one of the people to contact if the shit ever hit the fan while he was inside or he got word on where his little girl was."

"What happened to him? Some inmate knock him around or something?"

"Or something," Flack told her. "I guess the cancer really took it's hold on him once he got inside and he'd spent the last two months in the infirmary. Nurse went to change his diaper this morning and he was dead."

Sam gave a small frown and nodded slowly. "That's too bad," she said sincerely. "As far as perps go…I don't know. I had kind of a soft spot for that guy. I didn't buy a word of what he was saying, but I guess I just felt sorry for him that his life was ending the way it was. He was very…sweet. It's the first time I've ever been sympathetic towards a criminal."

"That's because he flirted with you," Flack teased her.

She rolled her eyes. "He wasn't a bad guy," she said with a shrug. "He was just…misguided."

"He was a crook," Flack concluded. "Once a wackadoo, always a wackadoo."

"So jaded," she said with a sigh and kissed him softly.

"I figured you'd want to know," he said, rolling over onto his back. "About Bernie. Considering you two were crushing on each other and all."

"Oh yeah…" she laughed. "Me and old Bernie were carrying on this illicit affair while he was behind bars. I just kept the x rated letters and pictures well hidden from you."

"You're disturbed," he chuckled and laid his hand on her back.

"Admit it, Donnie," she said, as she leaned over him and pecked his forehead. "A little part of you actually liked Bernie Benton. I saw the way you dealt with him. You were just so laid back and casual about the whole thing. I'd never seen you handle a battle of the wits like that before. I guess I just saw a part of you that actually felt sorry for someone."

"I did feel sorry for him. I still do. I mean, he didn't deserve to waste away like that. No one deserves that kind of death."

"See…" she said, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "There is this incredible sensitive and compassionate and wonderful soul hiding behind that gruff, sarcastic demeanour."

Grinning, he reached up, grabbed a hold of her and flipped her onto her back in the middle of the mattress.

"How about we keep that just between you and me?" he suggested, his hands sneaking up the front of her t-shirt and teasing her bare skin.

"There's no time for this," she informed him, attempting, albeit poorly, to push him away.

"There's always time for this," he declared and nuzzled her neck. Tickling her with his nose and his scruffy cheeks until she was a giggling, writhing mess beneath him. He pulled back and looked down at her, easily losing himself in those sparkling golden brown eyes. He ran his knuckles softly along her cheek bone and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Je t' aime," he said, his voice tender as his eyes stared deep into her very soul. "Au soleil et les etoilles et la lune et au-dela de."

She blinked. Surprised by both the fact he'd spoken in French, and at the simple beauty of his words. A smile quickly took over her face and she lifted her head off the mattress to kiss him. "How'd you…"

"There was the rare occasion I didn't fall asleep in grade ten French class," he joked. Then turned serious once again. "You know them crazy computerized translators the department has? The one you first talked dirty into?"

"It wasn't exactly dirty," she giggled. "But yeah…"

"I had one of the uniforms who I know speaks French, say that into it and then I thieved the translator, brought it home and memorized it."

Flack was slightly embarrassed by his admission. He was self admittedly a tool when it came to romance. And the fact that that was his one grand romantic gesture to date…just a little humiliating.

But her smile quickly erased any self doubt he was feeling. "Baby that's beautiful," she said. "Thank you. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."

He smiled and kissed her. Long and soft and deep.

"By the way," she said, lightly scraping her fingernail along the bottom of his chin. "Did I ever tell you how sexy I thought it was when you rolled up your sleeves that day in the bar and played darts with our boy Bernie?"

"Sexy, huh? No…you never mentioned that."

"I found it very, very, very sexy," she said.

"How about you show me how sexy?" he suggested.

She flipped him over onto his back. "Let me guess," she quickly straddled his chest. "Show and tell was your favourite part of school?" she asked.

He grinned broadly and ran his hands up her thighs and over her hips and along her sides.

"Oui," he replied.

* * *

_Okay, now I am French Canadian and the dialect is a bit different from Parisian French. And to be quite honest, I'm a bit rusty as no one else in my house speaks any language other than English. So please forgive me if things got a little muddled in translation. Let's blame it on the online translator I used for some of this and the fact that the dialects are a tad different. _

"_Je ne sais pais" (I don't know)_

"_Je veux just un petite mort, s'il vous plait." (I really want an orgasm, please)_

"_Je tu veux," (I want you) "J'ai besoin de vois," (I need you) "Je t' aime," (I love you) "Et je ferai pour toujours." (And I will forever)_

"_Mon petite secret," (My little secret) "Mais j'ai raiment besoin d'un orgasme." (But I really do need an orgasm) Petite mort and orgasme can both be used._

"_Je veux tu lecher de la tete a l'orteil et tu faire venir." (I want to lick you from head to toe and make you come)_

"_Je t' aime," (I love you) "Au soleil et les etoilles et la lune et au-dela de." (to the sun and the stars and the moon and beyond)_

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And thanks to the lurkers too! I appreciate each and every one of you and I thoroughly enjoy writing this story for all of you! Please R and R folks. **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Laurzz**

**Afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Madison Bellows**

**Soccer-bitch**

**uscrocks**

**madhatterette**

**GregRox**

**Delko's Girl88**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**


	52. What's the issue?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**A/N 1: LOTS OF COOKIES GOING OUT1 BUT THE WINNER OF LET'S NAME THAT EPI IS AFROZENHEART412. WHO ACTUALLY POINTED OUT FIVE DIFFERENT EPISODES I REFERENCED. **

**A/N 2: THIS IS THE LAST POSTING FOR A FEW DAYS. A WEEK AT THE MOST. LOTS OF RL STUFF GOING ON THAT NEEDS MY DIRE ATTENTION. AND HAS ANYONE HEARD ABOUT THE APPARENT COMING OF THIS CRAZY CONFICKER WORM? WTF IS THAT ALL ABOUT? I AM TOTALLY PARANOID. ANYWAY, UNTIL WE 'MEET' AGAIN, I HOPE YOU ALL KEEP WELL AND THAT YOU'LL RETURN WHEN I DO!**

**AND A HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO HELPED ME REACH 600 REVIEWS ALREADY! MY FANS ROCK, AND THE ROCK HARD! KISSES AND HUGS TO ALL OF YOU!**

* * *

**What's the issue?**

"I don't wanna be the girl who laughs the loudest  
Or the girl who never wants to be alone  
I don't wanna be that call at 4 o'clock in the morning  
'Cause I'm the only one you know in the world that won't be home  
The sun is blinding  
I stayed up again  
Oh, I'm finding  
That's not the way I want my story to end  
I'm safe up high,  
Nothing can touch me  
Why do I feel this party's over?  
No pain inside  
You're my protection  
But how do I feel this good sober?  
I don't wanna be the girl that has to fill the silence..  
The quiet scares me 'cause it screams the truth  
Please don't tell me that we had that conversation  
'Cause I won't remember, save your breath 'cause what's the use?  
The night is calling  
And it whispers to me softly, "come play"  
I am falling  
And if I let myself go, I'm the only one to blame."  
-Sober, Pink

* * *

"So what exactly was it that the doctor said that's got you so upset?" Lindsay asked, needing clarification as to what had gotten her best friend's undies in such a twist.

"Okay…from the top," Sam replied, the heels of her tan leather boots clacking on cement as she climbed the stairs at the 65th street subway station. Aggravated both by the simple question, and the hordes of people nearly knocking each other over as they rushed in both directions past her.

Jackasses in a fired out hurry to catch the train that was sitting at the platform that very second instead of just waiting the six minutes it took for the next to come, and tools that were in rushing out into daylight as if one more moment underground was going to cause them to mysteriously self-combust. Businessmen and women alike, along with students and just your average run of the mill person out for a day on the town, all in a hurry to get nowhere fast.

"Apparently the doctor says that the meds I've been taking for my anxiety have rendered the hormones the patch has been leaking into my body completely and utterly useless. Nice, huh?" Sam snorted at the absurdity of it all and hiked her satchel style purse up higher onto her shoulder. "So technically, I've been practicing totally unsafe sex since the beginning of February."

"It's what they make condoms for," Lindsay pointed out. "I thought you and Don had agreed to be like Fort Knox when it came to the whole protection thing."

"Oh, we did. And then one time without a condom and the patch turned into two times without, and two became three and three became four and four became nearly every time. I guess I can thank my totally messed up uterus for not getting pregnant."

"Or just plain luck," her best friend said.

"Well whatever it was…why am I even talking about this with a pregnant woman? Why am I discussing birth control with someone who obviously forgot to use it themselves?"

"Because you need to rant," Lindsay concluded. "And who better to rant to then your best friend? Who, I may add, is paying dearly for the whole no contraception thing by paying homage to the porcelain God every morning for the past month and a half. You want to carry this baby for me? I'll gladly switch. You take the kid and I'll take up the messed up uterus?"

"Forget it. There is not enough cash in the world to convince me to carry the spawn of Danny Messer," Sam teased.

Lindsay laughed heartily. "And you think being pregnant with the spawn of Don Flack Junior would be any better?"

"Hey…by the grace of God, I'm not carrying anyone's spawn, okay? Don and I are in no place to even be considering pro-creating."

"Hmmm…."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Sam asked, as she paused in front of a bodega to fix the chocolate brown corduroy poor boy cap that had become askew on top of her head. "You only do that 'hmmm' thing when you don't agree with something I've said."

"Well…" Lindsay paused, choosing her words carefully. "Two weeks ago, we were sitting in your kitchen and you were crying to me over a triple layer chocolate cake and litre of milk about being jealous of me because I was having a baby. I distinctly remember asking you if you felt you were in the place in your relationship to have kids. And I also distinctly remember you telling me that you wanted a baby. Don's baby. Tout suite."

"What is it with you people and the French today?" Sam asked, tilted the cap slightly to the right hand side and flicking her hair over both of her shoulders.

The pig tails were long gone. Leaving behind thick luxurious waves that tumbled down to the small of her back. She stayed in front of the window long enough to size herself up. Never one for vanity, she frowned at the realization that the little dark denim jacket that she'd worn and just skimmed her navel, the clingy black knit sweater and a the low riding jeans were making her hips and her ass look monstrous.

"Don't tell me Flack made you say naughty things to him in a foreign language again," Lindsay sighed.

"I won't tell you than. But let's just say that I'm thinking of taking correspondence courses to become completely fluent in it. I just have to say au revoir and he's jumping all over me. Something about the French just totally gets him going. Is it just me or he is a total perv?"

"It's not just you," the other woman laughed. "And you're just as bad as he is so let's not start shelling out blame for anything. So like I was saying…"

"Okay…okay…" Sam sighed as she continued walking. "I did say at the time that I wanted to have a baby. His baby. And I am jealous. You've got the whole package. Soon to be husband, soon to be offspring. What's not to be jealous of?"

"And you've got an amazingly hot homicide detective who caters to your every whim and would lay down and die for you in a heartbeat," Lindsay told her. "If you ask me, we both lucked out. And as far as having a baby goes, if that's what you want…"

"We're not in a place to have a baby, Bumpkin. Let's face it. We're still technically getting to know each other."

"Jesus Christ, Sam. What more is there to know? You worked together for nearly a year and a half before finally hooking up. You live with him. Share a bed with him. There's not much deep, dark shit you can keep from each other living in a cramped apartment in lower Manhattan. I mean, if you can brush your teeth while the guy is in the same room taking a leak at the toilet or he can do the same with you on the throne, I'd say you and Flack are pretty damn comfortable with one another. That you know all the ins and outs."

Sam couldn't help but giggle. "Trust me, the ins and outs we're masters of," she quipped.

"Okay…let's keep the raunchy details of your sex life under wraps while I'm fighting to keep my lunch down," Lindsay grumbled. "Tell me what the hell you think you're going to find out from him six months from now that you don't already know?"

"I don't know…maybe he's got some weird ass fetish that he's keeping from me. Maybe six months from now I'm going to walk into the apartment and he's going to be walking around in lingerie I bought for myself at Victoria's Secret or prancing around in my naughty knickers from Frederick's," Sam said. "Maybe he's got a thing for women's clothes."

"That is just plain damn ridiculous," Lindsay informed her. "Don's the epitome of masculine."

"So then maybe I'm going to find out he's been hiding an addiction to internet porn. Or gambling. Maybe he was one of the site regulars on the native gambling web site our dead Chief was into."

"If you don't stop fucking around and start making sense, I'm hanging up," her best friend warned.

"Or maybe, I'm going to find out he's got a secret wife. Or a kid he's been hiding from me."

"You know what, Sam? If you ask me, you're scared. You're scared to move past the whole living in sin thing and making you and Flack into something permanent. You say you want forever with him. You want him as your husband, the father of your kid. And it doesn't matter if you've been together ten years or ten days. Your heart knows what it wants. And his heart is feeling the same thing. But every time things start getting a little more intense, you bail. Two weeks ago you're telling me you wanted a baby. Now you're telling me that.."

"Okay, so I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm scared to want all those things because it is so soon. I'm scared to find out that I'm pregnant and then have him look me like I'm insane when I announce it to him. I'm scared of hearing him tell me that he doesn't want it. Or me."

"You are being totally irrational," Lindsay told her.

"Sensible," Sam corrected. "And I didn't call to talk about this. I called to vent about my dumb ass doctor."

A heavy sigh came from the other end. "This isn't going to go away," Lindsay said. "If you're going to keep dragging your heels like this Sam, I think it's best you walk away now to avoid dicking him around."

She frowned. "Is that what you think I'm doing?" she asked.

"A little," her best friend admitted. "Because I see what it does to him when you pull away, Sam. I see what it does to him when he's putting so much out there and sometimes you're giving him so little. And I love you like a sister, you know that. But you're not being fair to Don. A time is going to come when the novelty of fantastic sex wears off and he seriously starts talking about a future with you. And I'm worried you're going to haul ass on him and he's going to get hurt."

"I am not going to hurt him," Sam informed her. "You know how I feel about him, Linds. You know how much I love him and adore him and how he's my entire world."

"I do know that. Because I'm the one that sees right through you when you go all skittish, high school virgin worrying about her boyfriend, the captain of the football team dumping her 'cause she's not slutty enough. I see right through that tough little Brooklyn girl crap. If you're scared, admit it to him Tell him. Instead of confusing the poor guy all the time. One minute you're hearts and flowers pledging forever and the next you're…I don't even have the words to describe it."

Sam sighed.

"Consider this a kick in the ass," Lindsay said. "Tough love."

"No shit," Sam muttered.

"I'm only saying all of this because I love you, Sammie. And because I love Don and I know the two of your are crazy about each other and I want you guys to have your forever. Your happily ever after."

"I know," she sighed. "And believe me, I want that too. I don't want to screw this up. And believe me, if anyone is capable of messing things up royally."

"Just be honest with him," Lindsay said. "Honesty is the best policy, right? Now tell me what your tool of a doctor said."

Sam was grateful for the change in subject. "Oh just that with my meds she doesn't think any 'traditional' form of birth control is going to work. Not the pill, not the patch, not that Nuvaring thing."

"So condoms, diaphgram or IUD," Lindsay concluded.

"Are you kidding? Those were the last on her list. Do you know what the crazy bitch wants to put me on? The Depo shot. Yeah. She tells me I should go on the shot and then tells me that it's not uncommon to gain weight from it. Gain weight? We're not talking a few pounds. Or even ten. I knew three girls back in Arizona that packed on the pounds once they went on it. Forty five pounds to be exact!"

"That's not too bad for three people combined," Lindsay said.

"Combined? Oh no…not combined. Each."

"Ouch…"

"No kidding. And considering my size ten's are starting to get a little snug around my ass, there's no damn way I am gping on the shot. So Don and I need to have a sit down and discuss this little predicament."

"I can gauruntee that condoms will not be on the top of his list," Lindsay laughed.

"I will never hear the end of it if things come down to that. Anyway, that's my day so far. Well that and a lovely conversation I had with my mother while I was on the subway. Which quickly escalated into me screaming obscenities into my cell phone and the other passengers looking at me like I was insane."

"I seriously don't know why you don't change all your numbers and just disown the bitch," Lindsay said in all honesty. "What was her issue now?"

"Just that she feels I'm ignoring her by not returning her calls in a timely fashion. Like does she not get that some of us in this world have to actually work? That we can't all be the perfect, clean freak Stepford wife such as herself? It's all she does, Linds. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And she expects everyone to be just like her. And if you're not, you're a lazy piece of shit not worthy to walk the earth."

"Well tell her that you'll gladly hand over the badge and gun and you can stay home and do nothing but clean and make meals and she can chase pieces of crap all over the city. Seriously Sam. I don't know how you and Adam ever survived having her as your mother. I know your real bad was a sick, twisted bastard for what he did, but she's no better treating you guys the way she does."

"She's perfect didn't you know that? Everything she does is great and everything we do is crap. Who cares. Ignore me. I'm just bitching to you 'cause if I even tell Don about he'll go off on a tangent."

"He just wants to protect you," Lindsay reasoned. "He doesn't want to see you getting hurt. That's all."

"I guess…but I'll handle her on my own. She's just a nutter. Worst thing that could have ever happened was her coming here. Makes me want to skip town. Pack all my shit and just take off. Go somewhere far, far away."

"Don't even think about it," her best friend warned. "Running away won't solve a thing. Think of all the people who would miss you. Ignore her. Live your life the way you want to, Sammie. Your thirty-four years old. Don't let her treat you like your fourteen. Or four even. Don't let her abuse you all over again."

"Easier said than done," Sam sighed. "Now that I've bored you to tears and done nothing but whine for twenty minutes…"

"Hey, best friends are around for stuff like that. We all need time to bitch and moan and whine. We all deserve it. You listen to me when I get into one of my, 'the whole world and everyone in it sucks' moods. I'm here, Sammie. For whatever it is you need me for."

"Thanks, bumpkin. I appreciate it. I appreciate you sticking around even though I'm a whiny little nymphomaniac bitch who does nothing but argue with people."

Lindsay groaned audibly. "Remind me to bitch slap Kendall into the middle of next week for ever spreading that around the lab."

"Hey, at least someone got my personality right."

"Sammie…come on…don't be stupid. Are you PMS'ing or something? Are there some wacked out hormones surging through your body and making you do this up and down thing?"

"I'll blame it on my lack of caffeine," Sam laughed. "That's got to be it, right? I need caffeine. I think I'll stop by Paisley's work and grab myself the biggest caramel latte they have and watch my ass get bigger and bigger."

"You'll burn off all the calories shopping," the other woman said. "I know what kind of marathon spending sprees you go on. I certainly can't keep up."

"I'm actually on a budget. It's Don's bank card I'm packing. Apartment accessories shopping. Good thing I brought my Visa. I need some new clothes. And, I've decided to get something new done."

"What kind of something new? Like a hair cut? Dye job? Piercing? Tattoo?"

"Actually, I've decided to get a branding."

Lindsay coughed noisily. "Excuse me?"

"A branding. You know, like ranchers brand their cattle?"

"Why?" Lindsay asked.

"I don't know. Just something I feel like doing. A Hello Kitty to match the necklace Donnie bought me for Valentines Day. On the front of my right hip. For his eyes only, obviously."

"Sammie, I love you, but you're certifiably insane. He's going to kick your ass for doing something like that. This is a guy that hates you wearing makeup. What's he going to say when he finds out you had Hello Kitty burned into your skin?"

"Only time will tell. Now before I get you in serious shit for keeping you too long in a personal call while at work.."

"I'll see you tonight at Sullivan's," her best friend finished.

"You bet you're ass you will. And by the way…that bra and undies I bought last week? The Irish ones?"

"Yeah…"

"Worked like a freakin' charm. I landed him hook, line and sinker. He was damn putty in my hands."

Lindsay laughed.

"I managed to seize control," Sam said, and gave an evil laugh. "Total domination will soon to be mine!"

"You wish," Lindsay told her and disconnected the call.

_Never underestimate us little ones, _Sam thought with a grin. Pressing end on her cell phone, she snapped it closed and dropped it into her jacket pocket.

_Bank card, credit cards, cash for food and beverages, _she ticked each item off in her head.

_I am definitely armed and dangerous._

* * *

The coffee shop was a hub of activity. The lively chatter of university students as they mingled at their tables of waited in line for snacks and beverages , mixed in with the screech of the espresso machine greeted Samantha as she stepped inside. Friday afternoons at the café were nothing short of insanity. Baristas, appearing calm and composed as they hurried behind the counter to prepare drinks and toast bagels and heat desserts and other small ticket food items. The sprinkling of 'regular' costumers appeared annoyed at both the wait, and the fact that the students, with more than half of the tables covered in lap tops, text books and other school supplies, seemed to be taking over the place. Dirty looks were being shot around and there were grumblings in the air about how long it was taking to get served.

_It's coffee people, _Sam thought, as she stepped up to the end of the line and pulled her cell from her purse to check for text or voice messages. _If you're that addicted to coffee that the need for it causes you to treat peope like shit, then get another vice. Or take your crap somewhere else. There's only a Starbucks on every bloody block. _

"Typical Friday afternoon crowd, huh?" a deep voice commented from behind her.

She startled slightly, then glanced over her shoulder. The man who'd spoken was tall and broad shouldered and appeared to be of mixed ethnicity. What actually, she couldn't quite put her finger on. His skin was exceptionally smooth and downright beautiful for a man. His recently shaved head did little to distract from his attractiveness. Soulful brown eyes, full lips and a strong jaw. But what really caught her eye -and the eye of any red blooded female in the place- was the man's body and how he showcased it in a simple white t-shirt. A wide, soild chest and massive, strong arms. And it was those arms and her hormonal desire to reach out and feel those muscles that caused her to flush from head to toe.

"I don't know why I bother coming here on a Saturday," he said. "This place is a zoo. And it isn't the students that burn my ass. They're alright. It's the regular schmucks who think they can treat people like crap 'cause they're shelling out three fifty for a latte. And then leaving a lousy tip."

"Or none at all," Sam added. "'Cause they feel that their presence alone is enough. That you should be grateful they even allowed you to serve them."

"Exactly," he agreed.

"You must work with the public to think that," Sam remarked.

He nodded. "I've seen all kinds of morons just like these fools. And I deal with bigger and badder, a lot bigger and badder, on a daily basis."

"You talk like a cop," she laughed.

"Maybe because I am," he said. "I can't believe you don't remember me, Detective Ross."

She arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"We've met before," he told her. "A couple times actually. And I've heard a lot about you."

"From?"

"Your boyfriend. Don Flack. I play on his department hockey team. He introduced us that time we met up in the parking lot at Willis Arena before the game. I play defence. Flack's the one that started everyone in on calling me Vin Diesel 'cause he thinks we could pass as twins."

"Right…right. Sorry. I'm not good with faces and I see a lot of those in the span of twenty four hours alone."

"Mark Powell," he said, and offered a large, strong hand. "I work vice out of the five-five."

"Samantha Ross," she shook it warmly. "Although you remembered my name."

"Naw…it was the pretty face I remember. Hard to forget one of those. You know, my girlfriend's been going on and on about calling you. Catching up with you. I guess she's hurting over the way things ended. I told her to just suck it up and give you a shout. The past is the past, right? You're both adults and have moved on."

"Okay…back up a second. Your girlfriend? I'm lost here. How does your girlfriend know me?"

"Flack dumped her to get with you. Guess you two had it out over it. She asked for a transfer, never spoke to you again."

"Jessica Angell is your girlfriend?" Sam asked. _Now if this isn't an unhappy coincidence, _she thought.

"Hooked up about a month ago now," Mark replied. "We met at the precinct. She'd brought in a bad ass perp to be processed. Laid him out when he got a little rough with her. One punch and he was on his behind crying for his mommy."

Sam laughed at that. "Yeah...Jess always could handle herself. She's never been afraid of anyone or anything."

He nodded, then was silent for a minute as he pondered what to say next. "Look, I don't know exactly how things ended between you two. I don't know all the details and let's face it, there's two sides to every story. I only know what she told me and it wasn't pleasant for either you or Flack…"

Sam sighed heavily.

"But that's your guys' business. I just know that she misses you. She's always going on and on about how tight the two of you were before he got in the middle of things. And she's gotten over him and gone on with her life, but she hasn't gotten over the fact that you and her are on the outs. I've been telling her to give you a call, that the two of you should just sit down and work things out. But you know what she's like…"

"Stubborn as hell," she finished for him.

"Pretty much. So if you ever get it in your mind to call her, she's still at the same number."

"I've still got the same cell phone," Sam said. "And Don's got his same land line number. I'm living there now so she can just call if she wants to talk. Just tell her…" she sighed. "Just tell her that it would be nice to hear from her. And that I hope we can be friends again. Somehow."

"I'll tell her. And trust me, she'll be relieved to hear it."

Sam smiled, but couldn't quell the uneasiness that knotted her stomach. A little something that was telling her that maybe trying to return to the past wasn't a good idea for the present.

* * *

Flack glanced up from the classified section of the New York Times resting on his knee as he heard the jingling of keys in the lock, followed by a dull click and the apartment door squeaking noisily as it opened. The television across the room was tuned into the Spike network, which was in the midst of a twenty four hour marathon of the new reality show DEA. Why in the hell he enjoyed watching members of the Drug Enforcement Agency chasing down scumbags was beyond him. He should have been satisfied with his own piece of action that he got day in and day out at work and not bothered with living vicariously through a tv show on top of it. But there was a part of him that was drawn to crime shows. The reality ones were his favourite. Episodes of The First 48 were like crack. He enjoyed watching other homicide detectives struggle with putting all the pieces together. And making his own 'educated' assumptions about who the perp would turn out to be based on the evidence, or lack thereof.

But his favourite 'past time' was watching the fake crime shows. Actors attempting to realistically portray those in law enforcement. And for the most part, doing a crap ass job at it. Sam had even relegated herself to fleeing to the bedroom if those shows were on because she couldn't handle him picking every little thing apart.

"I was about ready to send a search party for you," he called to his girlfriend, as he heard the closet door siding open and the rattling of a hanger as she hung up her coat.

"It's only five thirty," Sam informed him.

"You're right. My mistake. When you're out shopping, there's a damn good chance you won't be making it home until well after all the stores close."

"Well what can I say," she said with a sigh. "Shopping is a major vice for me."

"So do I need to file for bankruptcy anytime soon? Confiscate your credit cards and cut them up?" he teased, looking over his shoulder as she strolled into the living room where he sat on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, legs bent at the knee. A bottle of beer tucked in between the cushions beside him.

She gave a small smile and held up the surprisingly small amount of bags she carried in both hands. Which all bore the names and logos of clothing and personal accessories stores.

"That's it?" Flack asked. "No apartment shit? No furniture?"

"I didn't see anything I like," she replied. "Here…" setting the bags on the couch beside him, she dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out his bankcard. "I didn't need it. I put my stuff on my Visa."

"What? You thought I'd get pissed if you used my cash to buy yourself clothes?" he inquired, taking the small plastic card from her and tossing it on the coffee table. "I already told you, babe. Whatever you need, just get it."

"I just thought buying it myself would cause less problems later on," she reasoned.

"What problems would it cause? I'm not your mother. I don't buy you stuff and then hold it over your head months down the road."

She cringed at the mention of her mother. Moving the shopping bags from the couch to the floor, she sat down beside him and laying a hand on his back, kissed his cheek softly. "You're nothing like her," she said, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I didn't mean for it to sound like you're like her in any way, shape or form. I just…I needed clothes and I didn't think you needed to pay for them. That's all."

"I'll pay for what I want to pay for, okay?"

She held up her hands in surrender. "You're looking for apartments?" she asked, nodding at the newspaper resting on his knees.

"There's a few places here that are in our price range. Decent areas too. I figure we can find time to get around and see them. Even if it's on a lunch hour or something. Sound good?"

She nodded.

He turned his face towards her and kissed her lips tenderly. "You alright?" he asked, concern in his blue eyes. "You seem a little…I don't know…not you."

"I'm fine," she replied and gave him a reassuring smile. "Why would there be something wrong?"

"I don't know. You tell me. Here I am expecting you to come home with tons of bags and you walk in with half a dozen. What's up with that? You usually go insane when you're out shopping."

"It's not as fun when you're doing it on your own," she said. "Usually Lindsay's with me. And on the rare occasion you come along for shits and giggles. Being by myself…" she shrugged. "I just wasn't into it. I tried getting into the spirit but it was futile. I didn't see anything I liked so I gave up and decided to buy clothes instead. I needed some new clothes."

"And what did the doctor say? Something go down there that's got you in a mood?"

"I'm not in a mood," she said.

Flack arched both eyebrows.

"Okay…so I'm in a mood. But it's just a tiny one. And it has nothing to do with the doctor. But you can get on your knees and bow to my fucked up uterus. Thank your lucky stars that my insides are so screwed. Apparently my anxiety meds have been messing with the patch and we've been having unprotected sex since Februray."

"So we're just extremely lucky in other words."

"I guess," she said, and giving a sigh, pulled off her hat and tossed it onto the coffee table. "But we don't know if it's a peramanent luck or a temporary one. She says we either just dodged a bullet or things might be so crazy inside of me that pregnancy is no longer a viable option."

Flack frowned and reaching for the remote, switched off the television in order to give her his full attention. "So what is she going to do about it?" he asked. "Is there a way she can find that out? I mean, you've been getting periods and all that. So things must be working properly, right?"

"She said that I can have an ultrasound done to see how 'normal' things are. She thinks maybe there's some scar tissue build up. Which can be cleared away surgically."

"Okay…so if we find out that's what it is, we take care of it. No huge deal. And you know what? We talked about this. About trying for a baby."

"Maybe," she corrected. "About maybe trying for a baby."

"Whatever. We talked about it and we agreed that if it happened, it happened. So who cares about birth control? We'll just make sure that you're healthy and things are okay and take care of them if they're not."

She nodded slowly, raked a hand through her hair before leaning forward and picking up one of the bags. "I bought you something," she said. "A few somethings actually."

"Which are?"

She plopped the bag into his lap. "Merry Christmas, baby," she chirped and pecked his cheek.

Smirking, he laid the newspaper aside and wiped his hands on the thighs of his sweats. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out several items wrapped tightly in white tissue paper. And sealed shut with a sticker bearing the Tommy Hilfiger label.

"They were having a sale," Sam announced. "And when I see a sale…I hope you like them."

He peeled away the sticker and opened the tissue. A grin spreading from ear to ear when he caught sight of the ties that she'd personally handpicked for him. Three paisley prints, three striped ones and two solids. One sky blue and the other a light green.

"I'm sorry," she giggled. "But I just could not deal with some of the ties you own, Donnie. There's no way a man as devastatingly handsome and sexy as you can have that bad of taste when it comes to clothes. So when I saw the Tommy ties, I just couldn't resist. Do you like them?"

He nodded and leaned sideways to kiss her softly. "Thank you," he said. "But this in no way means I'm throwing out any of my old ones."

"Yes you are!" she laughed. "No…correction. Yes, I am. I am going to go on your side of the closet and toss out all of this hideous abominations. My grandfater owned nicer ties than you. And we can't have you being upstaged by a dead ninety year old can we?"

"What am I going to tell the guys?" he asked. "When they ask me if you dress me?"

"You tell them yes, she does. Because unlike me, she can put an outfit together properly."

"You're mean to me," he declared. Then covered her lips with his own in a chaste kiss. "Thank you, baby. I love them. And I give you permission to go through the closet and play Queer Eye for the Straight Guy on me."

"I'm up for the challenge," she said, and cracked her knuckles. "I have another surprise for you," she told him, and stood up.

"Yeah?" he asked, then grinned as she lifted her sweater and began to undo her belt. "Now this is my kind of surprise. Getting naked in the middle of the living room."

"Mind out of the gutter," she scolded, and popped open the button on her jeans and slid down the zipper. "I think you'll like this surprise," she said, and dropped her pants.

"What did you do? Another tattoo?" he asked, as she began to slowly peel a small bandage off of a spot at the front of her right hip.

"Something even better," she replied, and gently removing the covering, showed off her branding.

Flack's eyes widened. Was it shock he felt? Horror even? He couldn't honestly believe that her pale, silky skin was now marred by a nasty looking burn. And was that seriously Hello Kitty?

"It's a branding!" she told him excitedly. "A Hello Kitty one to be exact. Do you like it?"

"A what?" he asked, completely dumbfounded.

"A branding. You know, like when ranchers brand their cattle. Stick the poker or whatever into the fire and hold it against their hip and…"

"I know what a branding is. Just…why the hell would you get that done?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I saw someone on television with one a couple of days ago and thought about how cool it was. So I figured, why not? I've never been conventional. So I looked up what tattoo and piercing places in New York City did brandings and I stopped in to have it done. It only cost me a hundred bucks."

"A hundred bucks?" he exclaimed. "A hundred bucks for someone to burn Hello Kitty into your skin?"

"Well I thought it would be cute if it matched my necklace you gave me," she reasoned.

"Sammie…" he sighed and briefly closed his eyes. "You paid a C-note to have someone burn something into you."

She nodded. Then frowned. "You don't like it?"

"Let me repeat myself. You paid a hundred bucks to be burned. A hundred bucks! To scar yourself! Are you mental?"

"I thought you'd like it," she said, and smoothing the bandage back on, yanked her pants back up.

"How can I like the idea of you actually purposefully burning an image of Hello Kitty into your skin?" he asked. "You actually thought I'd like it?"

"I thought you'd find it daring and sexy," she said, doing her zipper and button back up.

"I find the underwear you got on daring and sexy. I find some of the things you do in bed daring and sexy. I don't need you to brand yourself for me to find you daring and sexy. Why in the hell would you do something like that?"

She shrugged. "I just wanted to," she said. "I just thought it would be cool. Something different. I'm sorry if it grosses you out. If I gross you out."

"What?" he caught her by the wrist before she could walk away from the couch. "No…no…don't turn things around to make me look like a bad guy, babe. You do not gross me out. I happen to find you the most beautiful, sexiest woman on the planet. But the thought of you willingly doing something like that to yourself…"

"You don't have a problem with the tattoos," she pointed out.

"Tattooing yourself and burning something into your hip are two completely different things. I just…sometimes I wonder where your head is at, Sammie. I mean, you're thirty-four years old and you get into these moods and do these wild and crazy things to yourself and…"

"I didn't do it because I'm in a mood," she argued. "I did it because I wanted to."

"No one could possibly want to burn themselves. Come on. I see you freak out if you burn your finger taking something out of the oven. You go insane. How'd you sit through something like that?"

"I don't know…I just…I just did. It was over pretty quick. I mean, it's hurting like hell but it won't kill me. I'm sorry you don't like it. But I can't get it erased and if you don't want to be with me because of it…"

He frowned. "Now you're just talking a whole bunch of shit. What? You think I'd dump you because you did something stupid? How many times have I done or said something stupid since we've been together? You're still with me, right? You haven't dropped me on my ass yet. No matter how much of a tool I am. And if you think I'd dump you over something like this…" he shook his head. "Then that doesn't say much about how you view our relationship. Or me."

"I just thought you'd find it sexy," she said. "I didn't think you'd be offended by it."

"I'm not offended by it, babe. I'm just…a little weirded out that you'd inflict that kind of pain on yourself."

"Well you know how much I like a little pain," she joked.

He sighed heavily.

"I just did it, okay? I just felt the urge to do it. There's no reasoning behind it. I just did it."

"Because something pissed you off and that's how you deal with things. By wanting to do something wild and crazy. Or by changing your appearance. You get in these moods and start renovating yourself."

"Well be thankful it's just a branding. Because I was going to pull a Britney and shave my head. Then get big old tattoo on the back of my head. Eyeballs. Eyes in the back of my head."

"You're mental," Flack declared, and yanked her into his lap. "Do me a favour okay?" he asked, holding her tightly against him and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Before you run off getting anymore brandings or tattoos or anything of the sort, come to me and talk to me about what's bothering you. Can you do that?"

She nodded and curled her arms around his neck and nestled her head in the space between his neck and shoulder.

"Like right now would be the perfect opportunity to tell me what's bugging your ass," he said.

She sat up and gave him a smile. Then kissed him before slipping out of his embrace and standing up. "I'm going to go and order us some food for supper," she said, and headed for the kitchen.

"Sammie…come on…don't do that. Don't change the subject."

"What do you feel like?" she asked. "Chinese? Italian? Indian?"

"Samantha…"

"Thai? Let's have Thai. We haven't had Thai in forever."

Flack sighed exasperatedly. "Sounds good," he said, admitting to defeat.

For now at least.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers. Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Laurzz**

**muchmadness**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Hope4sall**

**Laplandgurl**

**Soccer-bitch**

**GregRox**

**xsamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**Madison Bellows**


	53. Beautifully broken

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. **

**A/N: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS TWO DARK TOPICS THAT READERS OF MOB AND VFB WILL RECOGNIZE AS PART OF SAM'S PAST IN THOSE STORIES. I DECIDED TO BRING THEM IN HERE AS WELL. THANKS TO LAURZZ AND HOPE4SALL FOR ENCOURAGING ME TO WRITE THEM. AND ALSO TO LAURZZ FOR HELPING ME WITH SOME OF THE DL STUFF. HUGS TO BOTH OF YOU!**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO A DEAR FRIEND OF MINE WHO HAS BEEN LIVING WITH DEPRESSION FOR MOST OF HER 34 YEARS. SHE ASKED ME IF I WOULD INCORPORATE SOME OF HER STRUGGLES INTO MY OC AND I AGREED. I HOPE THAT IT MAKES PEOPLE REALIZE THAT ANYONE SUFFERING FROM DEPRESSION, MOOD DISORDERS ETC, ARE NOT FAKING IT, ARE NOT WHINING, ARE NOT PATHETIC. THEY ARE LEGITIMATELY STRUGGLING WITH SOMETHING. AND I HOPE IT TEACHES TOLERANCE, PATIENCE AND UNDERSTANDING. IT WAS A DIFFICULT CHOICE TO WRITE THIS IN AND I, AND MY FRIEND, APPRECIATE THE SUPPORT.**

**I ALSO WANT TO THANK HER FOR THE FANTASTIC, HAUNTING SONG I USED AT THE BEIGNNING OF THIS CHAPTER.**

**MUCH LOVE, BEG 75**

**P.S: FOR THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE ASKED WHO SARGE AND LYNNE ARE BASED ON: I BASED SARGE ON PAUL TEUTUL SR, THE FOUNDER OF ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS, AND LYNNE ON ACTRESS KATHY BATES.**

**

* * *

**

**Beautifully broken**

"Reborn and shivering  
Spat out on new terrain  
Unsure, unconvincing  
This faint and shaky hour  
Day one, day one  
Start over again  
Step one, step one  
I'm barely making sense  
For now I'm faking it  
'Til I'm pseudo-making it  
From scratch, begin again  
But this time I as I  
And not as we

Gun-shy and quivering  
Timid without a hand  
Feign brave with steel intent  
Little and hardly here  
Eyes wet toward wide open fright,  
If God is taking bets,  
I pray he wants to lose."  
-Not As We, Alanis Morissette

* * *

They had chosen to walk from their apartment to the familiar, popular cop bar located on the border of midtown and the lower east side. It was a thirty-five minute stroll and not one they would have attempted on a normal mid March night. New York City could be notoriously frigid at that time of the year, and it wasn't unusual to still see inches of snow on the ground or in the best case scenario, a thick layer of frost crunching under your feet and lining your car's windshield. But that evening, as the sun slowing sank in the west and bathed the city in a soft, orange glow, surprisingly mild temperatures and the startlingly dry ground had brought people out for walks through Central Park. The breeze that tousled the tree tops still pushed the mercury low enough to need an extra layer of clothes, and furnaces would still need to be cranked to combat the middle of the night and early morning chill, but at the moment the air was crisp and invigorating.

"Did you know that Jess was dating some guy that played on your hockey team?" Sam asked curiously, breaking the silence that had fallen on them the moment they'd stepped foot outside of their apartment door.

She hadn't been 'right' since he'd none to gently questioned her sanity upon revealing her branding to him. He'd never been the type of guy that sugar coated things. He shot from the hip and make no apologies when he did it. However, with Sam the way she was -emotionally fragile, even unstable at the worst of times underneath the tough, independent woman façade she loved to mask herself with- he had realized early on that he had to watch what he said and the way he said. He had made a promise to himself to be more gentle. More patient with her.

He just never realized it would be as difficult as it was. He wasn't usually one who shied away from hard work. Or a challenge. But Samantha…she was unlike anything or anyone he was used to, or experienced with.

And sometimes he wondered if he could handle it. Or her. If he was doing the right thing, sanity wise, by holding on so tight to someone so fractured.

_Of course you are, you fucking ass,_ he thought, as glanced down at her. _You'd be miserable without her. She makes you happy. Baggage and all. You finally find someone that you can honestly say you love wholly and completely and you're so willing to bail on her because she has issues? Because she's human?_

_Grow the fuck up._

"Mark Powell," he said, taking a sip of coffee from the take out cup in one hand as his other rested on the small of her back. "Works Vice. You met him a couple of times."

"Well I met up with him again today," she told him, as she used a spoon to scoop out a mouthful of mint green soft ice cream in the Styrofoam cup she cradle in the palm of her hand. "He just happened to show up at Paisley's work while I was there grabbing a latte. And he just so happened be in line directly behind me."

"Small world," Flack commented.

"Yeah…and then he just so happened tossed out, after we re-introduced ourselves, that he and Jess were dating."

"They hooked up about a month after we did," he said. "I didn't know until she showed up at that game three weeks ago that you didn't go to. I wondered what the hell she was doing there standing outside of the locker room afterwards. Wasn't expecting Powell to walk out and to see the two of them practically swallowing each other whole."

"But you did know."

"I just said that…"

"How come you didn't tell me?" Sam asked curiously.

"I don't know," Flack shrugged. "Guess I didn't feel like it was a big enough deal to tell you. Or that you'd even care. I wasn't exactly thinking Angell's personal life was of any interest to you after that huge blow out the two of you had. Why mention something about someone you hate?"

"It's not that I hate her," Sam said. "I've never hated her. Things just ended really, really badly between us. A lot of things got said that day. A lot of mean, hurtful things. On both of our parts. It never should have come down to that."

"Isn't that just the way women fight?" Flack teased. "Don't they always get catty and mean and go for the jugular? Try to hurt each other as much as they possibly can? Isn't that just the way things are with you guys?"

Sam halted in her steps and turned to face him. "People say dumb ass things when they're hurt," she said, glaring up at him. "Women and men. Just because you have a dick and testicles doesn't mean you fight cleaner than someone who doesn't. And if anyone is the King of Mean…"

"Hey…calm down now," Flack gently warned her. "I'm not getting into a fight with you in the middle of Central Park just 'cause I knew Angell had a boyfriend and you didn't. I didn't think of telling you 'cause the two of you aren't even friends anymore. I didn't think you'd care one way or the other what she was up to. What's the big fucking deal?"

"Maybe you just didn't tell me because it burns your ass that she's with someone other than you."

And with that, she turned abruptly on her heel, tossed the remains of her ice cream in a nearby trashcan and stomped off down the path.

Sighing heavily, Flack stood in the middle of the path and watched her go. She was nothing short of the most stubborn, little bitch he'd ever met in his entire life. When Samantha thought she was right or when she got it into her head that you'd purposefully kept something back from her or that you had a hidden agenda, it was sheer hell trying to convince her otherwise. But he hadn't held anything back and honestly resented her thinking not only that, but that he still had lingering feelings for an ex-girlfriend. And ex-girlfriend that he'd dumped to be with her.

And as he stood there, he began to seriously wonder if he'd made a huge mistake. Things with Jess were never this complicated. Sure, they argued once in a blue moon. Nasty, heated battles that usually occurred because they were either at odds over differences of opinion regarding a case they were working on together, or the fact that they were finding it increasingly difficult, and a little monotonous, to see each other as much as they did. Working all day together and then being together after a long, tiring shift? They quickly got on each other's nerves.

But Jess wasn't so…unbalanced. She didn't freak out about the simplest, stupidest things and walk away from him so willingly and easily. She didn't go through sudden and excessive mood swings that caused him to both doubt himself and the way he was handling the relationship, but wanting to shake some goddamn sense into her. No woman had ever had the capabilities Sam did. The capabilities of having you love her to the ends of the earth one moment, and hating her next.

It scared him to feel that way.

But not as much as it scared him to lose who was easily becoming the love of his life.

"Sammie! Hold up!" he called out, and tossing his half full cup of coffee into the garbage, jogged down the path in order to catch up to her. "Babe…come on…" he snagged her tightly by the wrist, bringing her to a sudden, quick stop that nearly yanked her off of her feet. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked angrily, forcibly turning her around to face him. Ignoring the curious, concerned looks they were getting by passer-by's "Why do you get like this? Why do go all crazy over stupid ass shit? How do you go from being ecstatically happy this morning to being…to being like a raging, psychotic bitch less than twelve hours later! I don't get it! I don't get you!"

"Maybe because I am a raging psychotic bitch," she said, struggling against the firm hold he had on her arm. "And maybe it's good that you're realizing it early on and gives you the opportunity to back out before you have too much invested."

"I already have everything invested in you! In us! I handed myself over to you from day one! I may as well have ripped my heart out of my chest and handed it to you on a silver platter! I accepted you as is! Insanity and all. I told you right from the get go that I didn't care what kind of problems you had! You were honest and upfront about having these emotional issues. These instabilities as you call them. I accepted them and I told you that all that baggage you're carrying around? I told you that you didn't have to bear it by yourself, babe. I'm more than willing to help you carry it!"

"You shouldn't have to…"

"No. I shouldn't have to. But I want to. I'm offering to, Sammie. And so far, all you've done is close me out when the going gets tough. Shit all over me instead of just opening up to me and trusting me. You did the exact same thing when IAB got a hold of us and shoved those pictures in our faces. You were so willing to just toss everything we have away! You hurt the people who do everything for you. Who love you the most! And I don't deserve that."

She shook her head and looked away from him.

"Sammie…please hear me….please…." releasing the grip on her wrist, he reached out to take her delicate face in both of his hands. Forcing her to look at him. "All I want is to help you. Help you deal with all of this and get over it. Why won't you let me do that? I'm not Zack. I'm nothing like him. Whatever the hell is going on in that head of yours, you can tell me. You can trust me, babe."

"You can't help me," she whispered. "Don't you understand that? You can't help me. No one can. This is just me. This is just the way I am. I'm screwed up. There's no other way to describe it. I'm messed up and you deserve so much better than what I can give you, Don."

"You're not messed up…you're just…I don't know…you've got some emotional shit that you need to deal with it. And I get that, okay? Shit, Sammie, we've all got problems. We've all got issues. There's not one person walking this earth that doesn't got a little mental once in a while. This shit…this shit is all 'cause of your father being the way he was and then Zack being the fucking tool he is. The two men in your life that you should have been able to trust, who should have protected you and loved you turned around and fucked you up. And 'cause of them, you've got this warped idea in your head that all men are like that."

"I don't think that…I…"

"You do," he gently insisted. "It's like you're on pins and needles, waiting for me to fuck up so that you can turn around and say I'm a prick just like that. Like you purposefully turn something so small into a huge thing so that you get me riled up to the point where I say or do something stupid. Just so you can throw it back in my face and make me the bad guy so it proves your point that all men are assholes."

She shook her head once again and struggled to look away.

"Look at me.." he demanded. "Look at me. Look right at me so that you see the words as they're coming out of my mouth. I am not like every man in your life so far that's messed you over. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to smack you around and call you names and treat you like shit. Do you understand what I'm saying to you? And I'm not going to give up on you. Ever. We already showed we can get through anything when we dealt with those pictures. I love you. I'm not like Danny Messer. I'm not going to go and do some grand, romantic gesture or get down on my knees and grovel like a little bitch. I am standing here in front of you telling you that you can push me away all you want. You can whine and cry and pull this sulky little girl bullshit. You can call me every name in the book and tell me to piss off. But guess what? I'm not going anywhere."

"But you have to…"

Time to make a decision Flack. She's leaving the door wide open for you. So you either suck it up and become a man and stick by her no matter what, or you wimp out and walk away. Shit or get off the pot. Either you're with her or against her. No goddamn in between.

"I have to what?" he asked, confident despite the uncertainty and terror inhabiting his body. He couldn't walk away. He knew that. He loved her too damn much. She was his life. And he knew, as hard as it would be, they could work shit out. Together. "What do I have to do? Walk away from you to spare myself? No offence babe, but I've dealt with and handled bigger and scarier. So don't be thinking that you and your issues aren't something I can't handle. They're hard to deal with. You're hard to deal with. Exceptionally hard. But you know what?"

"What?" she asked in a tiny voice, as he tenderly brushed loose tendrils of hair away from her forehead and the side of her face.

"No matter how wild and crazy you get? No matter how many of these emotional breakdowns you have? I'm still going to be here. I'm still going to fight with you to let me in. Because when you love someone, you deal with the bullshit. So here's the way things are going to be. We can keep doing this whole song and dance. You can keep having your flip outs and pushing me away and I'm just going to push at you harder and harder. Or you can relegate yourself to the fact that short of killing me, you're not getting rid of me and just let me in already. Those are your choices, babe."

"I only want what's best for you and I don't think that…"

He silenced her by covering her mouth with his in a long, soft kiss. "You don't think what?" he asked, pecking the tip of her nose, his thumbs gliding over her silky cheeks. "You don't think that I can deal with you? You don't think I should have to put up with all of this?"

She nodded.

"Let me make something clear to you, okay?" his voice, and his eyes, were compassionate and loving. Full of understanding. "I'm a big boy. I'll decide what is best for me. That's not up to you. What's best for me is you. I know that. My heart knows that. And I can deal with you and I will. Understand me? I will put up with it because I love you. Alright?"

"It's just that…"

He kissed her again. "Jesus woman…" he said with a chuckle afterwards. "Don't you ever give in? Can't you just let me have the last say just once? I'm spilling my guts to you here. In public. Can't you just look at me and not say anything? Or can't you just look at me and smile? You know how much I love to see that beautiful smile of yours. Can't you do that for me, babe? Even if it's just a little one?"

A miniscule smile curved her lips.

"That's my girl," he said and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now about you tell me how fantastically intelligent I am and that I'm right for once."

She managed a laugh and pushed him away playfully. "Don't push your luck, Detective Flack. I'll admit that last thing to no one."

"Yeah?" he captured her by both forearms and pulled her into him. Then wrapped both arms around her petite body and held her tightly and protectively to him. "Then how about you at least tell me that you'll let me help you. That you believe in me and in us."

"I'll let you help me," she said. "And I do believe in you. And in us."

"Now how about telling me that you love me too. That this just isn't a one way street here. That I'm not wasting my time and my breath."

"I love you," her voice and eyes were filled with sincerity. "I've never loved someone the way that I love you. Which is why I just want to protect you from.."

"Uh-uh…" he pecked her lips. "That last part isn't allowed. I don't want to hear stuff like that. Understand me?"

She nodded and snaking her arms around his waist, laid her cheek against his chest.

"It's going to be okay," he assured her, chin resting on the top of her head, his hand stroking her hair as it tumbled freely down her back. "Whatever is going on inside of you, Sammie, we'll deal. Okay? I promise you that we'll deal."

"I just…" she drew a deep, shaky breath. "I'm scared."

"Of what?" Flack asked. "Of us? Of how quick things are happening even thought right from the beginning we'd take things slow? Are you scared that it's all to fast or that it's too good to be true?"

She shook her head at each suggestion, then drew away from him slightly and looked up at him with haunted eyes. "I'm scared of me," she told him. "I'm scared of the way I feel. Not how I feel about you or about us but the way I feel emotionally wise. I'm scared of how quickly I get angry and the mean things that I say before I even realize that I'm saying them. I'm scared of these crazy mood swings that I have and how sometimes I feel so out of control and…" she sighed heavily. "I need help, Donnie. I need help with the way I am. I don't want to be this way anymore."

"And I'll get you help," he promised, smoothing her hair away from the sides of her face. "Whatever you need. Someone professional to talk to, medication to make you feel better. Whatever it takes, okay? I'll get you whatever you need to feel better. Alright?"

She nodded. "Just promise me that you won't think I'm crazy," she whispered. "That you don't already think I'm crazy."

"Baby, I'd never, ever think that," he assured her, then kissed her softly. "Is there anything you need right now?" he asked. "Anything I can get you or that I can do to make you feel better? Just name it, Sammie. Name it and I'll do it."

"I just want to go home," she replied. "I don't want to go out tonight. I just want to go home."

"Then that's what we'll do," he said, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"You're not mad?" she asked. "That I made you walk all this way and changed my mind and now we have to walk all the way back?"

He shook his head, and wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders, Flack tucked her tightly into his side and turned in the opposite direction of their original destination.

"I don't want you to be upset," she said, curling her arm around his waist and leaning into him. "I didn't want my insanity ruining your night."

"You're not insane," he informed her, allowing a hint of annoyance and a tad of anger to creep into his voice. "Stop saying that about yourself. A lot of people have issues. It doesn't make them crazy. I'm not some insensitive, cold hearted ass that's going to think less of you because you've got some emotional shit you need help with. Most important thing is that you admitted you needed help. Now, all we have to do is get it for you. You have to trust me, Sammie. Whatever I do for you or whoever I talk to about this, it's in your best interests. You trust me, right?"

"I trust you," she responded confidently.

"I just don't want you to be angry that…"

"I am not angry," he interrupted. "Concerned. Not angry. I said I'd help you fix this and that's what we're going to do. Together. Got it? Together."

She smiled and tightened the hold she had on him.

Together. One word had never held so much faith and trust.

Or so much promise.

* * *

Lindsay Monroe was annoyed. Aggravated by the endless bitching and moaning taking place next to her. The senseless, continuous complaining and whining that was better suited on a ten year old boy than it was on a self respecting thirty-four year old man. Danny had done nothing but wag his mouth from the moment he'd hung up his cell phone after taking a phone call from Flack only two minutes after they'd arrived at Sullivan's. Lindsay had been able to tell, by Danny's relentless pacing, emotionless face and the way he pursed his lips and did little more than nod his head, that something serious had gone down. And for a moment, panic had surged through her as a million and one dreadful thoughts involving her best friend surged through her brain. Flack wouldn't have called for no reason. Especially when he and Sam were supposed to have been on the way to the bar well before she and Danny had even left the apartment. And Danny wouldn't have looked so grave if something hadn't have happened.

Her paranoia had been made worse when he'd snapped his phone closed, ran a hand through his hair while sighing heavily, and then took a hold of her upper arm and gently propelled her towards the exit.

"We gotta get over to Flack's," he'd said.

Of course, there'd been nothing seriously wrong in the end. She had eventually gotten the whole story out of her fiance. There'd had been no life or death accident. There was no pressing need for them to haul ass over to Flack's apartment. All Flack had said was that Sam wasn't feeling well and they'd decided not go out out. They'd headed home instead and she was already curled up in bed sleeping. And that Danny and Lindsay were more than welcome to come over and hang out for a bit. If they wanted to. Flack had made no demands or no requests. But Danny, as he was known to often do, had overreacted to what should have been a simple incident.

And now he wouldn't shut up.

"All I'm saying is that I think sometimes these moods she gets into are complete bullshit," Danny said.

"I know what you're saying and I'd rather you didn't say it," Lindsay tried to remain as calm, cool and collected as possible. But her last nerve was dangerously frayed. "She's my best friend, Danny. And she's your best friend's girlfriend. And I thought she was your friend, too. Or is that 'Brooklyn's like a little sister to me' line you give to everyone just that? A line."

"She is my friend," Danny argued. "She is like a little sister to me, you know that. And I know how tight the two of you are and how much you love each other. And I know first hand how crazy Flack is about her. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her. But…"

"But?" Lindsay asked. "How can there be a but? You know what, Danny…just…just don't say anything else. 'Cause you are going to say something and I will haul off and backhand you one. And neither of us want to be doing anything we regret. So it's best if you just not say another word about Sammie."

"These things gotta be said, Montana. I seem to be the only one to have the balls to say what we're all thinking."

Lindsay sighed heavily, and closing her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "And what is it that we're all thinking? Seeing as your obviously a master of mind reading and know what is going on in all of our heads, why don't you astound me with your abilities and tell me what we're all thinking."

"There's nothing really wrong with her," Danny said. "There's no mood disorder or whatever the hell you want to call it. She doesn't have any issues. She just gets into these bitchy little moments and then uses them to control Flack."

Lindsay couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Oh yeah…that's it. That's what she does. You answered the unanswerable question. You've got it all figured out, Danny."

"Every time he wants to do something that she doesn't, she gets like this. She throws one of her whiny little tantrums and pouts and cries until she gets her own way. And that's not a personal attack against her. There's tons of women just like that. I just can't believe Flack falls for it."

"He isn't falling for anything and she isn't making anything up. She has a mood disorder. Or depression. We're not entirely sure what it is. All we know is that she's got legit issues. My mother has had clinical depression for three decades. Are you going to say she's full of shit and making it up?"

"Of course not. I'd never…"

"No one makes things like this up," she continued. "She's not trying to get attention or force Flack to do things he doesn't want to do. She isn't controlling him or getting her own way. She's sick Danny and she needs help. And Flack obviously thought we cared enough to want to help. I guess he doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does."

"And what's that suppose to mean?" Danny asked.

"Everything that Flack's done for you. All the times he's bailed you out of tough spots and bent the rules and pulled some strings and this is how you repay him? By making fun of his girlfriend? By saying she's faking this? Say it to his face, Danny. I dare you to. Walk into the apartment and say it to his face. I can guarantee two things will happen. One, you'll be walking back out without a best friend. And two, you'll be leaving with not only no best friend, but no teeth and your face rearranged."

"Flack wouldn't do that," Danny snorted.

"He would. In a heartbeat. And you know why? Because he loves her and would protect her. Come hell or high water. And if you bad mouth her, he's knocking you out. Plain and simple. Want to test that theory?" she held up her cell phone. "Want me to call him right now? Get him on the line and let him hear what your mouth is spewing?"

"Quit fucking around," Danny growled, and dropping a hand from the wheel, snatched the phone from her.

"Then back off, would you? You know that talking shit about Sam to me is what causes most of our fights. Why can't you just be a little more sympathetic? Why can't you just accept that for once, you're wrong. This is a legit issue and Flack's going his best to try and make things better for her. Lots of people have emotional issues. Some just don't deal with them as well as others. And Sam has a hard time coping. No one is perfect Danny. Are you perfect? Am I perfect?"

"To me you're pretty damn close."

"Then you're more delusional than I thought," Lindsay scoffed. "No one is perfect. And that's life."

"I'm just trying to make a point that Sam goes through these issues a lot. And it seems kind of mental if you ask me."

"Mental?" Lindsay snapped. "Mental? Well you know what, Danny? You'd be mental too if your father molested you from the time you were five until the time you were ten!"

Silence descended in the car as the weight of Lindsay's secret -a secret that Sam had trusted her, and only her with- hung heavily in the air. She had promised her best friend that she'd never breathe a word of it to anyone. When Sam had told her -after a gruesome and trying molestation case had brought unwelcome memories to the surface and opened up old wounds- the torment and abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her birth father. Lindsay had been horrified at first. She'd listened intently to her best friend talking in a steady, emotionless voice. She'd felt sick to her stomach. Then anger and disgust had quickly set in and she'd pulled Sam into her arms and rocked her as a mother would a child as she shed tears she had long held inside of her. And then, as if nothing had ever happened, Sam had pulled away, wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt and begged Lindsay to never breathe a word of it to anyone.

Not even Flack.

And now, all because Danny just couldn't shut up, she'd betrayed someone who meant so much to her.

"You've got nothing to say now?" she asked angrily. "No valid points to make?"

Danny shook his head. "No…" his voice and face were solemn. "I guess I'm just…I guess I'm shocked. And I'm wondering how the hell Brooklyn never ended up more messed then she is. I guess a few little breakdowns here and there are nothing considering what she went through."

"It was a horrible thing," Lindsay said. "And no one deserves that."

He nodded in agreement. "I can understand you not wanting to shout this from the rooftops, Linds. But how…how could you not tell me about this?"

"I wasn't my place to tell you Danny. She confided in me and I promised to never tell another single living soul. It was a moment between friends and we haven't talked about it since. I don't think anyone else knows but me. Maybe Adam does. But I don't even think Flack knows about it. At least he didn't at that point in time. She could have told him by now."

"I can understand us not knowing," Danny said, disgusted by the thought of a man, especially a father, doing horrific, perverted things to such a small child. The molesters had always been the lowest of the low on Danny's list. The one thing, out of all the brutality and evil that he saw on a regular basis, that bothered him the most was people who took advantage of children. But he'd never know someone in his own personal life that it had happened to. And now he was furious beyond words. "But how can Flack not know? Why wouldn't she tell him? He's the guy she supposedly wants forever with. And she keeps something like that from him?"

"She's scared, Danny," Lindsay reasoned. "She's afraid to tell him. She's worried he's going to be completely disgusted with her and what nothing to do with her."

Danny shook his head adamantly. "Flack woudn't think that way about her. He'd understand. He wouldn't dump her 'cause some sick bastard did something like that to her. He'd want to kill the sonofabitch if anything."

"Hon, think about it in a more personal way. What if it was me? What if I came and told you, out of the blue, that I'd been raped nearly every day by my daddy for five years. How would you react?"

"I'd go fucking ballistic and hunt the bastard down like a rabid dog in the street. And so would Flack. He'd…"

"And maybe it's that reaction, of how angry he'll actually be, that frightens her too," Lindsay said. "This is a huge secret to have. A massive load to carry on you all this time. But it did her some good to tell me. And maybe one day she'll get the courage to tell him. But right now…right now it's not our call. We're certainly not going to go in there and pull him aside and tell him his girlfriend's deepest, darkest secret."

Her fiance sighed heavily

"We are NOT going to tell him," Lindsay stressed. "It is not our place to tell him something like that."

"He deserves to know," Danny argued.

"He does," she agreed. "But he deserves to know from Sam. Not from us. And when she's ready, she will tell him. Give her a chance. Us telling Flack…that's just like violating her all over again. And I can't betray her like that. She's my best friend. We have our issues and disagreements and sometimes we fight and get on each other's nerves, but she's the closest thing I have to a sister. And I love her and will not hurt her like that. And if you love me…"

"I promise you I won't breathe a word of this to Flack. A'right? I don't want to hurt Sam either. What I want is for them to get their shit together. And to find her dad and slaughter that asshole."

"He's dead. He died when she was fifteen. I guess some bookies got a hold of him and taught him a lesson. A permanent one."

Danny sighed heavily and nodded slowly. "I guess that's the only good thing about it then."

"What's that?" Lindsay asked.

"That maybe he died a slow, excruciating death. That he was punished for what he did," Danny replied, vehemence in his voice. "And that he's rotting in hell where he belongs."

* * *

Uncertainty clouded Flack's mind and tugged at his heart as he pulled up in front of the walk up apartment building several blocks from his own residence. It had once been a place he'd frequented nearly every day. Somewhere where many memories, even in such a short span of time, had been formed. Where there'd been many a tear shed, but where laughter and good times had existed far more than hard and trying times. He'd spent many a sleepless night there and many lazy, relaxing mornings and afternoons where he found himself buried under the covers for hours on end, both sleeping and talking in soft whispers and smiling at the sound of his girlfriend's musical giggle that rang out when he said something humorous or tickled her. And while he'd missed those moments, he certainly hadn't missed the inconvenience of travelling back and forth between apartments.

And now, despite living together, he found himself parked in front of that familiar building once again. He hadn't been back since the day they'd moved the last of Sam's stuff out. Mostly because he'd been making it a practice to avoid his bitchy future mother in law, and because time constraints due to work made it nearly impossible to find the time to see the older couple that now took up residence in what was once his girlfriend's place.

Despite numerous requests over the past month -requests mostly made by her mother that the four of them, along with Adam and Paisley and Flack's parents go out to dinner to 'get to know each other better' - such an evening had yet to take place. Sam and Adam had both been doing an admirable job convincing their mother that their schedules were far too hectic at the moment to arranage a suitable time for all parties involved. But Flack knew that this dinner was inevitable. It was going to happen sooner or later. And the thought of his parents, especially his father with his protective nature towards Sam, in the same room with her acid tongued mother…well it wasn't a thought he cared to entertain.

But right now he was nervous. Unsure if he'd done the right thing by reaching out to the one person he believed could help him along the long road he knew lay ahead. He'd never been one to ask for assistance. He was strong, proud and stubborn to a fault, and had always believed he could handle anything, no matter how daunting, on his own. But he was worried and terrified of screwing up. Of losing the one person who'd ever loved him unconditionally, that he was determined to do whatever it ook to help not only her, but himself as well.

He felt guilty as well. Guilty for both doubting himself and his abilities to love and take care of her properly. Guilty for leaving her at such a low point in her life in order to get a handle on his own weaknesses and fears. And most of all, guilty for ever regretting his decision to be with her. For even comparing her to Jess and wondering if dumping the latter had been the right decision.

He nervously drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and cast a glance at his cell phone resting on the dashboard. Danny had said he'd call if anything went down. If Sam had a 'moment' that neither he or Lindsay could deal with. So far so good, however. His phone hadn't rang once, and when he'd left the apartment -telling his girlfriend he'd been called in to work to handle an out of the blue interrogation for a stalled case- Danny had been on the couch eating pizza and drinking beer while watching television and Lindsay and Sam were huddle in the bed together, talking and sharing a large contained of Rocky Road ice cream and a bag of Oreos. He felt like shit for lying to Sam. But felt it was far better to do that then face her potential wrath for seeking outside help.

Flack glanced out the passenger window as the front entrance of the apartment building swung open. Tapping the horn lightl, he raised his hand in greeting as the older man journeyed down the front steps and made his way towards the idling SUV.

"Had to tell the Ice Queen it was Adam that called, asking for a guys night," Sarge said, as he yanked open the door and climbed into the vehicle. "If she knew it was you…well no offence kid, but that would have caused us both a whole world of hurt."

"Yeah…she definitely doesn't hide the fact that she thinks I'm a complete asshole," Flack mused, a small, pleased smile curving his lips.

"Lynne thinks anyone who doesn't agree with her or bow to her is a complete asshole," Sarge grumbled. "And if someone, such as yourself, has the balls to stand up to her…well let's just say she goes into full attack mode."

Flack simply nodded. Fighting the urge to ask the man what in the hell he ever saw in such a wretched bitch. He reminded himself that the heart wanted what it wanted. And it wasn't up to him to judge or question why.

"So what's this all about?" Sarge asked. "We gonna sit here all night or.."

"You wanna go grab a couple beers?" Flack inquired. "I know a couple of places near my folks' place in Queens. Non-cop bars. Where I won't be stumbling into anyone I know and we won't be interrupted."

"A couple of beers sounds good to me…what's this about, Don?"

"I needed someone to talk to," Flack told him. "And I didn't know who else to go to. I needed someone I could trust."

"Alright…still not telling me what it's about though. What seems to be bugging ya? It sounds pretty serious and.."

"It's Samantha," Flack blurted out.

Concern clouded Sarge's eyes and lined his face. "Is she okay?" he asked. "Is she sick?"

"No," Flack answered quickly. "Yes…maybe…I don't know…" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know what to do to make things better. To make her better. And I want to. I want to make her better. I want this…us…to work. Badly. And I just…I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I'm strong enough to deal with it. Or with her."

Sarge sighed heavily.

"I need help," Flack admitted quietly. "Desperately. Can you help me? Can you help me help her?"

Sarge nodded slowly and laid a supportive hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Let's go and grab those beers," he said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And lurking! I appreciate all the support and KIND words and I look forward to hearing from all of you! So please R and R! And good luck to all of you writing term papers, exams, etc. I certainly do not miss those days. Although I would gladly trade spots at the moment! Hope you all come back when things slow down!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Hope4sall**

**Forest Angel**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Laplandgurl**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**Soccer-bitch**


	54. It's What Friends Do

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS AND SUPPORT FOR THE DEPRESSION STORY LINE. AS SOMEONE WHO STRUGGLED WITH THE CONDITION AFTER MY FATHER'S DEATH AND THEN AGAIN AFTER MY SON'S DIAGNOSIS, IT'S NICE TO KNOW I'M NOT ALONE!**

* * *

**It's What Friends Do**

"When you're weary  
Feeling small  
When tears are in your eyes  
I will dry them all  
I'm on your side  
When times get rough  
And friends just can't be found  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down

I'll take your part  
When darkness comes  
And pain is all around  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down

See how they shine  
If you need a friend  
I'm sailing right behind  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will ease your mind  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will ease your mind."  
-Bridge Over Troubled Waters, Paul Simon

* * *

"You know…" Lindsay yawned noisily and stretched languorously as she relaxed in the middle of Sam and Flack's rumbled Queen sized bed. "This is the first time I've ever been in bed with another woman before."

Sam, sitting on Flack's designated side of the bed in a pair of yoga shorts and an old, massive NYPD hockey jersey with FLACK 30 printed in white on the back, couldn't help but laugh at the perverted undertones sneaking into that simple comment. Or the slightly devilish grin that sneaked across her best friend's face as the country girl lay sprawled on her back beside her.

The television across the room was tuned into a marathon of Blush: The Search for the Next Great Makeup Artist. While both girls had been loyal, almost obsessed fans from day one and had never missed an episode, a marathon had just been too hard to resist. The reality show had been their guilty pleasure, gathering at each others apartments to watch, even if they did have to tape some episodes and see them together on their day off. Even though they already knew the winner, they had settled down in the bedroom with their usual television or movie watching routine. Ice cream, Oreo cookies, red liquorice, sour candy and chocolate milk. And lots of girl talk, naturally. Only tonight, instead of taking up residence in the living room, they'd instead opted to inhabit Sam and Flack's bed. While Danny had been relegated to solitude in the living room.

"Wish I could say the same thing," Sam remarked dryly, as she looked back at the television and took a sip of chocolate milk from the neon pink plastic tumbler in her hand. She cast a glance out of the corner of her eye, amused at the slightly curious and confused expression that came over Lindsay's face. The other woman's brows arched and her sparkling brown eyes burrowed into Sam's side.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Lindsay asked.

"What's what suppose to mean?" Sam inquired, settling the plastic glass between her legs and reaching for a handful of sour candy from the bowl sitting next to her.

"You just said, 'Wish I could say the same thing' when I commented that it was the first time I'd been in bed with another woman before."

Sam nodded in agreement and fought to keep a straight face.

"Did you mean that you've shared a bed with a woman before platonically? Like at a slumber party or something or did you mean that you've shared a bed with a woman…non platonically."

"Didn't you have slumber parties when you were kid?" Sam asked, popping a candy into her mouth.

"Yeah…but we either camped out in the backyard in separate sleeping bags or on the floor in the basement or my bedroom. I've never, ever slept in the same bed with a girl. Ever. And apparently, you have. But was it just as friends or…"

"Or what?" the tiny brunette asked patiently. "I've been in bed with another woman before. Both as a kid and when I was in college. As a kid, I went to sleepovers and never thought twice about bunking down with a couple of friends. And in college…well that was anything but platonic."

Lindsay sprung up into a sitting position. "Are you kidding me?" she asked. "You've actually slept with a woman? As in slept with them slept with them?"

"Quit talking in riddles," Sam laughed. "Just say the words. Ask what you want to ask."

Lindsay scooted closer to her and lowered her voice. "Are you telling me you've had sex with a woman?" she asked.

Sam just smiled and kept her attention focused on the television.

"Sammie!" Lindsay grabbed a pillow and swatted her best friend with it. "Did you or didn't you?"

"Would it bother you if I did?" she inquired. "Like is a confession going to send you running out of here screaming in terror? Are you going to stop talking to me for the rest of our lives if I say yes?"

"What? No! Of course not! I mean, if that's your thing, that's fine with me. It doesn't mean I love you any less or we're not going to be friends anymore. If you're into guys and girls too…"

Sam nearly spit her chocolate milk out. "I am not into both guys and girls," she said, coughing noisily and using her fingers to clear away milk that had dribbled out of her mouth and onto the jersey she wore. "I love men. Only men. Trust me. There's no question about that. I especially love the man that I'm with."

"Okay…but…"

"But…sometimes…I don't know….sometimes young people get curious about things. They get curious and start to question things in their lives. And then they get totally polluted at the campus pub one night and all of a sudden, they're not objecting when their admittedly bi roommate is busting her move the second your back in your dorm room."

Lindsay's eyes widened. "So what you're telling me is that you've had sex with another woman."

"She totally schooled me," Sam said and gave a huge, content sigh. "I think it was probably one of the most erotic experiences of my life."

Lindsay continued to stare at her best friend, completely dumbfounded.

"And you know what else I think?" Sam asked, her voice low and sultry as she turned towards Lindsay. Leaning across the bed, she laid her hand on the back of the other woman's neck and pulled Lindsay towards her. So that their lips were a mere half inch apart. "Do you want to hear what else I think, Linds?"

She swallowed noisily. "Okay…" she squeaked out nervously.

"I think you're the most damn gullible person on earth!" Sam exclaimed, then pecked her friend's cheek and drew away, laughing hysterically.

"You moron!" Lindsay laughed as well and swatted her best friend upside the head with a pillow. "You really had me going there! I thought you were being totally serious!"

"Were you hoping I was?" Sam asked. "Were you turned on by my little 'admission' and hopeful I was going to bust a move on you?"

"Hey, it's not a sin to have a girl crush," Lindsay declared. "There's nothing wrong with it. And I can readily admit that you're mine. There must be someone that you are crushing on. Of the same sex I mean."

Sam helped herself to an Oreo. Frowning at the sight of the mess the two of them had created together. An empty carton of ice cream and two spoons inside of it sitting on the floor next to the bed. A nearly empty bag of cookies in the middle of the comforter and crumbs as far as the eye could see. The sugar granules from the candy littering the sheets. Liquorice tumbling out of their back. It was a pig sty. There were no other words for it. And would definitely need to be tidied up before Flack got home and went on the war path about the mess.

"So who's your girl crush?" Lindsay asked, grabbing two cookies. "And don't try and tell me you don't have one."

"Hmmm…" Sam sat her cup of milk on the night stand and shoved garbage out of the way as she arranged the pillows at the head of the bed and settled back against them. "I don't know…I think Jess was my girl crush. Absolutely. Not that there's anything wrong with you, Bumpkin. You're insanely adorable and all of that. But I need a wilder girl. I'd hate to corrupt you."

"How do you know I wouldn't be corrupting you?" Lindsay inquired, winking playfully at her best friend as she placed her own pillows in front of the headboard and pushing her body up the bed, laid back against them.

"You're right. You could be the one to do it. It is always the ones you least expect. So we've talked about our girl crushes," Sam reached for her milk and took a sip. "How about same sex crushes?"

"Famous ones or real life ones?" Lindsay asked.

"I already know all about your Ben Affleck and Matt Damon crushes," Sam replied. "Just like you know all about my David Beckham and Colin Farrell obsessions. I mean real life guys. Preferably ones that we both know."

"Do you have a guy crush that we both know?" Lindsay inquired. "Who is it? And don't say Danny unless you want to be wearing that chocolate milk."

"Marty Pino," Sam sheepishly admitted.

"What?!" Lindsay howled in laughter. "Marty Pino?! Are you serious?! I thought you hated the guy for being such a player! Or at least for pretending that he's a player! I thought you called him an arrogant, obnoxious, idiotic sonofabitch. And that you said you didn't know how his wife put up with him?"

"All an act," Sam giggled. "Well I mean, he is an arrogant, obnoxious SOB. I mean, Don can be one of those too and I love him to the ends of the earth. But Marty…he's totally hot. I just couldn't take the risk of letting my little secret out in the open. I'd never live that one down if Don knew about it. Or even Danny for that matter. He'd make me suffer. So? What about you? Who do you have a crush on?"

"Well…do you know who I think is totally hot?"

Sam shook her head.

"Hawkes," Lindsay told her.

"Hawkes…" Sam echoed, giving a nod of approval before they both sighed at the sheer thought.

"But if I tell you my crush, you'll laugh at me," Lindsay said.

"Why would I laugh at you?" Sam asked. "I'm not in the business of laughing at my best friend."

"Oh trust me, Sammie. You're going to laugh. Because it's probably the last person you're expecting."

"Well that rules Don out," she concluded. "He's usually the first person on women's lists. I have no idea why though," she said, tongue in cheek. "It's not like he's good looking or anything."

Lindsay arched an eyebrow.

"Okay so he is," Sam laughed. "So he's a complete hottie and I seriously lucked out. So what if he's exceptionally good looking and has the most incredible blue eyes and the most amazing…" she fanned herself with her hand. "I'll leave it there. Use your imagination."

"Oh trust me, I have a number of times since I've met Flack," Lindsay admitted. "And let me say, if reality is anything like my imagination, you're one lucky, lucky girl."

Sam smiled broadly. "Yes…yes I am," she giggled. "Quit stalling. Whose the crush? Don't hold me in suspense here."

Lindsay took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Promise me you won't laugh?" she asked.

Sam made the sign of the cross over her heart. "I promise," she replied.

"Okay…now keep in mind this is just an innocent crush just like your's on Pino and neither of us have any intention of ever letting them become anything more than that. And also keep in mind that this person is the last one you expect to hear from me."

"If you say Mac I'm going to piss myself," Sam said with a smirk.

"No…that's you remember? Marine Mac as you call him?"

Her best friend blushed furiously.

"You are so bad," Lindsay laughed.

"Quit holding out on me!" Sam scolded. "Come on! I told you!"

"Fine…fine…seeing as I know you'll never, ever let this go…it's Adam."

Sam's head snapped towards the other woman. Her eyes wide. "Excuse me?" she asked. "Adam? Adam who?"

"Adam."

"As in Adam Ross? As in Adam Ross my annoying, geeky yet adorable baby brother?"

Lindsay nodded.

Sam's lips twitched. "You're…you're kidding right?"

Lindsay shook her head.

Sam couldn't hold it in anymore. The laughter exploded out of her. Nearly sending her toppling over the side of the bed. "Adam?" she roared. "Oh my God! Please tell me you're kidding! Tell me you're not serious! Not Adam! Not my brother! Anyone but him!"

Lindsay frowned. "I thought you said you weren't going to laugh," she mumbled, sulkily crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry…" Sam wiped tears off of her cheeks. "Really…I'm sorry…I never…I just never expected to hear that in a million years."

"It's just an innocent crush," the other woman defended herself. "I don't know what the issue is."

"It's Adam!" Sam cried. "My little brother! I used to change his diapers when I was a kid! He pestered me and tormented me every day from his first birthday on. It's just…you never expect your best friend to tell you she has a crush on your brother."

"Well he's kind of cute," Lindsay said. 'He's a sweetheart and he's insanely intelligent and he's got that whole rambling, dorkiness to him that I find attractive."

"Oh my God…" Sam clasped a hand to her stomach and collapsed back against the pillows. "My tummy hurts now. My chest is burning. I'm going to need some time to recuperate."

Lindsay elbowed her in the side. "I knew you'd laugh about it!"

"I'm sorry! I can't help it! He's my brother! No one wants to hear that stuff about their brother! I mean, it's Adam. That's just…ewww."

You're such a bitch," Lindsay huffed.

"Yes…yes I am," Sam admitted. "But face it, Bumpkin. You wouldn't have me any other way."

"Oh I don't know about that," Lindsay said with a sigh, as she stretched out on the bed once again. "Sweet and bubbly would be a welcome change. Please tell me that you at least changed these sheets before I lied down on the bed. I mean, I know what you and Flack are like. And considering this morning you had on them Lucky Charms undies and bra, I can imagine this bed was put to good use."

"It was," Sam told her. "But don't worry. I changed the sheets before Donnie and I left the house. Had we left them on…" she gave a grimace and a dramatic shudder. "How goes things in the Twilight Zone?" she asked, reaching out to lay a hand on her friend's barely there baby bump.

The doctor had confirmed, a month nearly to the date, through an ultrasound a week after the home test came back positive, that Lindsay was just shy of two and a half months. Meaning she'd be just shy of nine months on her wedding day. DL, as Flack called them, were now immersed in a lengthy, time consuming process of cancelling those plans and going with something considerably smaller. A lot smaller.

"Well now that my barfing is somewhat under control, I have to say that things aren't half bad," Lindsay replied. "Except for the fact that all my pants are starting to get tight on me."

"Hey, you're pregnant. Which gives you all the reason in the world to be getting fat. At least you have an excuse for it. An incredible, magical, miraculous excuse at that. Me? All my pants are getting tight and I have no excuse. Well…" she glanced at that junk food spread out around them. "…I mean I do have an excuse. I just love food too much. Especially comfort food."

"Well at least you're not afraid to eat. You wouldn't want to a stick person would you? And I don't exactly see Flack complaining that you're not a size zero."

"Oh I'm a size zero," Sam laughed. "If you ignore the one that goes IN FRONT of that zero."

Lindsay shook her head. "You're way too hard on yourself. Your man adores you the way you are. He finds you beautiful and incredibly sexy. If he didn't, it would be a lot easier to pry you two out of the bedroom."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we're just incessantly horny and it wouldn't matter to either of us how ugly the other is? That it's just all about getting our rocks off?"

Lindsay stared pointedly at her.

"|Okay…so maybe that's not what it's all about. Maybe we do find each other outrageously sexy. I know I can take one look at him in a wife beater and go completely weak in the knees. And never mind what he looks like with his hair still damp and water glistening on his body after he steps out of the shower and he comes in the room with just a towel around his waist…" she sighed in contentment. "Is it getting hot in here or is it me?"

"It's you," Lindsay laughed. "Definitely you."

"You're lucky you know," Sam said quietly, her voice drastically changing as she removed her hand from Lindsay's stomach. She placed her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. "You and Danny…you've achieved the miracle of life. And that's just amazing. I'm really happy for you guys. Even if I do have a weird way of showing it."

"Sammie, I know you're happy for us. You don't have to express it in words. I just know. But…" Lindsay looked over at her, then frowned at the sight of tears sparkling in her best friend's eyes. "Sammie, sweetie, I know you're worried that it's never going to happen to you. Having a baby. But the doctor never said it was impossible. Just that it would be difficult. And it's not that you can't conceive. It's just that…"

"I might never be able to carry to term," Sam concluded. "I know how it is, Linds. It's my body, remember? I know how things work."

"You can get a surrogate. Your egg, Flack's sperm. A surrogate will carry a baby to term. And if you don't like that idea you can adopt. There's nothing wrong with either of those choices."

"I know…it's just that…he deserves to have his own children. He wants to have kids. Badly. And Donnie will be a great dad."

"He will. And he'll be a great dad to your kids. Regardless of how you have them. I mean, he's not going to leave you because you can't carry to term."

"Men have left women for a lot less," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah…asshole men that obviously never loved their women to begin with. Flack's not going anywhere. He told you that already, didn't he? About sticking around even if you couldn't have your own kids. Trust me, Sammie. He wasn't lying. Flack doesn't bullshit and you know that."

Sam nodded and wiped at her eyes. "God I hate being like this," she whispered. "Up one minute, down the next. I feel…insane."

"It's okay," Lindsay assured her, her voice tender and compassionate. "We'll get your moods under control. Flack, myself, Danny…well maybe not Danny because he just doesn't do well with stuff like this. But Flack and I will help you get a handle on this. We're not going to tell anyone. It's between the four of us. No one at work will know. You'll go in every day and get on with the job as if nothing happened tonight. Okay?"

She nodded again.

"Have you always been like this or…?"

"When I was seventeen my step father noticed I was 'troubled'," she made air quotes around the last word. "He noticed the extreme differences in my moods and the sudden bursts of rage I'd have. Adam…well he was too caught up in his own things to really care and my mom? She's always been oblivious when it comes to me. She's always been about Adam. She doesn't care if I'm alive or dead. She never has."

Lindsay reached out and pushed a piece of hair behind Sam's ear. "You know that's not true."

"So Sarge…he got me into a shrink. Who then proceeded to diagnose me with clinical depression and prescribed me all kinds of meds. I saw her on a regular basis until I went away to college."

"And then?"

"Then I went off the meds. I had a few really bad moments. Manic episodes I guess some would call them. I dealt with it on my own and started taking Saint John's Wort so I wouldn't have to go on prescription drugs. Once I felt that I was okay, I stopped the supplements too. I had just met Zack. He was insanely handsome and charming. Rugged. Sexy. The whole nine. I was on top of the world. I had this incredible guy who loved me and only me. I was finally happy. Zack…" she sighed heavily. "Zack wasn't always the way he is now. He was patient and loving. And once I screwed up and lost the baby and the doctors said I might not be able to ever carry to term, he changed. It's like something inside him snapped. I made him the way he is now."

Lindsay bolted up into a sitting position. "No!" she snapped angrily. "You didn't! You did nothing! It is not your fault that he's certifiably insane. It's horrible that you lost the baby, Sam. And it's even more horrible to think you may never have your own, but Jesus Christ girl! Things could be so much worse! It's not the end of the world and you did not deserve what he did to you!"

"If I'd just…"

"You are so not defending him to me!" Lindsay argued. "You are not lying in this bed, a bed you share with a man both of us know will one day be your husband, and defend that prick Zack! You didn't deserve what he did! And Flack doesn't deserve you defending Zack while in his bed!"

Sam blinked. Taken back by the rage in her best friend's voice. And hurt by the harsh word. Bravely holding back tears, she sat up and then climbed out of bed. "I think you and Danny should leave," she said calmly.

"Nope," Lindsay shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "We're not going anywhere. We promised Flack we'd watch over you and that's what we're going to do. You can get nasty all you want. It doesn't bother me in the slightest. I have dealt with my mother for years with her depression and her moods. I can deal with you. So bring it. I guarantee you'll break first."

"You're just so goddamn perfect!" Sam spat. "Lindsay Monroe the golden girl. The little angel of the lab. She never does anything wrong. Ever. She's never mean or bitchy or offhand. To anyone. She's perfect and everyone thinks so. Lindsay's the princess and Sam Ross is the wicked witch. The fucking basket case!"

Lindsay calmly helped herself to a cookie. Unfazed by her friend's behaviour. Or her words. Knowing that it wasn't the 'real' Sam talking. This was the despondent, dark, on edge Sam. The anxious, paranoid, terrified little girl. Not the confident, carefree and incredible young woman she was in her normal state of mind. The outbursts were to be expected. And Lindsay refused to bend. She was sticking in to the bitter end.

"Everybody just loves you!" Sam continued, pacing the bedroom. "Everybody! It doesn't matter how many times you've fucked up! How many times you've brought personal shit into the work place! I mean, you left evidence out for fuck sakes and never caught grief! I walk down the wrong side of the hall or wear the wrong colour underwear to work and people are on my ass!"

Lindsay pulled about her Oreo and used her tongue to scoop up the white icing. "Are you finished yet?" she asked.

Fuming, Sam picked up the plastic tumbler and tossed it across the room. Sending chocolate milk splattering against the back of the door and all over the hard wood floor before the cup clattered to the ground. "Get the fuck out of my apartment!" she screamed, then stomped off and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Lindsay shrugged at her friend's behaviour. "I'll still be here when you come out of there!" she yelled. Then glanced over at the bedroom door as it clicked open.

"Everything okay?" Danny asked, poking his head into the room. "I heard some yelling."

Lindsay smiled brightly. "Everything's good. Sam's in a mood. She locked herself in the bathroom."

Danny's eyes widened as he looked towards the room in question.

"Don't worry," his fiancee said cheerfully. "Flack confiscated all dangerous objects before he left. Both the medicine cabinet and under the sink are empty. So unless she's planning on using her own clothes to hang herself on the shower curtain rod, the only thing she's doing in there is either sitting on the toilet or in the tub, crying and licking her wounds. She's fine."

"How long do you think she'll be in there?" Danny asked as he stepped into the room.

Lindsay shrugged. "She could stay in there all night. Who knows? She does that and Flack can worry about getting her out of there."

Danny took a step towards the bathroom.

"Leave her alone!" Lindsay hissed. "Just leave her!"

"She can't be acting like this!" he argued. "Locking herself in the john, flipping out on you! You're pregnant for Christsakes and she's…"

"She's nothing!" she spat. "I've got it under control! Just…just get the hell out Danny!"

He held up his hands in self defence and retreated to the bedroom door. "Do me a favour?" he asked. "Call me in here if she gives you grief. I'll straighten crazy girl out right quick."

"Do me a favour!" Lindsay tossed a pillow at him. "Two favours! One, get out of here! Two, turn on your goddamn sensitivity chip! Seriously Danny! Just back off!"

"Fine…fine…" he mumbled. "Still don't know why we're doing this," he grumbled as he stepped out of the room.

"Because we love Sam and Flack. They're our friends! And friends put up with shit and hold each other up when they need it! And Sam needs it!"

Danny simply nodded and closed the door behind him.

"Men," Lindsay huffed and settled herself back against her pillows once more.

_Sam would do the same thing for me,_ she thought. _She'd walk through hell for me. Defend me to the death. Whether I appreciated it or not._

_That's just what friends do._

* * *

An hour after picking the older man up, Flack found himself sitting across his girlfriend's step father on a dimly lit side patio at a small, quiet Irish pub three blocks from his own parents' home. The first place they'd stopped at - a large, highly populated sports bar complete with booming music, big screen televisions that showed ESPN highlights and games themselves, walls of dart boards and a room solely dedicated to shooting pool- had been off limits. Not just because of the noisy atmosphere, but the fact Flack had been quick to notice his old man's car in the parking lot. And on that night, the old man was the last person he wanted to deal with.

O'Toole's was a dump. There was no other way to describe it. The wooden floors were horrifically scuffed -something that was expertly hidden underneath layers of saw dust, peanut shells and puddles of spilt beer- and bowed in the middle aisle of the bar. The green leather booths were stained and tattered and the wood tables scratched and rickety. There'd been no question in Flack's mind to take up the waitress' offer of 'trying out the patio'. He wasn't taking the risk of leading Sarge into a place that should be condemned, and having his future father in law think he was some bum for hanging out in an establishment like that.

They placed an order for a pitcher of beer and two glasses. Flack longed to get tanked. For a pitcher or two -or three- just to call his own. But not only was he driving, but he wanted to be able to walk back into his apartment sober. To deal with things with a somewhat clear head.

He reached for the pack of cigarettes and lighter he'd grabbed from the glove compartment in his SUV upon parking the car and had tossed on the table the moment they'd gone to sit down. Opening the pack, he offered it to the older man sitting across from him. Sarge simply shook his head and then watched, that seemingly permanent frown on his face, as Flack shook out a smoke, placed it between his lips to light it, and inhaled deeply.

"I didn't know you smoked," Sarge commented.

"Been smoking since I was fifteen. I quit five months ago. 'Cause Sammie asked me to. She said she was worried about my health and thought it was a good idea. First time I've ever actually done anything a woman wanted me to do."

"Get used to it," Sarge snorted. "There'll be more of those times as the relationship goes on. It's inevitable kid. Becoming a patsy to them is inevitable. You can fight it all you want, you can deny it to all of your friends. Simple fact of the matter is that once the love grabs a hold of you…" he shook his head. "You're hers. Plain and simple. You'll admit it to no one but yourself. But trust me, resistance is futile."

Flack smirked, then nodded his appreciation at the young waitress that sat the beer and the glasses on the table. "Just so you know," he said, watching as the older man filled the glasses with the beer -tinted with green food colouring- all the way to the brims. "I'm not really good with the whole girlfriend's father thing."

"That's alright," Sarge assured him and took a swig of his beer. "'Cause I'm not really good with the whole little girl's boyfriend thing either."

Flack nodded in understanding. "So what does that mean exactly?" he asked. "Are we good or…"

"We're as good as we can be considering the first time we met you were walking around in nearly just your bare ass just after you got naked and down and dirty with my daughter. You seem like an alright guy. Ladybug seems to be crazy about you. I owe it to her to give you a chance I figure. We've only been in each other's company a couple of times. Little too early to be calling ourselves buddies, kid."

"I just want to make sure that you're not going to break me in half if I so as much look at you the wrong way," Flack said.

"Let's base whether or not I whup your ass into the middle of next week on what you wanted to talk to me about. Now let's make one thing clear. I don't tolerate bullshit. I can smell it from a mile away. So don't even think about bullshitting me. You bullshit me and it's curtains for you. I want honesty. Nothing but. I respect you, you respect me and we won't have any problems. Deal?"

Flack nodded and sipped at his beer.

"And seeing as we're starting out with honesty, let me go first. I got a very interesting phone call today. From Zack."

Flack sighed heavily.

"I don't know how that sumbitch found out I was here in the city and I had no clue he was here working for the goddamn Feds or whatever it is he's doing. But he found me and he's damn lucky he's not pissing out a tube and shitting into a bag for the rest of his life. He told me that some guys caught up to him on the street. Beat the piss out of him. Spent two weeks nearly in the hospital. That true?"

Flack shrugged.

"What did I just tell you about bullshit, kid? I know that Zack paid you a visit. He told me. He also told me that you and Samantha showed up at the hospital to see him after it all went down. That he all but told her he knew that the two of you had something to do with it. Don't fuck with me, son. You'll lose."

Flack inhaled deeply on his smoke. "Zack showed up at my desk and talked a whole lot of shit about Sam. Spewed a lot of threats. Then he showed up at her place and tried to pull some shit with her. She put him in his place. I don't know who beat him up. It's just a sheer coincidence that it happened after all that went down. But if I did know who it was, trust me, I'd be thanking him. And buying HIM a beer."

Sarge stared long and hard at the younger man. Then, apparently satisfied with the explanation, gave a curt nod and gulped back some beer.

"My turn for some honesty?" Flack asked. "Before we get into this thing with Sammie, I have a question of my own."

"By all means," the older man said.

"How in the hell did Zack ever get away with beating on her and treating her like he did? How in the hell did you people just sit back and let that happen? You knew what he was doing to her and not one of you did anything about it. Why? Why'd you just sit back and let that all go down? Let your baby girl get treated like that?"

Sarge contemplated his answer. "First off, no one just sat back and let it happen. We took her in numerous times. She'd show up at our doorstep black and blue and we'd take her in a few days. We'd get her in to talk to therapists and counsellors at this abused women's place in town. Hell, I physically took her to a shelter once to hide her away from that little fucker. She was there for nearly a month. She didn't leave the front doors. Not to see us, not to work. Nothing. And just when we thought she'd got that asshole out of her system, that she'd finally do better with her life, you know what she did?"

Flack shook his head.

"She went back to him. Right back to him. Each and every time we got her away, she went right back. You can't help someone that won't help themselves. And we tried. Goddamnit we tried. You can only beg and plead so much, you know? What was I supposed to do? Chain her up in the basement? You don't know what it was like going through that with her. So don't sit here, Mr Big City cop, and act like you know the whole deal. You know shit."

"I know I wouldn't have sat back and let some asshole commit my daughter. I know that I wouldn't have let her go back to him. And I know I would have felt like complete and utter shit if the cops had have called me one night and told me she was dead."

"Don't pull that kind of shit with me. Don't dump guilt on me because you're having relationship issues with her and don't know how to deal with it. She got away from him and that's the most important part. She got away finally and what happens? He finds her. Not only finds her but weasels his way back into her life."

Flack shook his head. "He hasn't weaseled his way into shit. He's not going to come near her again. He even so as much breathes her name and ten years from now, someone out fishing on the East River will land one of the many parts the asshole will be cut up into. I may not have known who kicked the shit out of Zack, but I know tons of people who would end him in a heartbeat. I know more than you think. I've seen girls dead in dumpsters beaten black and blue. 'Cause they couldn't get away. 'Cause their families didn't try hard enough to help them. I've seen a lot, Clint. So don't sit here and treat me like some snot nosed punk ass kid that hasn't."

Silence fell on the table. Flack finished his cigarette and butted it out and dropped it into the ashtray in the middle of the table.

"Look, I'm not here to play who has the biggest balls," he said. "I'm here for one thing and one thing only. Samantha. She's the only thing that matters to me. Her and getting her the help that she needs. Now I already swallowed my pride by coming to you. I admitted I don't know how to deal with her and I asked you for help. Ask me, it takes a man to admit he can't deal with something. And you know what? I don't tolerate bullshit either, Clint. Never have, never will. I'm not fucking around here. Your daughter? She's my everything. And I want her to get better. Now show me that you love her and respect her and you want the same thing. If not, say the word and I'll leave. You don't care enough to help me out, that's fine. Just don't bother coming around her and handing out this load of shit to her that I wasn't willing to let you help."

Sarge's eyes narrowed. "You got a lot of guts, kid. Talking to me like that."

"Yeah? Well you didn't have to grow up with my old man. I learned a long time ago to take shit from no one. So what's it going to be? You going to just sit back with your head up your ass and ignore this? Or are you going to cut me and your daughter some slack?"

The older man sighed heavily and leaning forward in his chair, ran the palms of his hands against the sides of his glass.

Flack took another smoke from the pack and lit it. Then waited patiently for some kind of reaction from across the table.

"This is going to take more than just one pitcher of beer," Sarge finally said. "And more than a couple of hours."

"For Sam I got a lot of hours," Flack told him.

_Hell,_ he thought. _For her, I have an entire lifetime._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! I just hope that you are all enjoying this! Keep reading, and I'll keep churning out the chapters. So please R and R! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Laplandgurl**

**muchmadness**

**wolfeylady**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**xsamiliciousx**

**New-york-babeee**


	55. Changing of the guard

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. BUT I WISH I OWNED ANGELL'S CLOTHES, LOOKS, BODY AND HER ABILITY TO HANDCUFF AN EXCEPTIONALLY HOT AND SEXY, GROWN MAN TO A BED POST. TRUST ME FOLKS, YOU WILL SOON SEE WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT.**

**A/N: HUGE THANKS TO HOPE4SALL, MUCHMADNESS AND AFROZENHEART412 FOR ALL OF THEIR SUPPORT AS OF LATE. I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!**

**As you'll recall, I touched briefly in a chapter a long, long while back where Sam talked about losing a baby and not knowing if she could ever carry to term. So...yeah....I follow up a bit on that. So heads up those who don't remember it!**

* * *

**Changing of the guard**

"Maybe I was stupid  
For telling you goodbye  
Maybe I was wrong  
For tryin' to pick a fight  
I know that I've got issues  
But you're pretty messed up too  
Either way I found out I'm nothing without you  
'Cuz we belong together now,  
Forever united here somehow,  
You got a piece of me  
And honestly  
My life (my life) would suck (would suck) without you  
Being with you is so dysfunctional  
I really shouldn't miss you,  
But I can't let you go,  
Oh yeah  
'Cuz we belong together now,  
Forever united here somehow,  
You got a piece of me  
And honestly  
My life (my life) would suck (would suck) without you."  
-My Life Would Suck Without You, Kelly Clarkson

* * *

Flack cast a weary glance at the illuminated digital numbers of the dashboard clock. Quarter to one, he thought, sighing heavily and raking his fingers through his hair. He hadn't expected to be gone that long. An hour and a half, two tops. But the more beers that Sarge had drank, the looser his lips had became. He'd spilled ever emotionally powerful secret and relived every possible harrowing tale of his struggle to secure his step daughter the help that she had so desperately needed at seventeen years of age.

Flack had simply sat and listened. Nodding or shaking his head at appropriate moments, offering up brief answers if the need arose. He had managed to somehow keep his face devoid of any emotion despite the fact that his heart was breaking for both Sam, and her step dad. It had been a tremendous struggle for the burly, frightening and often overbearing ex Air Force Sargent to deal with. His voice and his eyes had betrayed the pain he still felt all those years later. He had told gut wrenching tales of coping with a teenager with a myriad of issues. Excessive underage drinking, manic impulses, the pulling out of hair and the eating binges that went on for hours. Even longer periods of hysterical inconsolable crying and panic attacks so powerful that trips to the hospital had been in order. He had talked about having to physically restrain an out of control seventeen year old girl so she wouldn't hurt anyone around her. Or herself. He spoke of discoveries of self mutilation and rambling notes found under her mattress that had expressed hatred for everyone around her. Disgust that she felt for herself. And the overwhelming desire to make the pain go away.

Sarge had known -as did Flack, who'd seen his own sister go through some tough moments during her own teenage years- that the words were just that. Words. There'd been no suicide attempts. The notes had been nothing more than someone so desperately reaching out for help. In the end, that help had come through a three day stay in the hospital and an intervention by a psychiatrist and the introduction of medication. Within six weeks, things had begun to change. Sam's moods stabilized and she was smiling and laughing again.

Sarge wasn't entirely sure where things had gone wrong after that. He had surmised it had been when Samantha had gone away to university and she'd had no one around to properly keep an eye on her and her issues. She was thousands of miles away and the letters she'd sent and phone calls she'd made had given the impression that she was doing great. She was popular and had tons of friends. Her grades, while not at the top of the class, were far better than anyone had expected. Five years had come and gone without a hint of real trouble. She had gone back to Arizona on every major holiday and never gave the impression that she was struggling.

And then, following her graduation from the Phoenix PD academy and her success at the CSI exam, she met Zack.

Zack had been a knight in shining armour. He was handsome, charming and completely devoted to her. He'd sucked not only Sam in quickly and effortlessly, but the whole family as well. He had become a permanent fixture at their home. He had showered her with affection and gifts. He had taken her side during nasty arguments with her mother. He had stuck up for her. And in the end, 'rescued' her by convincing her to move in with him. Essentially giving her the opportunity to escape the wretched woman who'd done little more than give birth to her.

For two years the relationship had flourished. They were immensely happy and in love with each other. They had become engaged and began planning a wedding. Things seemed…perfect.

And then it all changed in the blink of an eye. Sam had lost the baby and Zack had lost his mind.

New York City had been her escape. Her chance to make a break and create a new life for herself. It had been Sarge that had helped her. Who had given her a hand, while Zack was out of town, to pack all of her things. Most of which, aside from clothes and personal effects that she cherished, remained in storage in her parents basement. He had gone to the bank with her and didn't bat an eyelash when she withdrew every last cent from the joint account. Then he'd had all of her things shipped to Adam's New York City apartment , given her enough cash to get by for at least two months, and then put her on a plane three days later. It had been a sheer coincidence that the New York City Crime Lab had began searching for help at the same time.

Zack had gone 'raving, bat shit insane' as Sarge so eloquently put it, when he'd gotten back from his vacation and he'd discovered that she'd not only cleaned the house out, but their bank account as well. For three straight weeks he'd done nothing but harass Sam's parents and slander her to the entire department. He'd also quickly gotten himself a new girlfriend. A close friend of Sam's from the Phoenix lab. But as that relationship progressed Zack's dirty secrets began to become public knowledge. Emails had begun to circulate, even among the brass, of Zack's 'extracurricular activities'. Including his practice of letting women he pulled over for various traffic violations off if they preformed sexual favours.

Sarge had never told anyone, not even Samantha of even his own wife, that he and Adam had been the culprits behind the campaign of hate. But the alcohol he'd consumed had started to kick in and the big man readily admitted his secret to Flack. And then remained adamant that he'd do it all again.

The emails and a lengthy suspension had calmed Zack down considerably. He'd began to get on with his life with his new girl and had seemingly let both Samantha and their tumultuous past, go.

Until the girlfriend dumped him because of his cheating, abusive ways and his obsession with his ex fiancee. Being scorned had sent Zack to New York. With a totally messed up agenda and warped belief that Samantha was his and only his. And that she just needed some poking and prodding to realize it too.

After that, a lull had taken place in conversation. Flack -who'd by then cut himself off of alcohol and settled for a pitcher of Coke instead- had sat at the table quietly, leaning back in the cracked, rickety plastic chair he'd parked his ass in hours before, his eyes closed and his hands behind his head as he attempted to sort out everything Sam's step father had told him. While Sarge sniffled noisily and refilled his beer.

"You know," Sarge had said after what had seemed like an eternity. "I blame everything…the way she is…on her bastard birth father. If he'd just kept his goddamn hands and his dick to himself."

Flack's eyes had snapped open at that bombshell. It was the first time he'd heard of any accusations of molestation. He was shocked and disgusted. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of his girlfriend…

He hadn't been able to think about it. He couldn't even think about it now as he drove home. Because when he entertained those types of thoughts, the rage threatened to consume him. And he didn't want Sam seeing him like that, or knowing that her step father had betrayed her. It was logical that Sarge had thought he'd known. That Sam had told him considering they'd known each other for a year and a half, involved for nearly six months and living together. And while he was slightly angry at her for not telling him, Flack understood at the same time. It was no doubt painful for her to talk about and relive. She was probably afraid of his reaction. And maybe even worried that he'd be disgusted with her and not want to be with her. Irrational thoughts, of course. But he couldn't deny her them.

His job now was to wait until she was ready to tell him herself. And to help her find her way out from underneath the heavy, dark cloud threatening to suffocate her.

His first step, once a more respectful time of the day hit, would be to find Doctor Sheldon Hawkes. He knew he could trust Hawkes explicitly. And that the ME turned CSI had connections within the medical community. Flack's main concern was keeping Sam, and her issues, off of NYPD radar. With getting her help on the outside and not having her under blinding scrutiny with the brass. The less people who knew, the better. She was no danger to herself or other. And was coping with the job just fine. Until that changed, Flack was determined to keep everything on the down low.

Sarge had snagged a pen from the waitress and proceeded to scribble down the names of the various medications Sam had once taken, on a napkin off of their table. That napkin, now folded and in Flack's back pocket, would come in handy. He'd run the types of meds by Hawkes, get the low down on them. And maybe even see if Hawkes, as a license physician, could do him a favour and write a couple of 'scripts.

For now, as he pulled into his building's dimly lit back lot and killed the ignition, all he wanted to do was upstairs and go to bed. Seven in the morning would come quickly, and he wanted to spend some time curled up to the angelic, sleeping figured in his bed. He wanted to listen to each soft breath she took. Feel her heart beat against him. Smell her hair.

Because during those quiet, peaceful moments in the still of their bedroom, as she was immersed in sleep, everything was perfect.

* * *

Danny's eyes snapped open at the sound of keys jingling noisily in the lock of Flack's apartment door. The florescent light above the kitchen sink was on, filtering out into the front hallway, giving Flack just enough illumination to let himself safely into the apartment. The lamp on the end table next to the coach was flicked on at its lowest setting and the volume on the television had been turned down to a near whisper. Danny had been relying on closed captioning in order to keep himself both awake, and somewhat amused, with an old episode of Law and Order while Lindsay, her legs tucked underneath her, slept soundly with her head on his chest. Her light snoring filling the room.

He heard the slight squeak of the front door opening and then closing again. The rustling of clothing as Flack removed his coat and toed off his shoes, followed by the sliding noise of the hall closet being opened and the rattle of a hanger. He heard Flack yawn noisily, then shut the closet door and journey into the kitchen. Keys were deposited in a dish on the top of the microwave. The fridge was opened and then shut. There was a soft clicking noise as a cap was twisted off of a bottle of water, and then the beeping of buttons as messages were checked on the cordless phone.

Danny tossed the remote control onto the cluttered coffee table and slowly slid his body away from Lindsay's. Gently holding her head in his hands as he slipped out from underneath her and then laid her down on the couch. Covering her to the chin with the wool blanket laid across the back of the sofa, he yawned noisily and stretched until his back cracked. Then journeyed into the kitchen. Where his best friend, weary and unshaven, leaned against the counter next to the sink and sipped at a bottle of water.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd run away from home," Danny commented.

"Time got away from me," Flack said apologetically.

"Everything go okay?" Danny asked, leaning against the counter beside his best friend.

"Best that can be expected," the detective replied, and yawned noisily.

He sipped his water. That was all he was prepared to say. He wasn't about to go into detail about his conversation with Sarge, or the startling things that he had found it. Danny was his best friend and would have the guy's back come hell or high water in a heartbeat. But his true loyalties lied with Samantha. And there was no way he was going to talk about her, or her issues, behind her back.

"Sam's step dad give you the low down?" Danny inquired. "You two buddy up for the sake of the greater good?"

"We talked," Flack said. "And honestly Dan-o, that's all you really need to know."

The other man nodded slowly. "You know…" he scratched at the back of his head. "You really should have called if you were going to be this late. I mean, we all got to work tomorrow. It's late."

Flack smirked. "Gee, Dad. I didn't realize I need to check in. Or that I still had a curfew."

"Look, I know that you're going through some shit here, Don. That you want to help Sam. We all want to help Sam. But Linds and I did you the favour by coming over here and agreeing to baby sit."

"Baby sit?" Flack arched an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? You seriously consider watching out for a friend babysitting? Well here…" reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and snapped it open. "So what's the going rate for sitters these days? Eight, nine, ten bucks an hour? I'll pay you for the three and half hours that you worked your ass of for. I'm sure Sam was just a complete terror to put up with."

"I never meant it like that," Danny assured him, his hands held up in defence. "I just meant that…"

"Here…" Flack yanked two twenties out of his wallet, folded them and stuffed them into the side pocket of Danny's jeans. "Forty should cover the hell you were put through."

"I don't want your goddamn money!" Danny spoke in a harsh whisper as he pulled the cash back out and tossed it onto the counter. "You're taking things way out of context. I didn't mean anything by it. You're on edge and jumping down my throat 'cause of it. Take a fucking pill. Relax. All I was trying to get at is that it would have been nice if you'd called to let us know you were going to be this late."

"Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you call and say, 'Yo Flack…you around? Is it okay to take off 'cause it's getting late here?'. I would have come home and you know it. So don't make me out to be the inconsiderate bastard. You know how to use a phone."

"I didn't think you'd be gone that long," Danny reasoned. "And I knew that going to Sam's dad was a huge deal and I didn't want to mess that up. And I'm just thinking about the time 'cause Linds being pregnant and all of that, she needs…"

"She needs what?" Flack asked. "She's not the first woman in the fucking world to ever be pregnant. Billions of women have babies, Danny. Don't walk around like she's the Queen of the Fucking Universe 'cause she is. No difference between what she needs and what other pregnant women need. Christ, something happens to Monroe and the whole world has to come to a standstill. We all have to get on our knees and bow. Give it a goddamn rest with that shit."

"Don't be going talking shit about Lindsay 'cause…"

"I'm not talking shit about your precious Lindsay. I'm talking shit about YOU. About the way you are. About the way I've bent over backwards over the years to help you out but the second I ask you for something, you act like a whiny little bitch. You didn't want to stay and look after Sammie, you could have just said that Danny. I would have understood. And I would have respected you more if you were upfront about it. But this? Yapping about it when I get in? It's pissing me off."

"Don't be like that, Flack. Don't be picking fights 'cause you're in a shit ass mood. I know you're dealing with some heavy crap here. And I'm here for you. You know that. But just like you've got that overwhelming obsession to take care of Sam, I've got the same thing with Lindsay. We love them and we want to protect them, right? And that's what we're doing."

"You're right," Flack said with a nod, and finishing off his water, recapped it and tossed it into the recycling bin across the room. "We are taking care of them. We've gotten to the point where we've finally grown up and realized we don't come first. We've got people in our lives that depend on us. And from now on, I'll take care of Sam on my own. I won't ask you for any more favours."

"Don…" Danny sighed exasperatedly and watched as his friend headed for the doorway. "This is just ridiculous. Fighting over something like this."

"We're not fighting. Do I look upset? Do I sound upset? We're having a disagreement. I'm not liking what you're saying and you're not liking what I'm saying. Nothing wrong with that. Friends fight, Danny. And then the next day they both realize they overreacted and apologize for it. In the worst cases, they're pissed and sore at each other for a little while and then they both realize they need to grow up and get their shit together. Right now, I just want to go to bed. I'm tired. You and Lindsay can crash on the couch or see yourselves out. Either or. Your choice."

"So are you and I good or…"

"What did I just say? Am I freaking out? Am I kicking your ass on out of here? I'm exhausted, alright? Emotionally and physically. I appreciate you guys coming over and looking after Sammie while I tended to things. I'm sorry I didn't call to say I was going to be late. But right now, Danny, you're seriously irritating the shit out of me and it's best I just walk away. Or we're both going to say shit we regret and then we went be good."

"I just…"

"What are you? A girl?" Flack chuckled. "Do we need to kiss and makeup or something? I'm going to bed. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable or feel free to get your asses out. You know where the extra blankets and pillows are. Just leave me the hell alone until the morning."

Danny smirked. "You got a way with the hospitality Flack," he called, as his best friend headed out of the kitchen.

"Just damn well make sure there's coffee in the morning," the detective said, as he poked his head back into the room. "And if there's no milk when Sam wants her tea? I warn you now, there will be hell to pay."

"So in other words I better haul ass to the bodega on the corner," Danny concluded. "Gotcha. And just so you know, Sam's fallen asleep. In the bathroom."

Flack frowned. "In the bathroom?"

"She had a moment earlier tonight and she hid out in the john. I guess her intention was to stay in there until you got home. I checked on her two hours ago and she was curled up in the middle of the floor. I didn't have the heart to wake her, or the balls to deal with her if she freaked out on me for touching her. So I just grabbed the comforter off the bed and covered her up. I figured you could deal with her."

"Good call," Flack praised. "Alright…I'll handle it. 'Night."

"'Night," Danny echoed. "And hey…I ain't making breakfast so you can forget about it!"

"Damn…" the other man laughed as he headed through the living room. "Just when I was looking forward to one of Messer's famous omelets. I keep forgetting you only make those for girls you…"

"Shut up and keep walking, Flack…" Danny mumbled.

* * *

_Wonderful, _Flack thought, issuing a long, heavy sigh as he stood in the doorway to the en-suite bathroom, palms on the door frame on either side of him as he stared down at his girlfriend, curled into a tight fetal position in the middle of the floor. Fast asleep with the comforter pulled up to her chin and tucked tightly and securely around her.

He'd left the bathroom light turned off, relying on the glow cast by the bedside lamp to manoeuvre around the bedroom. He'd already changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and tossed the dirty laundry into the basket in the closet. Thankful that the room was relatively tidy. Save for two empty glasses on the night stand along with a couple of bowls and spoons with melted ice cream taking up residence inside of them, the place was immaculate considering what he'd been expecting to come home to.

_But what the hell are those light brown spots on the back of the door? And why is the floor so damn sticky?_

He would worry about all of that in the morning. When it came time to drag his ass out of bed and haul himself into work, then and only then would he take the dirty dishes out to the kitchen and rinse them and set them in the sink for further cleaning. The floor he'd manage to get to some time after work. For now, his main desire was to finish getting ready to bed and calling it a night.

And getting his girlfriend off the bathroom floor.

Stepping over her, Flack went to the sink and turned on the water. Shaking his head and smirking at the sight of the various women's beauty products taking up the majority of the room on the shelves mounted over the toilet and that lined nearly every possibly area of the sink ledge. Moisturizing washes, night cream, day cream, exfoliating scrub, Pro Active solution to correct an acne problem she didn't even have. Pink, rose scented soap and a little jar of purple bath beads that smelled like lavender. It was like living in The Body Shop for Christ sakes.

Or at least the beauty department in Macy's with the outrageous amount of make up that inhabited three plastic bins under the sink and four accessories bags that sat on the shelves. Make up she didn't even need, nor did he like her in. He preferred the fresh faced Sam. The 'Noxema Girl Commercial Sam', as Adam had dubbed her make up free look. She complained it made her look like she was thirteen years old. And showed off her freckles. She despised the spots that littered the bridge of her nose and took up residence on her shoulders and did her best to always cover them up despite Flack insisting she was much more beautiful without 'all that shit' all over her face.

_One day, she's going to come home from work and all this crap is going to be gone, _he thought, and turning off the hot water, towelled dried his face and then set to brushing his teeth. All by the trickles of light managed its way into the bathroom. _And then I'm going to take away her credit cards so she can't buy any more. _

Setting his toothbrush back in the holder, he turned off the tap and turned and stared down at the sleeping bundle at his feet. It wasn't the first time that she'd fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. Although those moments had come after nights on the town and were more passing out then falling asleep. And while Danny had been right -she did look peaceful and it did suck to have to disturb her- there was also no possibly way he could just leave her there.

At least not if he valued his balls on the outside of his body.

"Why you do you always have to make things so difficult for me?" he asked out loud, then crouched down and gently rolled her over onto her back. Peeling the comforter away from her body, he slipped one arm under her shoulders and slid the other at the back of both of her knees. Scooping her up effortlessly into his arms, he stood up and carried her out into the bedroom.

She stirred in his arms. Giving a long content sigh before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Donnie?" she mumbled, nestling her head into his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

"What, babe?" he asked, slowly and delicately lowering her onto her designated side of the bed. Early on in their relationship, he'd learned hard and fast that she liked to sleep by the window. Had to, in fact. An open one regardless of how goddamn cold it was outside. She preferred to snuggle under mounds of covers and use body heat to keep warm because she said she found it easier to breathe, and that she slept better if it was cold. And if she was on the side of the bed near the door, she'd toss and turn all night and pester him until he reluctantly submitted to switching places.

Years of sleeping alone had spoiled him. And getting used to having someone next to him and hogging all of the covers and pillows and talking incessantly in their sleep had taken a considerable amount of getting used to. Especially when his preferred sleeping area was also by the window. But now…

Despite her stealing the covers and yapping his ear off all night, he now found he couldn't sleep alone. Nor did he want to.

"Donnie?" she asked again, rolling over onto her side, eyes closed as she reached for him.

"What?" he repeated, sitting down on the edge of the bed and setting the alarm on the bedside clock.

"What time is it?" she inquired curiously.

"Almost two," he told her, groaning inwardly as he programmed seven am into the clock radio and flicked the switch to enable the alarm.

"In the afternoon?" came the childish reply.

He couldn't hold back the laugh as he stood up once more and headed to fetch the comforter from the bathroom. "Yeah…in the afternoon."

"I'm late for work," she declared, and bolted up right into a sitting position. Eyes still closed.

"Just lie back down, sleeping beauty," he said as he returned from the bathroom, heavy blanket in hand. Taking her by the shoulders, he pushed her down onto her back and tucked the comforter securely around her. "You're not late for anything. It's two in the morning. Just be quiet and go back to sleep. It's late. And I know how you can't function if you don't get your eight hours."

"Eight hours…" she muttered, then gave a dreamy smile and rolled over onto her side, presenting him with her back. "Must be nice…"

"Must be," he agreed, and flicking off the bedside lamp, lifted the comforter and climbed into bed beside her.

"Did everything go okay?" she asked, her voice muffled by her pillow.

"Hmm?" he responded. "I didn't catch that."

"I said, Did everything go okay?" she repeated.

"Are you actually awake or are you having one of your marathon conversations while dead to the world?" he asked.

She lifted her head from the pillow and glanced over her shoulder. "I'm awake, smart ass."

"Well how should I know?" he said with a chuckle. "Half the time we have our best talks when you're half out of it," he settled himself on his left side and wrapping an arm around her, drew her back against his chest. "Everything went fine," he assured her, and buried his face in her hair. Relaxing as the intoxicating, familiar scent of her vanilla honey shampoo permeated his senses. His hand sought out hers, and entwining their fingers together, he rested their hands against her stomach and pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

"Did you get everything finished up?" she asked.

"Things didn't go exactly according to plan," he replied. "There's been a slight change in plans and it's taken an entirely different path."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's not either," he said. "It's just…different. Nothing I can't handle. I'll just go back to the drawing board and figure things out from there. Tackle things with a clear head. Best way to do it."

She nodded in agreement and yawned noisily.

"What about you?" he asked, adjusting his position and bringing his free hand up to stroke her hair. "You okay?"

Sam shrugged.

"You want to talk about?"

"It's really late," she said. "You need sleep."

"Not like it would be the first time I'd wander into work on little or no sleep," Flack reminded her. "If you want to talk about it, that's okay with me. You want to tell me how you're feeling? What made you loose it on Lindsay and hide out in the bathroom?"

"Miss Perfect," she snorted. "No. I don't want to talk about her."

"Okay…then let's talk about how you're feeling," he suggested.

"I'm feeling…tired."

"Well I know that. But I mean…how are you feeling? Like mood wise? Are you sad or depressed or frustrated or pissed off or…"

"I'm pissed off that you're insisting we talk about this at two in the morning," she told him.

"Consider it payback for all those times you've woke me up at wee hours of the morning to talk about something," he said, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

She sighed heavily. "I'm feeling…exhausted. Mentally exhausted. And I'm feeling happy that you're home and I have your arms around me. Because that's the only time I feel safe and secure. The only time I feel protected."

"No one's going to hurt you, babe," he promised. "I've told you that a million times."

"I mean protected from myself," she said.

"Come on…don't talk like that. We both know you'd never do anything to hurt yourself. You're just…in a mood. Once these things get settled down, you'll start to feel better. Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to make sure you get what you need, okay? No one is going to know about this. It's not going to go further than me and you and Danny and Lindsay. No one at work will find out. Especially not Mac. But you have to promise me that the second you feel that it's affecting how you do the job, you'll step back for a while. Can you promise me that?"

She nodded.

"Let me hear you promise me that," he gently ordered.

"I promise you," she said.

"The job is not worth your health, Sammie. And your health, whether it's physical or mental, is what I'm concerned with. So if you ever need a break, then we'll go and talk to Mac and tell him what's going on. Okay?"

"Okay…" she agreed, and yawned once more. She snuggled closer into him. Her head tucked under his chin and her hand grasping his tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"For making your life such a living hell," she replied. "For being whiny and argumentative and…and just plain crazy. For being such a baby about things."

He frowned. "Don't ever think that I think that way about you," he scolded her. "You're going through some stuff, Sam. Adults are just taller kids, anyway. We still whine and bicker and fight. We still say mean shit and sometimes slap each other out. But we also love each other and support each other no matter what. So don't ever think that I'm going to think less of you or pick sides. And if I had to…trust me, I'd have your back no questions asked. Whether you're in the right or not. So just…just don't talk like that, alright?"

"It's just seems like I've really messed things up," she said. "Like I've really screwed up your life."

"Sammie…trust me. You haven't messed things up or screwed up my life. You gave me a life. Someone to love and come home to. Someone that relies on me and trusts in me. Someone that loves me regardless of the monumental fuck ups I make. Someone that I know is going to stick up for me and have my back just as much as I'd have theirs. So we're going through some shit. Couples go through shit. Some more than others. It's how you get through it that matters. We're only going to come out of this stronger then we ever thought we could be."

"Or come out of it despising each other," she mused.

"Never going to happen," Flack told her. "We've already dealt with some heavy duty shit and came out on top. So this? This is nothing. We're going to be just fine."

She sighed heavily. "I hope so…"

"I know so," he said confidently. Kissing the top of her head, he closed his eyes and relaxed in the warmth of her body.

"I don't want to have a baby," she announced suddenly.

"No one said that…"

"I know we talked about it a few times," she continued. "About how if it happens, it happens. But I'm not ready for that Donnie. I couldn't give a baby what it needs."

"All it needs is love, babe."

"But I can't…I'm just not ready. I need to get my own shit in order before bringing a baby into this world. There's just too much going on…in my head…for me to be able to properly take care of a baby. And I know that you thought it was a good idea to try and get pregnant but I…"

He propped himself on his elbow, and leaning over her, silenced her with a kiss. "That's fine," he assured her.

"Are you sure?" she asked, as he settled back down. "I know that you want to be a father and that you'd be a great father and that we were going to try regardless of whether it was successful or not."

"I've got lots of time to be a father," he told her. "Lots of years ahead of me. When you're ready, let me know. Until then, I'll sit back and wait. And you're right. We need to get all of this other stuff in order before thinking about bringing a kid into our lives."

"And if I can't have kids?" she asked, almost fearfully.

"We talked about this, Sammie. We can't do it the normal way, we adopt. No biggie."

"I can understand if you'd want to find someone that can give you a family the normal way. If you want to have your own children and not…"

"Sammie…listen to me. I want children with you. Biological, adoptive, I don't care. I just want to raise them with you. Doesn't matter how they get here. Just as long as they do. You honestly think I'm that selfish and shallow that I'd walk away from you 'cause you've got some medical condition that could possibly prevent you from carrying a baby? I know I can be a prick, but I mean, come on. I'm not THAT bad."

"I never said you were," she said defensively. "I just was giving you the chance to…"

"To what? Walk away? Hook up with someone that can give me 'real' kids as you call it? Not gonna happen. Ever. We will deal with whatever shit is tossed our way. Sure, it's going to hurt like hell if some doctor comes and tells me we can't have our own baby, but there's tons of kids in this world that need good homes. And we could give them a good home. I've told you I'm not going anywhere. I can't keep reassuring you, babe. You just need to believe me. And if a man does leave a woman for something like that? Well he's a fucking tool and not much of a man. And he obviously never loved you in the first place."

"He never did love me," she whispered, as she released her hold on his hand and rolled over to face him.

"Are we talking about Zack here?" Flack asked, curling his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. His chin resting on the top of her head.

She nodded. "He never loved me. Regardless of what he says. Because if you love someone you don't treat them like that. You don't beat on them and treat them like a piece of shit. You don't tell them they're worthless and that you're lucky to have them because no one else would ever want you. If you love someone you don't…" she sighed. "You just don't do the things he did."

"No…" Flack agreed. "You don't."

"And I didn't deserve what he did to me. I realize that now. I realize that I try to rationalize everything people do. I try to explain things that have no explanation. I make excuses for people. And all this time I've been blaming myself and making excuses for him. And he doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve me torturing myself over something I didn't deserve."

"Sammie…why…?"

"I need to say all of that out loud," she said. "I need to say it because saying it and hearing it makes it true. Because it makes me feel…cleansed. Because it means I can close that chapter of my life and devote myself completely to the next one. To you. And I…"

He pulled back from her and silenced her with a long, tender kiss. "I love you, Samantha. You know that. And if you're ready for that…well so am I."

She smiled and kissed him. "I love you, too," she whispered against his lips. "You know what I'm ready for right now?" she asked.

He chuckled.

"Mind out of the gutter!" she scolded. "I was going to say I was ready to get some sleep. If you'd shut up long enough to let that happen."

"Me?" he laughed. "You're the damn chatty one. You're the one that…"

It was her turn to use her lips to cut off all words. And completely take his breath away. "Good night, Donald," she said, and turned her back towards him once more.

"Good night, Samantha," he whispered in return, and reaching out, found her hand and held it tightly once again.

Within moments they were both fast asleep. Weary troubles put to rest.

At least for the next few hours.

* * *

The bullpen was a scene of chaos at nine thirty in the morning. Phones were ringing off the hook. Uniform and plain clothes officers were arguing and wrestling with handcuffed perps in their possession. Detectives, cell phones pressed to their ears, paced in front of or behind their desks, agitation evident on their faces, anger and vehemence dripping from their tongues as they found themselves engrossed in less then pleasing conversations.

She strode through the busy area confidently. Her thick, silky brown hair tumbling down her back and glistening in the rays cast by the overhead lights. The heels of her black leather boots clicked noisily on the tiles. She ignored the curious stares and the once overs she received as she made her way past men she had once worked right along side of, and who know openly ogled her in her form fitting skinny jeans and her burgundy scooped neck top that clung to each curve and her stylish, navel grazing black leather jacket. She'd also been the darling of the squad room, whether she liked that idea or not. The men had been besotted by her beauty yet terrified of her take no shit demeanour. She hadn't given most of them the time of day when she worked there, and she wasn't about to start now. Her life was heading into a completely different direction. With a man that was not just insanely attracted to and in love with her, but respected her as well.

Without hesitation she headed directly for her destination. Second last desk, left hand side. Where Flack, suit jacket on the back of his chair, his tie already loosened and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, was intently focused on paper work in front of him. His elbow on the desk top and his right hand burrowed in his hair as his left hand, tightly grasping a pen, flew over the forms in front of him.

At for a brief moment, as she stood at the side of his desk watching him, her heart pounded in her chest and her stomach fluttered. There were times when the sheer mention of his name or the memory of their time together both brought a smile to her face and angered her all at the same time. A small part of her still cared deeply for him. It had months ago ceased to be love. And yet another part of her hated him with a passion for what he had done to her. For the selfish, moronic way he'd handled their break up. And the reasoning behind his decision to let her go in the first place.

She steeled herself against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Sitting her purse down in the chair beside his desk, she perched herself on the edge of his work surface.

At the sight of those leather boots and the long, shapely legs clad in those tight jeans, he looked up. His eyes travelling a slow, direct path from her feet all the way to her face.

"Hey," he greeted simply, a smile slowly appearing on his face.

"You called," she said, her voice void of emotion as she stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and prayed he couldn't see her trembling.

"It's good to see you, Jessie," he told her.

"You said you wanted to talk," she told him coolly. "So let's talk." _It's not going to affect you,_ she firmly told herself. _That pet name and those eyes and the memories of those lips on your own and his hands travelling your body...none of that is going to come into play here. You're here for a reason. And falling for him all over again is NOT it._

He nodded. "What do you say we get outta here?" he asked.

She felt her resolve begin to crumble as she stared into those amazing blue eyes. Her mind awash with memories of the good times they'd spent together. The intense nights and the lazy mornings. The unbridled passion one instant and the breathtaking tenderness the next.

"I say I know just the place," she replied.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And thanks to all of the lurkers for their support as well! So…this story is now taking an entirely different direction and since it's futile to battle the muse, I hope you'll all stick around for the ride. And despite TPTB's plans with Angell, she's sticking around in OB OG land. And honestly, thanks hope4sall for my sudden Angell epiphany of sorts! **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**afrozenheart412**

**muchmadness**

**Xsamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**Delko's Girl88**


	56. What if's, what is

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS OBVIOUSLY.**

**A/N: OKAY….BRACE YOURSELVES FOLKS. THIS AN IS ABOUT TO CONTAIN CONTENT THAT SOME OF YOU MAY NOT HAVE EVER EXPECTED TO HEAR FROM ME. YOU MAY WANT TO SIT DOWN….**

**THIS CHAPTER IS FLACK/ANGELL CENTRIC. NO, IT'S NOT A BELATED APRIL FOOL'S JOKE. DO SOME OF YOU NEED SMELLING SALTS? A PAPER BAG TO BREATHE INTO? LOL. IT FEATURES NO ROMANCE AND WILL FEATURE NO ROMANCE. IT WILL BE STRICTLY PLATONIC BUT A LITTLE SUSPICIOUS AND QUESTIONABLE AT THE SAME TIME. I ASSURE YOU, FLACK WILL NOT CHEAT ON SAM AND THAT ANGELL IS BACK FOR THE LONG HAUL. YOU CAN ALL THANK HOPE4SALL FOR THIS SUDDEN CHANGE OF EVENTS. WE'RE CALLING IT THE ANGELL EPIPHANY. AND REST ASSURED, SHE'S NOT GOING TO CAUSE ANY PROBLEMS.**

**SO STRAP YOURSELVES IN AND ENJOY!**

**MUCH THANKS AND HUGS TO HEIDI FOR GIVING ME THE COURAGE TO EXPLORE THIS SIDE OF THINGS!**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO MY DEAR FRIEND RACHEL. WISH I WAS THERE TO SEE YOU THROUGH, HUN. MY THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU AND I AM SENDING YOU HUGS AND LOVE.**

* * *

**What if's, what is**

"Comparisons are easily done  
Once you've had a taste of perfection  
Like an apple hanging from a tree  
I picked the ripest one, I still got the seed  
You said move on, where do I go?  
I guess second best is all I will know

'Cause when I'm with him I am thinking of you  
(Thinking of you, thinking of you)  
Thinking of you, what you would do  
If you were the one who was spending the night  
(Spending the night, spending the night)  
Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes

You're like an Indian summer in the middle of winter  
Like a hard candy with a surprise center  
How do I get better once I've had the best?  
You said there's tons of fish in the water, so the waters I will test  
He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth, oh!  
(Taste your mouth)  
He pulled me in, I was disgusted with myself

You're the best, and yes, I do regret  
How I could let myself let you go  
Now, now the lesson's learned  
I touched it, I was burned  
Oh, I think you should know!

Oh, won't you walk through?  
And bust in the door and take me away?  
Oh, no more mistakes  
'Cause in your eyes I'd like to stay, stay."  
-Thinking of You, Katy Perry

* * *

Jessica Angell hated awkward silences.

Those pregnant pauses -sometimes staggeringly long and nerve wracking- that gave someone just way to much time to think. About where they were, where they'd been. The joyous yet often tumultuous moments that paved not just the road behind you, but the twisted and rocky paths that lay ahead. The smiles and the tears, the laughs and the heartache and the profound happiness and sometimes all consuming sorrow that you had shared with those that had once meant so much to you. Past loves that no matter how hard you tried to forget them, seemed to still lay claim to even the smallest part of your heart.

That one person that no matter how many others you sought love and affection -and more often the not just plain lust in- could always stir up feelings of both desire and rage. Who no matter how many came after, you'd never completely replace.

It was those memories and feelings and thoughts that she fought so hard to control as she and Flack strode down Lexington side by side. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since they'd left the station house. She had been fully aware of how all eyes -both curious and concerned- had zoned in on them the very moment that Flack had laid a gentle hand on the middle of her back in order to efficiently, and protectively, steer her through the chaotic precinct. It was a tender side that not many knew he possessed, but held them in awe once they experienced it. The big, bad homicide detective, with his often surly, abrasive disposition, had a wounded little boy vulnerability buried deep down inside.

During the months they'd spent together, he had, while seeking solace in her arms and her body after an emotionally and physically gruelling shift, bared his soul to her. Without having to ask, he'd opened up to her about his overwhelming desire -hell, obsession- to live up to his father's name. His struggle to come out from under his old man's shadow and make something of himself. Earn respect. Something he'd felt, despite high profile busts and not a blemish on his employee jacket, had alluded him for so long. He'd talked about his father's battle with the bottle and the abuse, both physical and mental, that he'd rained down on his wife and children. The pain and anger and resentment had been clearly evident in his voice. As had the tears that had sparkled in his eyes as he outwardly questioned what he'd ever done to warrant his father hating him THAT much.

Jess had done little more then lie next to him and listen intently. She'd hold his hand tightly; stroking his fingers lightly and pressing kisses to his palm. She'd reach up, compassion in her eyes and comb her fingers affectionately through his hair. And when -and it was rare- that the emotion of both his past and a tough day caught up to him and tears were actually spilt on his part, she'd tenderly wipe them off of his cheek with her fingertips or kiss away the salty drops.

And then she'd kiss him. And one long, lingering, soft kiss would turn into two. Two would become three and three would transform into four and then the comfort would come in the most pleasurable, intense way possible. Despite hating him for what he'd done in the end to her, Jess could still vividly remember the feel of his lips and the slick, erotic glide of his tongue against hers. She could still feel the tingling sensation that consumed her from head to toe as he trailed his fingertips lightly over every inch of her naked and quivering body. She could still feel the weight of his body over hers and smell his masculine, intoxicating scent. She could remember how the muscles in his back and shoulders and arms had felt under her hands. Still taste his sweat on her mouth. And she could, and would for as long as she lived, remember witnessing the intense desire that had taken over his face as she hovered above him, his entire body and soul submitting to her.

Don Flack had, she could admit and would admit only to herself, been the love of her life. A part of her would always love him. She'd never eradicated the memories of him fully from her mind. She had gone on and found love. But that was only after she'd struggled hard to overcome the mind numbing agony of betrayal and heartbreak that had found her a crumpled mess in the middle of her bedroom floor. Fully dressed, sobbing inconsolably and cursing him and the woman that had come between them. Jess had stayed in that position for an entire day. Watching the sunrise and hours later, observing it set.

It had taken months to accept her lot in life. To rebuild her self esteem. She had always prided herself in being a strong, independent woman. Rock hard. And she'd always vowed, even as a teenager, that she would never, ever allow a man, any man, to break her. But being dumped, especially for her dearest friend, had left her feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable and less than desirable. If Flack didn't want her, she was convinced no other man would.

Once she'd pulled herself out of her rut, and convinced herself that she was beautiful and desirable and that any would be lucky to have her, she was finally able to being putting the past behind her. But she'd never completely forget, nor would the pain every fully dissipate. Just as those feelings, although unrequited, would always remain. By exposing his tender and sensitive side, Flack had unknowingly brought those traits back into her own life. It was something she'd be forever grateful to him for. And by letting her go, Flack had taught her that love should never, ever be taken for granted or ignored.

She had, in Mark Powell, found the man she wanted always and forever with. He was nothing short of amazing. Insanely attractive, charming, intelligent. Attentive and passionate. He'd come into her life at a time when she'd needed someone the most. And she LOVED him. Desperately.

But at the same time…

* * *

_What if's are a fucking bitch, _Jess mused, as Flack yanked open the door to Speilman's, a quaint and quiet, family owned bakery/café that they had frequented at least three times a week while they were dating. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and home baked goods floated on the air as they entered the small establishment. The scents and the sights of the terracotta walls and the tan tiled floors and the wrought iron tables and chairs and abstract paintings on the walls bringing even more memories to the surface. Memories of peaceful mornings sipping lattes and nibbling chocolate croissants at a hidden away table at the back. Teasing, flirtatious conversation, the comfortable silence when he concentrated on the newspaper and she busied herself with a magazine.

_I can't be the only one thinking about all of this, can I? _Jess asked herself, as Flack led the way to a table in the middle of the restaurant. _There must be something going through his mind. He is human. We did have some amazing times together. There's no way he can ignore memories like that is there? He must be feeling…something._

She doubted he felt anything for her per say. He'd gone on with his life admirably. He was disgustingly happy and deeply, head over heels in love. He was with the woman he'd wanted all along and who had alluded him from the very beginning. He had worked damn hard to get her and now that the prize was in his grasp, there was no way in hell he was ever letting it go. She had seen at the hockey game, when they'd met up that first time after their break up outside the dressing room, how Flack's eyes had sparkled and his face softened when he talked about Samantha. She also knew they were living together now. A huge step for Flack who had always insisted they keep their own when they were dating. He hadn't liked the finality of moving in together. He'd always wanted a place to go and be alone if things got bad.

_He's over you Jess, _she told herself, as she cast a glance at him and found his face completely emotionless. _He feels nothing for you and he never will again. And you've got Mark and you just need to let go. Resign yourself to the fact that you and Don are travelling down two entirely different paths in your lives. _

"Brings back some memories, huh?" Flack asked, breaking the silence at last as he pulled out one of the chairs and motioned for Jess to have a seat.

"A few," she casually replied, as she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it across the back of the chair before sitting down. "We had some really good times here."

"We had some really good times in general," he gently corrected her.

Jess blinked. Surprised at the words that had just tumbled so easily out of his mouth. She attempted to remain as emotionless and unaffected as possible as she reached for the menus sitting in a small pewter holder to her left. She tossed one at his place as he shed his suit jacket and draped it over his chair and sat down across from her, and snapped the second menu open in front of her.

"I was surprised when you called," she commented, tucking hair behind her left ear, her eyes never leaving the menu. "When I first saw your number on the call display I was just going to pick up, tell you to piss off in way of greeting and hang up."

"And I would have deserved that," he admitted. "You know…considering…"

"Considering you dumped me for my best friend and admitted to me once I confronted you about it afterwards that you'd had feelings for her for the last half of our relationship?" Jess finished.

He sighed heavily and gave the young waitress a tense smile as she arrived at their table to drop off a small wicker basket full of individual creamers and milkettes and packages of sugar and Sweet and Lo and fill their over-sized porcelain mugs with steaming, complimentary coffee. "I guess I could have handled things a lot better then what I did," he said, dismissing he waitress with a curt nod before leaning sideways and grabbing two sweetener packages and dropping them in front of his ex girlfriend.

"You guess?" she asked, then picking up one of the yellow packets, arched an eyebrow. "How long did we work together?" she inquired. "Almost three years? And we dated for nearly a year? All of that time spent together and numerous coffee dates and you could never get it that I take normal sugar?"

"Just one of them things I never paid much attention to," he replied, giving a shrug.

"Yeah…but I bet with Sam you know every little single detail," Jess smirked, and slipping the sweetener back into its basket, selected a package of sugar instead. "How many strokes she uses when she brushes her hair. How long it takes her to brush her teeth. Exactly how she takes her tea. I bet none of that is lost on you when it comes to her."

"Jess…I've already apologized a thousand times. What more do you want me to say? What more do you want me to do? Do you want me to get down on my hands and knees and grovel for forgiveness? Do you want me to kiss your ass? I said I was sorry. I meant it. I never should have handled….us…the way I did. At least not the demise of us, anyway."

"You never should have fallen in love with my friend. But that's neither here nor there, is it. It happened. We can't go back and change it now. You handled it the best way you thought you possible and I feel that you were a complete ass for stringing me along for as long as you did. I mean, you could have just told me, Don. You could have just been upfront and honest and told me how you felt about her. I would have been pissed and I would have been hurt. But at least I could have…" she sighed heavily, and tearing the package open, dumped her sugar in her coffee before stirring it noisily with her spoon. "I could have dealt with it a lot better had you just told me and not lied for so long."

"I never lied to you," he said. "I did have feelings for you. I was in love with you. Don't ever doubt that."

"But you had feelings for her. Stronger feelings, right? And I bet the love that you have for Sam is a hundred times more powerful then what you ever felt for me. Right?"

"Jessie…just listen to me…"

"You loved me at the time," she said. "Or knowing what you know now and feel now, you thought you loved me at the time. You used me, Don. You used me and held on to me to get to her. Because without me you knew you wouldn't be able to get as close to her."

He contemplated her words for several long seconds and then nodded slowly and reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Jessie…" he said, sincerity in his eyes and in his voice. "I'm sorry that I hurt you as much as I did. I should have been honest with you. I should have just manned up to how I was feeling about Sam and ended things with you. But I didn't and I'm a first class bastard for that. But I can't take it back."

"You know what I'm really sorry about?" she asked.

Flack shook his head.

"I lost an amazing friend because of you. Losing that bond with Sam…it was like losing part of myself and not having the courage or strength to get it back. We were so close. You know that. We were this awesome force in and out of work. I was closer to her than my own family. We told each other things that we never told anyone else. We were always there for each other no matter what. And then you…" she shook her head. "You just fucked all of that up."

"Jess, I never…"

"I blame you for that," she continued. "Solely you. Because you were the one that used me. That carried these feelings for my friend while professing your undying devotion to me. Sam may have had feelings for you, but she never acted on them. She respected me enough to realize how happy I was and she backed off. But you? You hung on to me in order to get closer to her. She had no idea what you were up to until you showed up that night on her doorstep after dumping me."

Flack didn't respond. There was nothing to say. He was long out of excuses and every word spilling out of her move was the truth. And hearing it with his own two years and owning up to what he'd done to hear was humbling. And he was ashamed and sickened that he'd treated another human being that way.

"Is it true that she wanted to tell me?" she asked. "That you were the one hedging on it?"

He nodded. "I just…I wasn't ready to deal with that yet. And I was trying to protect her. From your reaction. And maybe…I don't know…maybe I was worried about what would get said between the two of you and she wouldn't want to be with me anymore."

She laughed at that. "What did you honestly think I was going to tell her, Don? What deep, dark secret did you share with me that would tarnish her image of you? Aside from the extremely bad judgement you had with me, I mean. You're an amazing guy. In retrospect, I can look back and say we had some great times. You treated me like a princess. Even if I always didn't deserve it. And I know I was pissed off and that part of me still hates you, but I wouldn't purposefully destroy your life by making up nasty shit about you. How callous do you think I am?"

"Well…" he sipped his coffee and chose his words carefully. "Considering what you said to Sam after she told you about us…"

"I lashed out," Jess reasoned. "I was hurt and I reacted. Badly. I never should have said what I did. About how she deserved that asshole Zack. Or called her a home wrecking slut. And trust me, I've wanted to take that all back. But I can't."

"She missed you, Jessie," Flack told her. "She misses you even now. You have no idea how many times she's wanted to call you but was too afraid to. And honestly, I think I felt threatened by it."

"Look Don," she sighed, her eyes downcast as she absentmindedly smoothed the wrinkles out of a napkin laid out on the table in front of her. "We can sit here and tall about what we should have done and how we should have handled things. Truth of the matter is that all of that is the past. And that's where it belongs. In the past. And when you called me and said you needed to talk to me about Sam, well if you hadn't have said that, I would have told you where to go and how to get there. And not politely either. I'm not here for you. Or for me. I'm here for her. Plain and simple."

Flack nodded slowly.

* * *

"So…" Jess cleared her throat noisily and cupping both hands around her mug, lifted it to her lips. Blowing on the steaming beverage before taking a tentative sip. "What's going?" she asked. "You sounded upset."

"I need your help," he replied. "With Sam."

"What kind of help?" she inquired. "Is she sick?"

"I don't know…I guess so…maybe…"

"I can only help you if you start making sense. What's going on?"

"You remember when you told me when we were going out that Sam was going through some things. How you used to spend a lot of time over at her place or taking her out places. And how you were the only one she ever wanted around?"

She nodded.

"And when you confronted me after the blow out you and Sammie had you warned me about how crazy and unstable she was?"

"I just said that because I was pissed off," Jess defended herself. "I never meant that…"

"Well she's going through some heavy duty shit right now and I'm trying to make sense of it. Trying to take care of her. I've talked to her step dad about it, I'm waiting on a call back from Hawkes so I can run some things past him. But I feel…helpless. Like I could do so much more but at the same time I don't know exactly what it is I should be doing. And I figured, seeing as you dealt with it before…"

Her eyes briefly left his as she spied the waitress heading over to take their order. She simply shook her head at the young woman, dismissing her. "What about Lindsay?" she asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "I thought she and Sam were besties."

"They are. And Lindsay's been really good about helping out. She stayed with Sammie last night while I went and talked to Sam's step dad. But you know how she can get. When she gets in her moods. She can get downright nasty and violent. And I just don't think that Lindsay can handle that if the situation came up."

"Sam would easily knock her on her ass," Jess concluded.

"Well…that and I worry about what the stress of putting up with Sam will do to her. I don't want anything to happening to her baby."

Her eyes narrowed. "Whose baby?" she asked. "You and Sam are having a baby?"

"What? No. That's a firm, definite no. Sam and I are nowhere near ready to have a baby. We've already had that whole conversation and we decided until we get our shit together, we're not torturing a kid by bringing them into our insanity. Lindsay's having a baby. Her and Messer just found out. And he's already spooked every time she so as much sneezes or coughs too hard. He's major paranoid about something happening to the kid, and honestly, I don't want to put that kind of burden on Linds. Not while she's pregnant. I'd hate for something to happen to the baby. So I'd feel better if the two of them just stayed out of it from here on out."

She nodded and sipped her coffee. "A Messer-Monroe offspring huh? So I guess both of them obviously skipped school the day sex ed was taught or feel asleep in class just as the teacher got to the part where they put the condom on the banana."

Flack couldn't help but smirk.

"Well that's one kid I seriously hope will look like it's mother," she said. "Good for them, though. Things are finally going well for them. I guess you can only give the guy the brush off for so long before you finally need to make up your mind if you really want him or not."

"Jess…come on…I know you're not the biggest Danny and Lindsay fan. And everyone has a right to their opinion. But they're both trying. Cut them a little slack."

She held her hands up in surrender and leaned back in her chair. "So Lindsay's in a delicate condition and couldn't handle Sam if she got out of hand. And if you were to do it, you'd be charged with domestic assault. So what you're saying is that you need someone that can hold their own against her. Or drop her if need be."

"What I'm saying is that you and her were best friends and she misses you. And you've dealt with this before and I trust you to be able to deal with it again. I wouldn't be here, asking you for help if I didn't think you could handle Sam. Effectively. And preferably non-violently. She needs someone that's gentle and patient, but who can turn around and tell it like it is. I trust you. I always have. And I trust you with Sammie."

Jess nodded slowly and fingered the simple platinum rope bracelet she sported on her left wrist. "I'll help you," she said, raising her eyes to meet Flack's. "But it's only going to work if I do things my way. If I deal with her exactly the way I did before. I don't take any shit, Don. She's not going to pull this sulky, despondent crap with me. Because letting her be that way? Humouring her? You're not going to solve a damn thing. The longer you coddle her, the longer this will go on. She's not going to snap out of it or even agree to help if you baby her. So I handle Sam my way. Sound like a plan?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked.

"Do you want my help or not?" she inquired. "I know what I'm doing. You said you trust me? Well show me how much you do. Starting right now."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Jesus Don. I'm not asking permission to torture her or anything. It's not like I'm going to go into this to beat the living shit out of her. I want to help her. And trust me, it helped the way I was doing things before. So you're either with me, or against me."

He closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm with you," he said at long last.

She smiled, and leaning forward, laid her hand on his left forearm as it rested on top of the table. "It's going to be okay…" she assured him, as her hand drifted down his arm and over his wrist. The tips of her fingers gliding against the top of his hand. "Things will be okay."

He nodded and ran a hand over his face. Then as if realizing they were making physical contact, yanked his hand away from hers.

"Don…" she backed away. "I never…"

"It's okay…it's just…last thing I need is relationship problems. And I can just imagine the gossip that's already made its way up to the crime lab when people saw us together."

"That's all it is though," she said. "Gossip. And God knows the people around there love to gossip."

He nodded in agreement. "I just…I don't want to give Sam anymore reason to freak out. Thank God she called in sick today, or she'd be calling me every five seconds reaming me out for being with another woman. She's insecure enough. I don't want need to be giving her a reason to think I'm doing anything wrong."

"Well you're not doing anything wrong. There's nothing wrong with needing help from a friend. I mean, don't get me wrong. What we had was really, really good, Don. And there's time I wonder what if and all of that. But Mark…I'm wildly and crazily in love with him. He's feeling like my forever. And you and I…I don't think that was ever going to happen with us. Do you?"

"Honestly?" he gave a shrug. "I don't know. I guess there were a few times I thought long term. Like happily ever after long term."

Her eyebrows arched. "Really?"

"You sound surprised," he said.

"I am. I mean, considering how things I ended I never thought…"

"I did love you," he told her. "Regardless of what you think. I did love you. And there were times I seriously considered forever with you. We just never…I don't know. We just never got there, I guess. Life had different plans for us. We weren't meant to be. Sammie's my forever. I can say that without a doubt in my mind of my heart. And I'm glad that you found a guy that treats you better then I ever could."

"You still love selling yourself short, don't you," she stated.

He gave a smile of his own. "I'm happy for you Jessie. And I really hope that you have found your forever."

"I hope so too," she said. "And I hope that you and Sammie…despite what I may have said or thought at the time…I hope that the two of you get your happily ever after."

"Yeah…" he gave a heavy sigh. "I hope so too."

"You will," she promised. "And let's face it, this has to be it for you, Don. Three strikes and you're out. Devon, me, now Sam. You don't knock this one out of the park and it's game over."

"Since when do you give the sports anaologies," he chuckled. "This coming from a girl I couldn't pay to watch the Mets or the Rangers with me."

"Well let's just say I've met someone even more obsessed than you," Jess laughed as well. "So you know what that means? I'm either a hockey or a baseball widow. But at least he doesn't own NHL underwear. We'll leave that tacky stuff to a certain homicide detective I know."

Flack grinned. "I retired those a long time ago. You're the only one who knows about them."

"Yeah? Does anyone else know about your penchant for being handcuffed to the headboard?"

He flushed slightly. "That was once," he reminded her. "And you only did it so I couldn't answer my phone."

"Oh trust me, I was five seconds away from cuffing the other hand and…"

Her sentence was brought to an abrupt end as the shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted their flirtatious, innocent bantering.

"Just give me a second here," Flack said, and reaching into the left pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out his cell phone. A slight frown replacing his smile as he took a look at the call display.

"I see business still manages to get in the way of pleasure," Jess chided, as she sipped at her coffee and watched as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

"Some things never change," Flack mused. "Excuse me…I have to take this."

She nodded, her eyes remaining on him the entire time as he moved away from the table and situated himself several feet away, his back towards her.

There was something so…incredibly sexy about the man. Even when he was doing something so simple as talking on the phone. Maybe it was his deep, authoritative voice. Or the brooding look that came over his face when dealing with business, the frown that wrinkled his forehead and the way his eyes darkened. Perhaps it was the way his broad shoulders were so squarely set.

Or maybe it was because she had seen, and loved both sides of the man. The tough, aggressive, 'take no shit' side, and the surprisingly tender and passionate one. She had seen those strong, large hands manhandle a perp and then very skilfully, just hours later, expertly bring her to heights of a pleasure she'd never experienced before him.

_Stop,_ Jess ordered herself. Just stop. _You don't want him. He doesn't want you. You're just letting old feeling come into play here. Do yourself a favour and kick them the hell out. Get on with your life._

_Why was that always so easier said then done?_

"Sorry about that," Flack said, snapping his phone closed as he returned to the table. "I hate to cut short our re-connecting, but…"

"You have to go," she concluded.

He nodded, and scooping up his suit jacket, shrugged into it. "One of my new guys needs my help with something back at the station. You want a lift back or…"

"I took the subway from Mark's place and I've got some errands to run," she responded, downing her coffee and getting to her feet as well. "You can walk me to the station up the street," she told him as she reached for her jacket. "If you want to," she added quickly.

"I want to," he said, and reached for her coat before she could slip into it.

Their fingertips touched briefly. Jess tried hard to suppress the sharp intake of breath that rush out of her as electricity passed through her. She'd always thought that it was fodder for cheesy romance novels. An undeniable spark that could pass between two people through simple glances or touches. But there it was. There it STILL was to be exact. The first time she'd ever experienced it had been that day, more than two years ago, when sitting in Flack's squad car while trailing Amber Stanton. They'd talked about their respective families and Flack had teased her about whether or not she was dusted for prints after she came home from dates when she was younger seeing as she had a detective Sargent for a father and four older brothers. She had shot back that if had have been up to them, she wouldn't have known boys existed until she was twenty one.

"I'm sure the boys knew you existed," he'd responded.

The words had been simple and delivered so calmly and casually. But there'd been something behind them. She had picked up on it in his tone. Had seen it in his eyes. Of course she hadn't been able to resist calling him on his attempts to bust his game on her. And she'd been somewhat taken back, but ultimately pleased with herself, when she'd managed to get a bashful grin out of him and bring a noticeable flush to his cheeks.

It was the first time she'd ever seen THAT smile. A genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his sparkling blue eyes. That made him look years younger. Less troubled and more at ease.

She loved THAT smile. She still did. And she missed it.

"Let me help you with that," Flack said, his voice quiet, snapping her out of her reverie.

She wasn't sure if he'd felt anything at that innocent touch. Searching his eyes with her own, she saw…nothing. He was emotionless. He wasn't feeling the same things, nor was he troubled by memories of what had been, and what could have been.

She gave a smile and nodded, allowing him to help her into her jacket. She could smell his aftershave as he stood behind her. She felt his strong hands on her shoulders and his warm breath against the back of her head.

"We should go," he said and backed away.

"We should," she agreed.

_And I should let go, _she thought and turned for the exit.

* * *

The sun was bright in a vivid blue sky. It's golden rays were warm and soothing and the soft breeze that wafted through the streets was refreshing as they headed, once again in silence, to the subway station two blocks away.

A take out cup of coffee in one hand, Flack reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket with the other, and pulling out a pair of sunglasses, slipped them onto his face. Beside him, nibbling on a blueberry muffin she'd purchased before leaving the café, Jess suddenly gave a warm laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asked, glancing at her.

"I was just thinking about that time we went to Coney Island and you won me that massive stuffed panda bear," she replied.

Flack grinned. "The one that took me dropping thirty bucks at that stupid pitching game just 'cause you had to have it?"

"It's not my fault baseball isn't your sport," she teased. "Had I known your pitching game was just as bad your flirting and mating game…"

"Hey…easy…easy…my game is obviously not THAT bad. I've got an amazingly sexy, beautiful incredible girl waiting for me at home that obviously thinks my game works just fine."

Jess cursed herself inwardly for allowing herself to feel hurt by the simple mention of his girlfriend. He was head over hells with Sam Any moron could see that. And she certainly wasn't going to stand in his way. Or toss away a second chance at an incredible friendship with Sam because of her feelings for Flack.

"And it landed you, didn't it?" Flack teased. "So it can't be that bad."

She grinned.

"But yeah…I remember that bear," he said. "Didn't you give him a name? Fluffy? Floppy? Fuzzy?"

"Freddie," she admitted, a flush creeping into her cheeks.

"Can't believe you name your stuffed animals. Or that you even have stuffed animals," he said, chuckling and shaking his head. "Or that you had the nerve to let that damn thing take up my side of the bed."

"It was one!" she laughed and elbowed him playfully in the side. "Once! You were working a triple and I didn't like sleeping alone! So I just thought…I don't know…I thought considering you and Freddie both have the same amount of body hair…"

Flack smirked. "You're so harsh, Jessie."

"I'm just teasing you. I just put him in the bed so I wouldn't feel so lonely. So that I'd feel that presence beside me. I still have him you know."

"Frankie?"

"Freddie," she sighed exasperatedly. "He's taking up space in my closet. Lots of space. Mark's always on me to get rid of it."

"Maybe you should," Flack suggested. "Get rid of it. Sometimes we have to do that. Get rid of things that reminds us of certain people. Certain moments. Comes a time when we need to put things behind us so we can get on with the future."

_Busted, _she thought. Then bit her bottom lip nervously. "That obvious, huh?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Just a bit," Flack replied.

She sighed and picked at the muffin in her hands. Embarrassed that she'd been outed.

"Look Jess…" he began gently. "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you at I don't feel anything for you. 'Cause I do. How can I not? You're an insanely beautiful, alluring woman that any red blooded guy would kill to be with. But…I don't want to be with you."

She nodded slowly. The words were spoken with compassion and she had expected them. But they still stung.

"There's an attraction and I feel that," Flack continued. "But it's not enough to make me want to give up my life now. I love Sammie. I never thought I could love another human being this much. And she's…she's my world. My future. And you…the ex girlfriend part of you…that's my history. And it's never going to part of my present. Ever."

"You always did practice brutal honesty," Jess said miserably. "I guess it just takes some people longer to learn to let go. And I'm sorry. If I've made you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't," he assured her.

She stared pointedly at him.

"Okay so maybe you did," he grinned. "But just a little," he added, nudging her arm with his elbow.

They stopped at the top of the stairs leading down into the subway. Flack sipped at his coffee while Jess tucked the muffin back into the small paper bag in her hands before shoving it into her satchel style purse. Reaching up to the top of her head where her stylish sunglasses rested, she pulled them down onto her face.

"Don…I…"

"You asked me earlier if I ever wondered about what if's," he said. "And truthfully…yeah…sometimes I do. Sometimes I wonder how far we would have gotten. Where we'd be now, five years from now, ten years from now. If we'd even still be together then. I think it's human nature. I think we all wonder that about certain moments and certain people in our lives. What if we'd done this or said that and so on and so on. And you know what I think?"

Jess shook her head.

"I think what if's exist to make us realize how much we love our lives now. And the people in it."

She smiled.

"Thanks for coming to see me," Flack told her. "And for agreeing to help Sam."

"Thanks for calling me. If I'd known sooner she was dealing with the depression again, I would have been there in a heartbeat."

"I know," he said. Then leaned over and kissed her cheek softly. "We'll talk soon," he promised, then backed away from her and turning on his heel, started off down the sidewalk in the direction of where he'd parked his squad.

"Hey Don!" Jess called to him.

He stopped and turned towards her.

"I gotta say. Your game? It's definitely improving!"

He smiled and shook his head.

_God that boy is beautiful when he smiles, _she thought.

"See ya!" he yelled in return, giving a small wave before turning his back on her once again.

She sighed and watched him as he went. Admiring the confident, almost cocky way in which he carried himself. Noticing -and finding it appealing- the way his hair was cropped extremely close to his head, playing up the premature grey. He was an incredibly handsome man. No woman in their right mind would ever deny that.

Jess was horrified by the sudden sting of tears in her eyes and the lump of raw emotion that threatened to choke her.

_You'll be okay, _she assured herself. _You love your life. The man in your life. You're just dealing with the past and putting it behind you. It's painful but necessary. You'll be okay._

And for the first time since that heartbreaking night in November, as she steeled herself and turned and headed down the stairs to the subway, Jessica Angell truly felt confident with those words.

And with herself.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of the support and great feedback and even the ideas that some of you have tossed my way! So thanks to all of you and all of the lurkers! I hope you all keep enjoying this! It's my baby at the moment! **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Forest Angel**

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**xsamiliciousx**


	57. Rejection and reconciliation

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. **

**SPECIAL WARM WELCOME TO CRAZYMOO97, CRAZYGIRLCASS AND NY YORK MAKES ME HAPPY!**

**ALSO, A HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF MY READERS WHO HAVE BEEN SENDING ME THEIR WARM WISHES AND SUPPORT! YOU ALL KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND I THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!**

**OKAY, I JUST WANT TO CLEAR SOME THINGS UP. FIRST, I WANT TO APOLOGIZE TO LAURZZ FOR OFFENDING HER IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM. NOTHING IN THIS CHAPTER OR ANY CHAPTER I'VE RECENTLY POSTED WAS WRITTEN OUT OF SPITE OR RETALIATION. IT TAKES A BIG PERSON TO APOLOGIZE IN A PUBLIC FORUM AND I HOPE EVERYONE CAN APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT THAT WENT INTO THIS. SECOND, YOU WANT TO SLAM MY OC? THAT'S FINE. SHE'S A FICTITIOUS CHARACTER. JUST LIKE DANNY AND LINDSAY AND FLACK AND EVERYONE ON THE SHOW. THEY AREN'T REAL. BUT WHEN THE ATTACKS BECOME PERSONAL BY CALLING MY SON A 'RETARD AND A MONGOLOID', JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING YOU'VE READ? THAT IS CROSSING A LINE. THIS IS A FICTIONAL WORLD WE ARE LIVING IN HERE ON FF. NET PEOPLE. NOTHING IS REAL. AND IT'S TRULY SAD AND APPALLING WHEN A REAL HUMAN BEING WITH REAL FEELINGS TAKES A BACK SEAT TO THE FAKE CHARACTERS.**

**HUGE THANKS TO DONNA, RACHEL, HEIDI, ANGELIC STARS AND LAURZZ FOR HAVING MY BACK IN THIS.**

* * *

**Rejection and reconciliation**

"It's a long trip alone over sand and stone  
That lie along the road that we all must travel down  
So maybe you could walk with me a while  
And maybe I could rest beneath your smile  
Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand to hold  
'Cause it's a long trip alone

It's a short piece of time but just enough to find  
A little peace of mind under the sun somewhere  
So maybe you could walk with me a while  
And maybe I could rest beneath your smile  
You know we can't afford to let one moment pass us by  
'Cause it's a short piece of time

And I don't know where I'd be without you here  
'Cause I'm not really me without you there."  
-Long Trip Alone, Dierks Bentley

* * *

Letting out a loud moan of frustration, Lindsay yanked at her hair with one hand and violently slammed the receiver of her office phone down onto its cradle.

She was miserable. Plagued by incessant nausea and dizziness that had prompted Mac to order her to her desk for her entire shift after she'd nearly fainted -after throwing up in a the closest available trash can- while witnessing what should have been a rather tame autopsy. There was nothing too gruesome about asphyxiation. During her years on the job, she'd come across decapitations, disembowelments, dismemberments and everything else that graphic horror movies were made of. She'd always -save for her very first autopsy where she'd spent the majority of the time hunkered down over the sink while her far experienced superiors back in Bozeman _laughed _at her- been able to take the grotesque side of the job. The sights and the smells and the sounds of the bone spreader rarely caused her to flinch or look away.

But that was under normal circumstances.

And these, she thought wryly, as she snatched an open bottle of water from her desk top and leaned back in her chair. Are not normal circumstances.

She was starving, yet couldn't eat. Nothing stayed down so she'd long given up tempting fate. She couldn't get up from a chair too quickly or she was overcome with both the necessity to vomit, and the most overwhelming light headiness she'd ever experienced in her life. And as if that suffering wasn't enough, she'd gotten up that morning and been unable to button or zipper any of her work slacks or jeans. Thanks to a small, yet visible baby bump that had seemed to magically appear overnight.

It had been an awkward morning. While it hadn't been the first time she'd ever camped out on Sam and Flack's sofa, or she'd either seen one of her friends in their pyjamas, it had been the first time that she'd woken up and immediately felt an urge to expel her stomach contents, and had, on her way to the bathroom, run past a bleary eyed Flack as he stepped out of his bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and a wife beater. He'd hadn't uttered a word as he watched her hurry past, but while an oblivious Danny slept soundly and snored loudly on the pull out, Flack had wandered into the bathroom with a glass of water that he'd set within her reach. He'd then wet a face cloth and spent a half an hour sitting there on the cold bathroom floor, the cloth resting on the back of her neck as he rubbed her back softly with one hand and talked in a soothing, calm voice.

It was the first time Lindsay had ever seen that side to him. The tender, compassionate side that Sam so often bragged about but no one ever got to witness. And while Lindsay had appreciated the affectionate yet friendly intentions behind Flack's attentiveness, it hadn't gone over so well with other people. Samantha, who had heard the retching and her friend's agonized moaning and groaning from all the way into the bedroom, had climbed out of bed and wandered down the hall to make sure that everything was alright. Only to find her boyfriend and NOT the baby's father, sitting on the bathroom floor codling a woman that was carrying his best friend's child.

Lindsay had understood why Sam had reacted the way she had. She probably would have felt the same way had she walked in on Danny and her best friend in a similar situation and threw the temper tantrum of all temper tantrums. Sam, surprisingly, had taken it really well. At first. After the initial shock had worn off -Lindsay could still see her best friend standing in the doorway in that massive hockey jersey, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open- Sam had simply turned on her heel and stormed back down the hallway. The slamming of the door echoing throughout the entire apartment.

Lindsay and Flack had taken one look at each other. Nothing had needed to be said. He'd simply handed her the face cloth and the cup of water and got up and left. And she'd felt like a complete failure as a best friend -she really should have told Flack that she was fine and both insisted that he not baby her like he was and leave- as she listened to the furious voices thundering in the bedroom down the hall. Flack was adamant that he'd done nothing wrong. He was just helping out. Sam was adamant that he'd been part of a very private, personal moment that should have been shared between two people that were together.

The arguing had gone on for nearly an hour. It had woken Danny up and after he'd lied on the pull out listening to what was being not so gently discussed between Flack and Sam, had decided enough was enough and climbed out of bed and gotten dressed. Then had come into the bathroom, tossed Lindsay's clothes at her and announced they were leaving.

Now. The fighting going on mere yards from them was none of their business and he didn't want to be brought into the middle of it. But Lindsay had seen the accusations in his eyes and heard it in his voice in the way he questioned her about what had happened on the way home. And he'd been furious and hurt when she'd told him exactly what had happened. How Flack had so gently and patiently taken care of her and Sam had walked in during the middle of it. Danny agreed with Sam. Flack had no place sharing a moment like that with her and should have had the better sense to just walk away.

And Lindsay should have had enough brains to tell him to take a hike.

That had been three hours ago. Lindsay had been trying to call Sam ever since she'd found out that her best friend had called in sick that day. She had been thankful to see, judging by the smile on Flack's face when they'd ran into each other when he'd arrived for work, that he and Sam had quite obviously kissed and made up. That was a smile Flack only bore on certain occasions. One that clearly advertised to everyone that he was truly and wholly satisfied in each and every way.

His 'just fucked smile', Danny had long ago dubbed it.

Flack wasn't happy however, when he'd told Lindsay that Sam had feigned illness over the phone to Mac and played hooky that day in favour of staying in bed or sitting in front of the television and moping. Lindsay could tell that he was concerned. He was complaining about her moods, but it was in his eyes and in his voice that he was genuinely worried. And he'd confided in her that he was going to do whatever it took to get her the help she needed.

She admired his dedication and loyalty. Men had left women for a lot less and Flack was determined to hang in there. He'd come to far and had worked too hard to get her, and he wasn't going to let something treatable tear them apart. He was convinced that Sam was his forever. And he wasn't about to turn his back on her because they were travelling a rocky road.

She only hoped that he wasn't setting himself up for a world of hurt.

Taking a gulp of her water, Lindsay leaned forward in her chair and picked up the phone once again. Holding the receiver to her ear with her shoulder, she dialled the familiar number and waited for someone to answer. One ring became two. Two became three. Three became four. And when the rings surpassed the number of fingers on her hands, Lindsay was sure of two things. Either her calls were being blocked or the answering machine had been turned off.

And all was not right in best friend land.

* * *

"Goddamnit!" she bellowed and slammed the phone down a second time. "Quit being such a stubborn little bitch and answer my damn calls!"

"Still no luck?" Danny asked, catching his fiancee's outburst as he wandered into the office she shared with Hawkes, a plastic shopping bag dangling from the fingers of his left hand.

"No," Lindsay huffed, then putting her face in hands, let out a scream. "Why does she had to be like this?" she cried. "Why? Why does she have to hold grudges like this? It was a simple, stupid mistake. All I want to do is apologize for it and make sure that she's okay. It's all I want!"

"Well maybe.."

"Why does she have to be like this, Danny? Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn? Why does she always have to have the last say? Why can't she just swallow her pride and answer the damn phone?"

"Easy, Montana. Easy. Have you ever thought that maybe…"

"I swear to God, if she doesn't answer the next time I call, I am going to send a uniform over there to kick the door down just to make sure she's okay!" Lindsay huffed.

Danny frowned. "I think you're overreacting a little bit," he said, as he dropped the back on her desk and journeyed around the to the back of her chair. "I think maybe Sam's just…"

"And then I'm going to…"

He clamped a hand over her mouth. "Would you just be quiet for a second?" he implored, as she tilted her head backwards to look at him. "Would you just let me finish what I've been trying to say for the last five minutes? Has it ever occurred to you that she's sleeping? That she's turned the ringers off so she can get some rest? Or that maybe she's in the shower or upstairs doing laundry or God forbid she left the apartment to get some fresh air. Has any of that ever occurred to you?"

Lindsay shook her head.

"Relax. Sam's fine. She's a big girl. Give her some damn breathing space," Danny said, and removing his hand from over top of her mouth, resisted the urge to press a kiss to her forehead or lips. Or both.

But Mac was on the war path lately regarding public displays of affection -of any kind- while in the workplace. And with the way Whitmore was riding his ass and department cutbacks looming over head, Danny decided to be on his best behaviour. He honestly didn't know how Sam and Flack did it. For the most part -save for the little incident in the ballistic lab that continued to be gossiped about and blown way out of proportion- they had to be the most professional couple Danny had ever seen. They refrained from getting to close to one another while on the clock and very rarely found themselves in a situation where they were in the same room alone.

Most of that had come about since the IAB/x rated pictures incident. Sam and Flack had jointly decided to take the low key approach to their relationship while at work. Something Flack had confessed to Danny that was exceptionally hard to do. He worried about Sam constantly and it drove him wild when she so as much walked past him and he got a whiff of her perfume, or how she'd deliberately tease him by brushing her body against his as when slipping between him and a table in one of the labs. And he nearly went insane -with a jealousy that Danny seriously thought his best friend really needed to get a handle on- if she so as much chatted with another guy. Whether it was a lowly lab tech or another detective.

And if it was Marty Pino…well that was another story all in itself.

Danny seriously admired his friends' will power for keeping thins professional. To the untrained eye, one would never guess while watching Sam and Flack at work that there was anything going on between them. He used the same tone when talking to her as he did the other CSIs. He got harsh and rattled off sarcastic comments like he did with everyone else. But to the people who knew them, both Sam and Flack's feelings and emotions were laid bare in every look that was exchanged between them.

Danny's will power was not that strong. But his fear of losing his job over a simple kiss, was.

"But something could be seriously wrong with her," Lindsay said, as he stepped away from her chair and walked around to the front of the desk once again. "She could have done something to herself."

Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Brooklyn is nowhere near suicidal," he said, as he busied himself with unpacking the contents of the shopping bag. Two large cartons of milk, several small packages of Melba Toast and two plain croissants for her, and a pre-packaged garden salad with French dressing, an assorted sub and a bottle of Coke for himself. "She's not out to hurt herself," he continued, setting the food items on the desk. "She's just wants to be alone. There's nothing wrong with that. So just…just leave her alone already."

"She's my best friend, Danny. She's my best friend and I screwed up and she hates me."

"Come on. Sam's incapable of hating anyone. You're best friends. Best friends get in fights and say mean shit and sometimes it takes a while to mend things. But they never hate you. You need to give her some time to cool down. She's just a bit sore about what she saw. She probably just wants some time to herself."

"Maybe…" Lindsay sighed.

"No maybe," Danny told her, and grabbing the chair from behind Hawkes' empty desk, placed it in front of Lindsay's and sat down. "She doesn't need you breathing down her neck all the time," he said, as he opened one of the milks and unwrapping a straw, popped it into the container before sliding it across the desk towards his fiancee. "You and Flack both need to seriously chill out and back off. Give the girl some alone time. She's not a little kid. She can take care of herself."

"I know that," Lindsay said. "It's just that…" she picked up the milk and took a sip. "She shouldn't have to deal with this on her own."

"She's not dealing with anything on her own," Danny told her. "We're all here for her. But you and Flack…you both need to stop smothering her so much. You're both constantly on her. Practically tripping over yourselves to take care of her. You both need to just chill."

"You mean chill like the way you do?" asked Lindsay. "By closing yourself off completely? By being totally in different towards her? By all but distancing yourself from her?"

Danny shook his head. "I'm not doing that," he argued.

"You are. You're cold, Danny. The way you've been acting? It's like you resent her or something."

"I love Brooklyn. You know that. She's like a little sister to me."

"Sure," Lindsay snorted. "Like a little sister you've disowned."

He frowned. "I'm not treating her like that. I want to help her too. Wasn't I was just defending her and her reasons for not answering the phone? I am not indifferent. I'm just going about things a different way. You and Flack do the babying. I'll do the tough love."

"That is not what she needs," Lindsay informed him.

"How do you know what she needs?" he challenged. "How do you honestly know? And don't say from dealing with your mom because everyone suffers and copes with depression in a different way. You and Sam have always been friends, but not the way you guys are now. You weren't the one that handle her the first time around. It was…"

"It was Angell," Lindsay finished angrily. "It was all about Angell. Jess and Sam. Sam and Jess. The Bobsey Twins. Kindred spirits. Totally inseparable. I'm honestly surprised that they never had anything more happen between them considering the raging girl crushes they had on each other."

Danny stared at her, surprised by the bitterness in her voice.

"It was always Samantha and Jessica," she continued. "Until they decided to fuck the same guy."

"What is wrong with you?" Danny shot back. "Why are you talking like this? You know damn well that Sam and Flack did nothing wrong when he was with Angell. So why are you…?"

"They always did have a lot in common. They look enough alike to pass for sisters. They have nearly the exact same personality. Same taste in clothes, music, movies. And now they have something else even better in common. They've got naked and done the nasty with the same guy. They should get together and compare notes."

"I am not listening to this," Danny declared. "I don't know what's gotten into you. I don't know if this some kind of emotional, hormone fuelled outburst or whatever, but you might as well stop 'cause I don't want to hear anymore."

"Who knows…" Lindsay mused. "Maybe they'll hook up and be besties again and Flack will get his ultimate wish and have both of them at the same time."

"Lindsay!" Danny snapped. "Enough! I know you're upset! I know there is some crazy ass shit going on right now in your body and it's messing with your mind. But there's no reason to go off on a tangent like this just 'cause you're panties are in a twist 'cause Sam and Angell were best friends. Get a grip, okay? Calm down. Why are you…?"

"Angell was here," Lindsay blurted out. "Down at the precinct actually. I heard that she came to see Flack. And that they left together and didn't come back for more than an hour."

"I know," Danny said.

"You know? You know he's messing around behind Sam's back with his ex?"

"What?" Danny laughed. "Messing around? He's not messing around. He called Angell to ask for help with Sam."

Lindsay frowned. "Why?" she asked. "Why would he do that?"

"'Cause Angell dealt with it before," Danny replied. "Flack felt if she did it once, she can do it effectively again."

"But he asked us for help," Lindsay argued, genuinely hurt. "He asked us to help her. Why would he suddenly change his mind about that and go to his ex when we're more than perfectly capable of handling things? Doesn't he trust us?"

"Of course he does. It's nothing personal. If anything, he's doing it for your own good."

"My own good?" Lindsay gave a small laugh. "Trying to replace me in Sam's life with Angell is doing it for my own good?"

"Actually, he wasn't thinking about replacing you. He was thinking about you and the baby," Danny informed her "OUR baby. He's worried that dealing with Sam and the stress that might come with it will be too much to dump on you and he doesn't want anything happening to you or the baby. He was thinking of the two of you and what was best for both of you. Ask me, that's pretty damn sensitive and compassionate for a guy like Flack."

"It is. But…"

"But what? He's got yours and the baby's best interests at heart. He doesn't want anything happening to either of you. And you know what? I've got to agree with him on this. You need to step back and let someone else handle Sam. Someone that can effectively take care of her. Especially if she gets out of hand."

"I can handle Sam," Lindsay declared.

"No offensive, Montana. But even if you weren't pregnant, Sam could take care of you. Easily. I know you've got that whole tough country girl thing going on, but she's got that hard ass Brooklyn street edge to her. There's no comparison. You really think if it ever came down to a fist fight you'd get the upper hand?"

"Well…maybe not…"

"That's just stupid, immature talk anyway. It's not like the two of you are going to bash each other around. The point is, Flack is thinking about your safety and the health of the baby. He's using his head. Which for Flack, does not happen enough if you ask me."

"It feels like he's replacing me," Lindsay said sadly. "Like he doesn't think I'm good enough of a best friend and he's looking for someone better. I mean, Angell? Of all people it had to be her?"

"He trusts her. With his life, " Danny reasoned. "Not that he doesn't trust you…but he trusts her even more. He knows Angell doesn't have any qualms about getting nasty right back if Sam starts in on her. And he knows that if it ever came down to it while Sam was in a mood, that Angell would drop her in a heartbeat. It had nothing to do with him wanting to replace you."

"Sure feels like it," Lindsay murmured as she bit into a piece of Melba Toast.

"What is this? Middle school?" Danny laughed. "A person can't have more then one friend? Sam can't hang out with you AND Angell? She's just suppose to be at your beck and call and not have any other buddies?"

"Of course not. I just…I don't know…I guess I'm worried she's going to forget about me."

"How can she forget about you? You work in the same place."

"You know what I mean, Danny," she said exasperatedly. "I just don't want to be on the outside looking in all over again. The third wheel. Watching as it's Sam and Jess Part Two."

"Grow up," Danny mumbled.

Lindsay stared at him. Long and hard. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"I said grow up," he spoke more clearly. "We're adults in our thirties. Not high school kids. There's no goddamn cliques here. We're a group of collective people doing a job. A team. We're not here to socialize. To make friends. We do a job and we go home. We hang out on our days off. Spend holidays together. But there's no rule that we can't be friends with other people to. What do you want Angell to do? Fill out a membership form for Team Monroe/Ross? Does she have to pay some kind of admittance fee? Pass some kind of test that dictates she's suitable to be in the fold?"

"You're an ass," Lindsay informed him.

"What I am is sensible. You're talking like some girl in home room that's all pissy 'cause her bestie is talking to the girl that sits on the other side of her. Sam and Angell want to hang out? Let them. You can still be friends with Sam 'cause she's friends with someone else. I seriously don't see what the big deal is."

"Because you're a man," she huffed. "That's why. It wouldn't bother you if Flack started hanging around someone and ignoring you?"

"Who says anyone is going to start ignoring anyone? I love you, Linds, but for once I can't see eye to eye with you on this. You're being petty and immature about the whole thing. And instead of worrying about hanging out, maybe you should be concentrating more on other things. Like the fact we have a wedding coming up and a baby on the way. Sam and Angell wanna hit the bars and troll the streets all night? Let them. They're not in the same boat as you are. They've got no commitments they need to go home to at night."

"I don't want to feel left out, Danny. I don't want to be replaced."

He sighed heavily and took a swig of Coke. "We're going around and around in circles here. I get that your on edge, alright? Your body is rebelling on you. You're hormonal and all of that. But if you sat back and thought about this rationally, you'd see that Flack is acting with the best of intentions. That he's doing this to help you. Not screw you over."

Lindsay sighed heavily and picked at the croissant sitting in front of her. She felt miserable. Both emotionally and physically. Not only was her pregnancy taking total control of her body, but her brain as well. The simplest words or gentle corrections on something she did while processing evidence had her fleeing from the room in tears. Danny had innocently commented on her baby bump that morning and she'd turned it into a personal attack on her weight. She'd caught a lab tech eyeing her suspiciously and she'd lost it on the poor kid, accusing him of finding her something disgusting to look at. When in reality he was just trying to find a way to spark small talk over the fact that his wife was expecting a baby as well.

She was making lapses in judgement. She had never should have allowed Flack to get that close that morning. And she should have never left the apartment without going to the bedroom and apologizing for what must have looked like a very suspicious event. She would have reacted the same way and would have definitely thought the worst if she'd seen Danny and Sam in a similar circumstance. And if Sam was still sore about what had happened, Lindsay knew it was best to just give her time to chill out. They'd both still be around when the time came for talking it out.

And so would their friendship.

"I guess I have been acting a little irrational," she said, after several minutes of long silence.

"A little?" Danny asked.

"Okay…so a lot…" she admitted. "I just…everything just is totally out of whack. I get pregnant and my brain cells disappear. This baby is just causing sheer havoc already. Dizziness, nausea, insomnia. And I'm only going into my fourth month. I don't know if I'll survive the next five."

"You'll be fine," Danny assured her. "I have faith in you. You're a strong woman, Linds. You just need to start showing it is all."

"I guess…" she said. "You do realize this is all your fault, right? The crappy way I'm feeling, my mood swings, my irrationality. You do realized you caused all of this, right?"

He gave a nod. "I am fully aware on the philosophy that gets you and Brooklyn through the day," he said.

"What philosophy is that?" she asked.

"Blame the man," he replied. "For anything and everything."

Lindsay smiled, and breaking off a piece of her croissant, tossed it at him. "It's not a philosophy," she said. "It's a way of life."

* * *

Sam groaned loudly and pulled the comforter up over her head as the hammering on the apartment door continued. It had been going on for nearly ten minutes now. What had started out as a persistent yet fairly calm knocking had soon exploded into someone slamming both of their palms and pounding their foot into the wooden door.

It was shortly afternoon hour and she was still in her pyjamas. In fact, she had had no plans of getting out of them until she knew that her boyfriend was expected to walk through the door. Flack _always _called once his shift was over to let her know that he was on his way. It had become a routine for them. Whoever was the last off would always call the other. Both to let them know they were off, and to ask if they wanted anything picked up at the store or brought home for dinner. That day he was scheduled until six thirty. With travelling time, he wouldn't walk through the door until just before seven. Her plan had been to stay in her jammies for the better part of the day and then around five o'clock, grab a shower and get dressed and start supper. She'd clean the apartment while something was cooking in the evening. Giving the impression that she hadn't been sitting around all day, and had, as she'd promised, managed to keep herself busy.

She'd pulled herself out of bed at ten, taking her pillow and the comforter with her. She'd made herself a cup of tea and a piece of toast and peanut butter and had checked her email on her lap top before seeking refuge on the couch once again. She'd snuggled under the comforter and did nothing but watch Maury Povich and The Price is Right. She had no desire to get dressed or leave the apartment. She felt…emotionally drained. A feeling that she had grown accustomed to since her teenage years and she dreaded with every ounce of her being. She hated that despondent, lonely feeling. The thoughts that no one in the free world could possibly understand what she was going through, nor did they care to understand. She was certain that once she became too much of a burden, everyone and anyone in her life that claimed to love her would be out the door. That she'd wind up miserable and alone.

And that she deserved to.

Totally irrational thoughts that her chemically unbalanced brain concocted all on it's own. And despite being used to those feelings and those fears, she was frightened by them. The paranoia of being unloved and unwanted caused her anxiety that constricted her chest and caused her to break out into a cold sweat. She was tired of feeling that way. Of having her brain and her emotions rebel on her. Betraying her. She never knew when the depression was going to hit. It just crept up when she always least expected it. What should have been the happiest time of her life -finding love and forever with who she considered the most amazing man in the world- was turning into a complete nightmare. Because of her.

Soon, she had thought, relying on positive thoughts to cheer her up and turn things around. Soon you're going to get some help and things are going to get better. You'll be back on your feet and feeling great. You're not going to lose him. How many times does he have to tell you? He's in this for the long haul. He's not going anywhere. And if you don't believe the words, think of everything you could see in his eyes. The concern and the compassion. The security and the sincerity. The reassurance.

The love.

It was love. She didn't deny that. She could see it in his eyes and all over his face. She could hear it in his voice and experienced it in his kisses and in his touches. In the way that morning, after they'd fought long and hard and she'd ended up in tears, he'd taken her face in his hands and kissed those tears away. And afterwards, with a tenderness that nearly stopped her heart and took her breath away, he'd taken her to their bed and made slow, intense love to her. Showing her that she was beautiful and wanted and desirable. After, he'd held her in his arms and she'd laid with her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat deep within his chest. Feeling his hands as one stroked her hair and the other drifted up and down her bare arm. She was pretty certain they would have both fallen back asleep and he would have been hours late for work if dispatch hadn't called him out to a scene, disrupting their peaceful afterglow.

_And speaking of disruptions,_ she now thought, as the thunderous noise at her apartment door continued. No matter how many times she yelled at whoever it was to go away and no matter how much she ignored them, the noise continued. And she knew, to avoid troubles with the neighbours and the superintendent being called up to investigate, it was in her best interest to just get off her ass and find out who the asshole was that had the nerve to interrupt her day.

She tossed off the comforter and jumped to her feet. Muttering curses and straightening her black camisole and smoothing out the back of her pink and black stripped satin pyjama pants as she went. Her bare feet padding on the hard wood floor and then the hideous red area rug she'd been after her boyfriend for a month now to get rid of, as she headed through the living room, past the small, cluttered wooden dining table and chairs and down the narrow, short hallway that led to the front door. Nearly colliding with the hockey sticks and hockey equipment bag that lay propped against the wall and took up just too much damn room.

Standing on her tip toes, she peered through the peep hole to see just who the obnoxious offender was. Her eyes widening in surprise, she hurriedly slid the chain across and snapped open the dead bolt and yanked open the door.

"Hey, sunshine!" Jessica Angell greeted cheerfully. "I was starting to think you were going to make me kick the damn door down."

"What are you….?"

"Don called me," she said, before Sam could get another word out. "He told me that you were going through some hard times and he asked me for my help. Well, here I am. At his service. I guess he figured since I've handled you before when you got like this, I was the perfect candidate for the job. Now before anyone gets on the phone and starts gossiping, I showed up at his desk this morning and we went out for coffee together. To talk. About you. I just figured telling you now would spare Don a whole lot of grief when he got home tonight."

Sam couldn't help but smirk. Jess was nothing if not straight to the point.

"So are we going to stand here and get re-acquainted or can I come in?" the other woman asked. She held up a carry tray of beverages. "I've even bought a peace offering. Double lattes with triple shots of caramel. I mean, you can't possible say no to THAT can you?"

Sam shook her head and stepped back from the door, holding it open and letting her friend into the apartment.

_Friend. Is that what they were again? Friends? Or were they at least going to attempt to be that way again?_ The truth was, she'd missed Jess. Terribly. She'd kicked herself in the ass every day for the way things had gone down between them. She hadn't wanted to hurt her. She hadn't wanted a guy to come between them. But it had happened and things were said. Awful, regrettable things that couldn't take back and still stung when she replayed them in her mind. But nothing was more painful then not having Jess as part of her life.

"So what's going on?" Jess asked, as she kicked off her boots and headed into the living room. She sat the take out tray on the table and pulled out one of the chairs.

The apartment hadn't changed much since she'd last been there. Since she'd practically lived there. The same books and magazines still littered every possible table, as did stacks of mail and case files. One of Flack's ties, still with the knot in it, lay slung over the back of one of the chairs. The only real difference was the small touch of femininity that Sam had managed to inject into the place via an orange pillar candle in the middle of the coffee table, and various women's items of clothing that were tossed on the couch. And the fact that the place, although still cluttered, was cleaner and smelled better. How Sam had actually talked him into letting her spray Febreeze on every available surface, Jess would never know.

"Not much," Sam admitted, pushing the strap of camisole up onto her shoulder.

"Not much as in nothing is going on or not much as in you don't want to talk about it?" Jess asked. "I mean, obviously a lot has gone on in your life since November. You wouldn't be living here if nothing had happened in the span of the last four months."

"My parents moved here," Sam explained, crossing her arms over her chest. "They took over my lease and I moved in here with Don. We're looking for a new place though. Something bigger."

"Which you two definitely need," Jess mused. "Considering you have to share your living room with his hockey crap and he has to all but abandon all hope of having even the smallest slice of the bedroom closet thanks to all of your shoes."

Sam grinned. "He made me throw out ten pairs," she admitted.

"Which leaves you with twenty more. And I bet you replaced those ten already."

The tiny brunette gave a small laugh and pushed her hair behind her ears. "Just a couple of them," she said.

"You're our version of Imelda Marcos," Jess teased. "One day you'll need an entire apartment just for your damn footwear."

Sam laughed harder this time. Then lapsed into a long silence. Her eyes dropped to the scuffed floor as she nervously traced the tip of her big toe along a scratch in the hard wood. Feeling uncomfortable under the weight of Jess' dark, soulful eyes as they remained locked intently on her.

"Look Jess," she finally said, giving a heavy sigh as she looked at the other woman. "I just want to say…"

"Sammie, we can stand here all morning and apologize for what went down between us," the detective cut her off. "We can stand here and air all of our dirty laundry and say sorry until we're blue in the face. We can talk about what we should have said or what we should have done and how we should have dealt properly with things. The truth is, we handled it downright shitty. We were immature and things spiralled quickly out of control and we could have dealt with it in a far better way. I never should have said what I did to you. It was wrong and I wish I could take it back."

"And I never should have betrayed you like I did," Sam said. "I didn't want things to happen, Jess. They just did. I didn't know how Don felt about me, or that he was planning on breaking up with you to be with me. Had I known that, I never would have…."

"You never would have what?" Jess asked. "Hooked up with him? Come on, Sammie. That's a bunch of shit and you know it. I knew that you liked him from the practically the first day you started. You would have hooked up with him regardless. We both know that."

She nodded sheepishly.

"We both handled the entire thing badly," Jess told her. "No one is at more fault then the other. It happened. It's in the past. We need to keep it there. Think we can do that?"

"I'd like to do that," Sam said.

"When I was with Don today…I'm not going to lie to you, Sammie. All those feelings I had for him? They were still there. I haven't been able to get over him."

The other woman sighed heavily and looked away.

"But I'm no threat to you," Jess assured her. "And I don't want to be. My life with Don is long gone. And he made sure I knew that. He told me that there was never any possible way that he'd ever want to be with me again. He told me that he was in love with you. That he wanted forever with you. And he meant every word. It wasn't just in his voice, but it was written all over his face. That guy is hopelessly, madly and passionately in love with you. And he will do anything he can to make sure that you're okay. And that included calling me to help you get through this. Trust me, Sammie, he's a keeper. I hope you seriously realize what you have and that you never take that for granted."

She smiled and nodded slowly. "He's my everything," she admitted. "I never thought I'd ever feel this way about anyone. I never thought anyone would feel this way about me."

"Well he does. And seeing him like that? So happy and complete? It made me realize that I can let go. That he's in good hands. That I can go on with my life because he was able to get on with his. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," Sam said.

"That you won't hurt him. That you'll always appreciate him and tell him you love him. That every time he walks through that door on his way to work, that you kiss him and hold him and tell him everything that's in your heart. Because he deserves that. You deserve that. And I'd hate for anything to happen to either one of you and the other have to live with a whole load of regret. Promise me you'll do that? Always tell him what he means to you?"

"I promise."

"Good," Jess said. "You break his heart, I kick your ass. Got it?"

Sam laughed. "Got it."

Jess smiled and reached out and drew the smaller woman into her arms. "I missed you, Sammie," she said sincerely. "And I'm sorry."

"So am I," Sam told her. "And I missed you too."

"We never should have let some guy come between us," Jess declared, releasing her friend from her embrace. "No matter how devastatingly hot he is or how great a kisser he is."

"He is a really, really, really great kisser," Sam said, then laughed.

"I've always called him fantastically orally gifted," Jess admitted. "And don't blush and tell me you don't know what I mean either."

"Oh I know what you mean," Sam said, then immediately flushed and fanned herself with her hand. "Is it getting hot in here or what?"

It was Angell's turn to laugh. "You know," she said, taking a seat at the table and tucking a foot underneath her. "I kind of feel bad for Don in a way."

"Why's that?" Sam asked, grateful that the awkwardness of reconciliation was behind them. She took a seat across from her friend and reached for one of the lattes.

"His ex girlfriend and his current girlfriend sitting in his apartment talking about his…skills, I guess we can call them? It seems a little cruel."

"Well at least we're saying all good things," Sam reasoned. "I mean, I definitely have no complaints."

"How can you?" Jess asked. "I mean…I know exactly what he's capable of. And I have to say, you are one lucky girl."

"Yes," Sam agreed and snapped open the lid on her beverage. "I am."

"So tell me…." Jess leaned back in her chair and sipped at her latte. "He come clean about his little thing with being handcuffed to the bed post yet?"

"He did," Sam said, then hung her head in embarrassment. "But I have to admit…he's used them on me more then I have on him."

The other woman laughed. "You're a dirty little girl, Samantha. At least you're in good company when I'm around. Don's ears must be just burning right about now. If he only knew…"

"Well he doesn't," Sam giggled. "And what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Very true," Jess agreed. "How about when we're done here, you get your ass in the shower and into some clothes and we hit the streets. Indulge in some retail therapy."

"I like that idea," Sam said. "And Jess…" she took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. "I just want to say…I just want to say thank you. For coming here today. You had every reason in the world to not want to help Don. To tell us both to go fuck ourselves. And you didn't. And I'm glad that you're here. That we're friends again. I mean…we are right? Friends again? Or least trying to be?"

Jess nodded, and leaning forward in her chair, reached across the table and laid a hand on Sam's arm. "We never weren't friends," she said. "We were just on hiatus for a little while."

Sam gave a smile. "I really am glad you're here," she said.

Jess gave a warm, comforting smile of her own.

"So am I," she responded.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Things in BEG land have been a little…insane lately. I'm not exactly sure how long I am going to continue this story, or the others, but right now I am enjoying writing and entertaining all of you! And I hope that you're all still enjoying reading as well and that you'll all return once the craziness of exams lets you out of it's evil clutches!**

**Thanks for the support!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Soccer-Bitch**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl88**

**xsamiliciousx**


	58. Of bumpkins, Cream Eggs and 'Cuffs

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO ANGELIC STARS FOR HER HELLO KITTY EMAIL! I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT IT AND I THANK YOU FOR THINKING OF ME WHEN YOU SAW IT!**

**AND A HUGE THANKS TO THE FOLLOWING FOR THEIR SUPPORT: DONNA, ERICA, RACHEL, HEIDI, MICHELLE, DORI, CASS, SAM AND MANY MANY MANY OTHERS. **

**THE BOTTOM HALF OF THIS CHAPTER GOES OUT TO CASS. DOES THE WORD 'CUFFS MAKE YOU GIGGLE? LOL. REMEMBER: CHOCOLATE, FLACK AND HANDCUFFS MAKE FOR ONE HELL OF A NIGHT IN.**

**OKAY, I JUST WANT TO CLEAR SOME THINGS UP. FIRST, I WANT TO APOLOGIZE TO LAURZZ FOR OFFENDING HER IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM. NOTHING IN THIS CHAPTER OR ANY CHAPTER I'VE RECENTLY POSTED WAS WRITTEN OUT OF SPITE OR RETALIATION. IT WAS AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT. NOT A DIG. AND I'M SORRY, BECAUSE OF MY POOR JUDGEMENT, ABOUT THE PROBLEMS THAT ERUPTED. IT TAKES A BIG PERSON TO APOLOGIZE IN A PUBLIC FORUM AND I HOPE EVERYONE CAN APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT THAT WENT INTO THIS. SECOND, YOU WANT TO SLAM MY OC? THAT'S FINE. SHE'S A FICTITIOUS CHARACTER. JUST LIKE DANNY AND LINDSAY AND FLACK AND EVERYONE ON THE SHOW. THEY AREN'T REAL. BUT WHEN THE ATTACKS BECOME PERSONAL BY CALLING MY SON A 'RETARD AND A MONGOLOID', JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING YOU'VE READ? THAT IS CROSSING A LINE. THIS IS A FICTIONAL WORLD WE ARE LIVING IN HERE ON FF. NET PEOPLE. NOTHING IS REAL. AND IT'S TRULY SAD AND APPALLING WHEN A REAL HUMAN BEING WITH REAL FEELINGS TAKES A BACK SEAT TO THE FAKE CHARACTERS. I'VE REPENTED. BUT PLEASE, PLEASE BACK OFF MY SON.**

* * *

**OF BUMPKINS, EASTER CREAM EGGS AND 'CUFFS**

"Well my Daddy used to tell me  
Any man can be a king,  
it ain't that complicated,  
it's a very simple  
don't need no castle or throne for sitting in,  
All you need is one good  
If you find yourself somebody  
who will meet you at a stump,on a rainy sunday morning  
before the sun is even  
who 'll stand right there beside you and fight any fight you're in,  
then you've got one good friend."  
-One Good Friend, George Canyon

* * *

Danny strode quickly and purposefully past the elevators on the thirty-fifth floor. His attention focused on the case folder that lay open and clutched in his hands as he made his way to Mac's office. He heard the dinging of the elevator as it arrived on the floor, followed by the doors swishing open and the sound of heels rushing in his direction from behind. As he felt a small, affectionate hand fall on the space between his shoulders, a slow smile crept across his face. He didn't need to even glance back. All identity had been revealed in that familiar light, floral base scent that happily invaded his senses.

"How goes the good fight?" Sam asked cheerfully, as she stepped alongside of him, her hand slipping to his shoulder.

"It goes," he replied. "What are you doing here? Aren't you afraid that Mac's going to see you? You usually don't hang out at the place you're playing hooky from."

"I'm not playing hooky. I took a personal day. And Mac knows that I'm here. I called him and asked him if he had a few minutes for me to come and talk to him. About everything that's been going on lately. How I've been feeling and struggling and all of that."

Danny nodded in understanding. "Is this something you're doing willingly or is it something someone is pressuring you to do?" he asked.

"Willingly," Sam assured him. "I just realized that I can't handle this on my own and I figured the bigger support system I can build for myself, the better. People don't understand why I can be as sweet as pie one second and raging psychotic bitch the next unless I tell them what's going on. And before you ask, no. I'm not attempting to create a Sam Ross Pity Party. I just want you guys to be aware that sometimes I'm not being me. If that makes any sense at all."

"Something tells me that the split personality thing isn't going to go over well," he teased, nudging her playfully with his elbow. "And what made you think I was going to accuse you of tossing yourself a pity party?"

Sam arched her eyebrows and stared at him pointedly. "You honestly didn't think I couldn't hear you when you called me crazy girl last night, did you? Or that Lindsay didn't crack and tell me how you think I'm faking my moods to, and I quote, 'get what I want and control my boyfriend'?"

Danny hung his head in shame. "Sam…look…"

"It's okay," she assured him. "I'm not pissed or anything. I mean, I should be, but…I know it's hard for some people to accept depression as a legit illness. And Linds told me that you've never really had to deal with anything like this before. So I get why you're acting the way you are. Closing yourself off."

"What is it with you women and this whole closing myself off thing?" he asked.

"It's what you do," Sam told him. "You push people away. Do I really need to go into vivid details about the number of times you've done that to Linds since I've been her or before I ever arrived?"

"Hey…she's not an entirely innocent party you know. She's got this uncanny ability of holding your feelings hostage and using them against you when the mood strikes her. And not to mention how goddamn hard and long you actually have to chase her."

"Maybe we like to be chased," Sam said. "Maybe we like to watch the guy work his ass off and lay his heart and soul bare so we can…."

"So you can what? Shit all over him? Trample all over him?"

"No. I was going to say so we can feel good about ourselves by watching you prove how sincere you are about your feelings for us. We like to see how hard you're willing to work and how far your willing to go to land us. We like to play hard to get. It's fun. I guess we feel if you guys think we're worth it, you'll bust your ass to get it."

"With a warped thought process like that, it's now easy to see why it took Flack a year and a half to land you," Danny remarked.

"Oh come on. Not even I play THAT hard to get. We all know it took that long 'cause he couldn't get his head out of his ass. But all's well that ends well, right? I mean you had to fight to get and keep Linds. You made your mistakes and you redeemed yourself. Now look at the two of you…" she reached up to tousle his hair affectionately. "Soon you'll be a hubby and a daddy."

Danny grinned.

"And then there's the insanity that is me and Don," Sam laughed. "We are so completely dysfunctional. We're always at each other. If you ask me, we are an epic love/hate story. We can't figure out whether to love one another or kill one another."

"But you guys work," Danny pointed out. "Somehow you guys get past all of that and you work. It's so obvious how much he loves you. And how much you love him. The two of you can't even walk past each other without it being written all over your faces when you look at each other. And I've never, ever seen Flack look at someone like that."

She smiled.

"You guys got a good thing going on," Danny told her. "And once you both…and notice how I stressed the word both?…get your shit together, it's going to be an amazing thing."

She sniffled noisily and used a finger to wipe under her eyes.

"What?" Danny chuckled and laid a hand on the back of her neck. "You goin' all emotional on me now, B? You getting' all misty eyed listening to me talk the romance?"

"Shut up," she grumbled.

"You're such a sap," he said, shaking his head. "And what's this look you're rocking today?" he asked, eyeing her from head to toe. Taking in her wide legged, almost bell bottomed jeans, wedge heeled sandals and a white peasant style top with billowy sleeves and intricate purple, yellow and pink embroidery along the neckline. She had braided two thick sections of hair, one on each side of her head, and brought them back and secured them with a flower shaped barrette. "You fall into a time machine or something? You unleashing your inner flower child? Is there a Woodstock revival going on?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "I will have you know, Daniel, that there are many sides to me. My hippy flower child side I am modelling today, my preppy American Eagle side, my retro, second hand store clothes side and then my sexual goddess in mini skirts and camis side."

"Easy to figure out which one is Flack's favourite," Danny mused.

"Behind closed doors you mean? On the street he wants a lady. In private? The skankier the better."

"Why does that not surprise me?" he asked with a smirk. "So what have you…" he paused, his eyes narrowing as they were drawn to the side of her nose. It appeared irritated and swollen and there was something imbedded in her nostril. He was tempted to reach out and brush it away until he realized that the something was actually a small, sparkling pink stone. "Please tell me that's not real," he pleaded.

"What?" she asked innocently, then brought her finger up to her nose. "Oh you mean this? Okay…I won't tell you."

"Brooklyn…what in the hell is wrong with you? What are you doing to yourself? Why are you going out and purposefully maiming yourself?"

"I am not maiming myself," she informed him. "I am simply expressing my individuality."

"Four tattoos, a navel ring, a tongue ring and those things at the top of your right ear…"

"Cartilage piercing," she said.

"Whatever…all of that isn't enough? That's not expressive enough for you? Yesterday it was a Hello Kitty branding. Today it's a nose stud. What next?"

"I was considering another tattoo," she admitted. "And getting chunky pink highlights put in my hair."

Danny stared at her.

"I decided against the latter. Well, actually, Jessie talked me out of it. Okay…so she literally yanked me out of the chair and dragged me out of the salon. She said that that was a little too much."

"You're a little too much," Danny declared. "Honestly…what's Flack going to do when he sees that?"

"Actually, he already knows about it. Unlike yesterday, where I just went and got the branding down, today called him and asked him if he had a problem with me getting my nose pierced. He said as long as it was classy, he was cool with it."

"He's gone nuts. He has seriously gone nuts. Either that or his fears of your drugging him are true."

Sam laughed evilly. "I will never give away my secrets. Better watch out, Linds is taking notes and learning quick. Is she around? I bought her some things while I was out shopping."

"Shopping, huh? With Jessie?"

Sam nodded.

"And Jessie is Jessica Angell?"

"Before you ask, yes I know Don called her and yes I know she showed up at his desk and they went for coffee together. Then she came to the apartment to see me. And it's made me realize that the office gossip mill doesn't deserve my attention. I don't want to be part of the he said she said bullshit."

"Limp Bizkit fan, huh?" Danny grinned. "That whole 'He said, she said bullshit'. It's from Break Stuff."

"I like to entertain my Fred Durst crush every now and then," she admitted.

"You are seriously disturbed. You know that? Flack's about as far removed from Fred Durst as you can get."

"Which is why I adore my Donnie to the ends of the earth. Don is Don. And I love every inch and every side of him. For who he is and what he is. He doesn't have to change the man he is for me to love him."

"He's a lucky guy," Danny concluded. "Lots of guys feel the need to 'be that man' someone wants them to be."

"If someone loves you enough, you shouldn't have to change, they should just love you for you."

"Amen to that," he agreed whole heartily. "So this whole Jessie thing…what's up with that? You two kiss and make up? And if you did, did you take pictures?" he teased.

"Sorry. The hot reunion sex wasn't a spectator sport," Sam joked. Then turned serious. "I wouldn't say we're besties. I'd say we're under renovations."

He nodded slowly. "You know, when Linds heard that Flack went to Angell for help…it kind of hurt her feelings. I guess she's worried Angell's going to walk in and take her place."

"Her place in what?" Sam asked. "My life?"

He nodded again.

She couldn't help but laugh. "That's just plain stupid," she declared. "No one could ever take Linds' place. You can't replace a friend you love that much."

"Which is exactly what I told her," Danny said. "But you know what she gets like when the hormones start taking over. It's hard reasoning with her. And it only made things worse when you were screening her calls."

"Screening her calls? I wasn't screening her calls. I had the ringers turned off so I could sleep. I just didn't want to be bothered. By anyone. It's not against the law to want some private time, is it? I just wanted to be alone for a while. It wasn't anything personal to anyone. My whole life doesn't revolve around her or work."

"I know that. And so does she. But I guess she thought 'cause of what happened this morning…"

"Oh you mean the fact that her and my boyfriend were in a state of undress in the bathroom? Hunkered down at the toilet together? How gentle and sweet he was rubbing her back and sponging her neck and forehead down? Looking as if he was the expectant daddy or something?" she tried her best to not let the bitterness creep into her voice.

"Sam…come on…he was just being a good friend. Helping her out. That's all. I'd do the same if it was you."

"Actually, I would hope you wouldn't considering that's a private moment to be shared by two people who are together. But I appreciate the sentiment behind it. But how in the world would you help me when you couldn't even hear the mother of your child in the bathroom tossing her cookies and get out of bed to take care of her?"

"Okay…so I'm an insensitive ass sometimes. But what you saw was perfectly innocent and you just…"

"Reacted badly. I know. I have a knack of reacting badly. Rake me over the goddamn coals. Stone me in the middle of the town square. Vilify me and make other people a Personal Jesus. Don and I dealt with it this morning. It was all me and my irrationality. My insecurities."

"That's Flack talking," Danny told her. "Not you."

"Well for once he's right. I'm not perfect. I can admit when I'm wrong. I am irrational and I am jealous and I am insecure. I'm human. And I shouldn't have to apologize for that. But for Linds…for Linds and only Linds I will go in there and swallow my pride and grovel for forgiveness. Is that what she wants? Me to get on my hands and knees and ask for salvation?"

"She wants you to reassure her that you're not shutting her out of your life," Danny told her. "That you're not going to turn around and stab her in the back by just bringing Angell back into the fold. She doesn't want to be on the outside looking in. She doesn't want it being Sam and Jess. Or it being Linds and Sam. She wants it being the lot of you coexisting peacefully."

"That goes both ways," Sam pointed out. "I can't be the only one making the effort."

"You seem to be forgetting that it was Angell that shit all over and turned her back on you," Danny said.

"And I was the one that her boyfriend dumped her for. Let's call a spade a spade, okay? Human beings can be downright shitty to each other. I'm guilty for that. I'm not denying it. Linds means the world to me. She always has and she always will. No one can take her place or mean as much to me as she does."

"Well you should be telling her that."

"I would if you'd keep yapping so much and let me go and see her," Sam said. "Don's right. You do suffer from diarrehea of the mouth a lot."

"Actually…" Danny closed his case folder and swatted her playfully on the top of the head with it. "He says that about you. And Adam. I remember him specifically telling me that it seems to be a Ross trait."

"Well then you must be our long lost brother," Sam shot back.

"Could explain a lot," Danny told her, as he lingered in the doorway to Mac's office. "Like why we both have this little soft spot for country girls."

Sam laughed. "Danny, for some reason, every time you call her that I want to break out singing Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy."

"Buy Flack a hat and a pair of boots and go to town," he retorted.

"Sorry," she paused in the doorway to Lindsay's office and winked back at him. "But 'cuffs and Kevlar are more my style."

And with that she turned on her heel and disappeared into the office.

"You women are just plain dirty," Danny declared, and journeyed in to see the boss man.

* * *

"Hi, bumpkin!" Sam greeted cheerfully as she waltzed into the office where her best friend was hunkered down at her desk, one hand working at her computer keyboard while the other rested on her stomach. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

Lindsay shook her head miserably. "I have tried everything," she grumbled. "Crackers…melba toast…Tums…gravol…stale gingerale…the list goes on and on and on. And nothing gets rid of the nausea."

"I think I may have something that will help," Sam told her, as she settled her shopping bags in the chair in front of the desk.

"Jesus…" Lindsay managed a laugh through her misery. "Did you leave Flack any money to survive for the next month?"

"It amounts to just enough for two coffees each day," Sam joked, as she rummaged through the bags. "I actually didn't take his offer up on his credit or bank card. I've happily put my own self into debt. Anyhow…" she busied herself separated purchases into their rightful bags. "I went into that Motherhood Maternity store across the street from Macy's and I picked you up some stuff. I've never had a preggers bestie before so I might have went a little overboard. But I couldn't resist. Here…" she held up a bag bearing the name of the maternity store and carried it over to the desk.

"Sam, you didn't have to…"

"Did you not just hear me? I've never had a pregnant bestie before. Can I help it if I'm just a little bit excited? This is big stuff and I am going to enjoy every possible second of it. And don't you even dare think I'm not going to take Danny's place at one of the ultrasounds. Because I want to see what the spawn of Messer looks like before he or she graces us with their presence."

"I wouldn't think of not having you there," Lindsay told her. Grateful that all her doubts and worries about their friendship had been put to ease without having to say a word. "Besides, it will give you practice for when your own time comes."

"Well that isn't coming for a long while so let's not worry about that. There's something in that bag that could help you and your little puking problem you've got going on."

Lindsay snatched the bag and plopped it into her lap and opened it. She rummaged through the wide assortment of items. T-shirts and sweats, bras and underwear, a peasant style skirt and a pair of denim overalls and two books. She finally spied what Sam was referring to. A cellophane bag containing an assortment of different flavoured suckers and the words Mommy to Be Lollies written on the front of it.

"The girl at the store told me that there's some kind of herbal ingredient in them that combats morning sickness," Sam explained, picking up her other bags and sitting them on the floor before taking a seat in the chair. "Or in your case, all day sickness. And seeing as nothing else was working, I figured what the hell? Let's give it a try."

"You are truly a Godsend," Lindsay declared and immediately tore into the bag. Taking out a cherry flavoured sucker, she unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.

"Well let's just hope that they work," Sam laughed. "'Cause if your sickness was anything like what I went through when Zack and I…" she clamped her mouth shut.

"It's okay to talk about that," Lindsay assured her. "That was a big part of your life. You lost a baby. And I know it probably really hurts to see me pregnant."

Sam shook her head. "Actually…it doesn't. Not anymore. Because when I think about what my life and that child's life would have been with Zack…it's a sad thing to say, but maybe what happened, happened for a reason. To spare that poor kid a life of hell like my father put me through. You and Danny deserve this. Your happily ever after. I can't begrudge anyone that. Especially you."

Lindsay smiled.

"Let me try these things out," Sam said, and leaning over the desk, grabbed a green lollipop.

"You're not even pregnant," Lindsay laughed.

She shrugged, and tearing off the wrapper, popped the candy into her mouth. "If they're safe for expectant women, they're obviously not going to kill me. Unless there's some kind of mystery ingredient in here. Like some kind of fertility drug that's going to going to aid and abet conception."

"I think you'll be okay," her friend said. "Unless you don't want to be."

"Don and I talked and we're not ready for a baby. We don't know when we will be ready. But we do know that now is not the time. Considering the place we're in…it's just not a good thing. It's not fair to a baby to be brought into something unstable. Not that Donnie and I are unstable. It's just other things that are a little topsy turvy at the moment."

"There's no need to explain, Sammie. And about this morning…"

She waved it off. "Let's just put that past us, okay? It's history."

Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief.

"And this whole thing with Jess…"

"Danny," Lindsay sighed. "Big mouth."

"Look, I'm not going to sit here and bullshit to your face. I know Angell and Donnie talked. I know he asked her for help. Why he did that is his business. But I can assure you that he didn't do it because he's trying to replace you. If anything, he's doing it to protect you. In case you haven't noticed, he's got this whole Knight in Shining Armour complex. It's so hot, isn't it? A big, strong, handsome guy wanting to slay the dragon and whisk you into the sunset? I'll never admit it to him, but it turns me on."

"If you ever admit it to him, you relinquish all control," Lindsay concluded.

"Exactly. And there's no way that is ever going to happen. But like I was saying. About Jess. She came to talk to me after she saw Donnie. And we're trying to mend things. It's going to take a while for us to get back to where we were. If we ever get back there. But I want you to know that she's not walking into my life and taking over that place in my heart that's just reserved for you. I want you to know that."

"Sam…I…"

"She's my Jess and you're my bumpkin," she continued. "And being my bumpkin means that…it just means that you can't be replaced. Plain and simple."

Lindsay smiled, embarrassed to find herself fighting tears.

"Oh come here you blubbery little pregnant girl," Sam teased, and jumping to her feet, went behind the desk and drew Lindsay into her arms. "I am seriously going to kick the shit out of your hormones," she declared, stroking her best friend's hair as Lindsay nestled her head into her stomach.

"Please do," the country girl sniffled.

"Say the word and it's done," Sam said. "In fact, I'll…" a frown covered her face as a loud knock came to the door. Looking over, she found her boyfriend, eyes wide eyed and curious, watching the exchange in the office. "Do you mind, Don?" she asked. "We're having a moment here."

"I can see that. Danny told me you were in here. Mac wants to…"

"A girls only moment," Sam informed him. "As in you belong out in the hall."

"I'm just here to tell you that Mac says he'll talk to us now," he said. "Don't be going all PMS bitchy on me."

"Would you please just leave?" his girlfriend asked. "Please?"

"Those better not be magic lollipops," he said.

"Get out!" Lindsay screamed. "Do you not understand! Get out!!!!"

Flack's eyes widened and he held his hands up in surrender before slowing backing out of the doorway.

"Nice tie by the way," Lindsay called out, in a calm, collected voice. "About time she started picking your clothes."

"I'm going to wait down by Mac's!" he yelled as he headed off down the hall. "Save myself from all this estrogen!"

Lindsay looked up at Sam.

Sam looked down at her.

Both dissolved into giggles.

"Are you okay now?" Sam asked. "Everything's under control? You're not going to spontaneously combust on me, are you?"

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. How come you and Flack are going to talk to Mac?"

"He's just tagging along for morale support," Sam said, tucking Lindsay's hair behind her ears before pulling away from her. "I just felt the need to fill Mac in on what's been going on lately. Donnie didn't think I should have to go through it alone."

"You've got a good man, Sammie," Lindsay told her, using the backs of her hands to clear her tears away.

"He's amazing. And that's something I don't give him enough credit for. Something I will definitely have to work on. I better go. I can't say I'm not shitting myself at the thought of spilling my inner most secrets to my boss. Mind you, he's seen nude pictures of me so how bad could it get, right?"

"Who knows," Lindsay mused, as she watched her friend head back around the desk. "Maybe he'll get all pissed off and go all Marine Mac like you like so much."

"Maybe," Sam said, and then laughed. "That happens and the second we're out of the office, I'm dragging Donnie into the closest supply closet. I'll be back before I head home. You should check out the Hello Kitty stuff I bought at Macy's today. MAC brought out this whole limited time only line of cosmetics. As soon as I saw them, I knew I had to have them."

"Let me guess. You bought one of each in every possible shade."

"Close," Sam said. "But I did buy this totally kick ass Hello Kitty toaster."

"Are you serious?"

"No joke…it's in the bags somewhere."

"You honestly think that Flack's going to let you keep a Hello Kitty toaster in his kitchen?" Lindsay asked, getting up from her chair and walking around her desk.

"Does he have a choice? And it's my kitchen now too. You should see the butterfly and Betty Boop magnets I bought yesterday."

"Poor guy," Lindsay sighed as she began rummaging through Sam's shopping bags. "You're going to be the death of him."

"I am," Sam laughed as she headed for the door. "But at least he'll go with a smile on his face. And make one hell of a well dressed, damn fine smelling, good looking corpse."

* * *

Mac had done little more then listen intently behind the close door of his office as Samantha did all of the talking. She had been uncharacteristically terrified as she had sat there on the small couch in front of his desk, both of her legs shaking and feeling sick to her stomach as she found herself spilling every possible secret she'd held for years inside of her. She hadn't been able to help it. The second she'd started explaining what was going on in her life and how it was affecting her work, nothing was sacred any more. Maybe it was the kindness and understanding in Mac's normally cold eyes. Maybe it was the way he didn't interrupt her and just allowed her to ramble off at the mouth. Maybe it was the way that Flack had stayed completely silent as well, his blue eyes riveted on her face, full of compassion and concern as he held both her tiny hands tightly in one of large strong ones and rubbed her back comfortingly with his free hand.

Whatever it was, she had come completely clean. She had told her boss about the abuse she and Adam had suffered at the hands of her father. She talked about the depression that had quickly and suddenly taken over her life when she was seventeen years old. How her step father, while her mother ignored her, head firmly stuck firmly off her ass, had gotten the proper help that she needed. She talked about Zack. About how everything had started out so great and then after losing a baby, everything had went so horrifically bad. She confessed to her ability of always wanting to run away from difficult situations. Of wanting to close out the entire world. Push away everyone that she loved and loved her back in favour of escaping. Or going somewhere where no one knew her.

And she had let loose the one secret she had vowed that no one -save for her step father and a therapist- would ever find out. That her birth father had done sick, perverted things to an innocent five year child. A hell she'd endured until she was ten and she started puberty and she simply wasn't his type anymore.

She hadn't wanted that confession to come out. At least not at that point in time. She had wanted to tell her boyfriend, the man she loved more than life itself, in the privacy of their own home. She hadn't had a select date on when. She just knew that she had to tell him soon. Before things got even more serious then they already were. And when she'd finished spilling her guts about her real father, and silence had descended on the room, she'd seen the disgust that had come over both Flack and Mac's faces. They were horrified and sickened by what had happened to her. And she was terrified that also meant they were sickened by her.

"I never wanted it to happen," she'd said, before promptly dissolving into tears. Her body had instinctively melted into her boyfriend's strong, warm arms as he embraced her tightly. Tossing Mac's 'personal versus professional' rule right out of the window.

It had been Mac who spoke first. He'd paced his office and given them some time. Allowing Flack to successfully calm her down by stroking her back and her hair and whispering soothing, supportive words into her ear. And when he'd finally released her, struggling with tears of his own, Mac had grabbed a handful of tissues from the Kleenex box on his desk and approached the couch.

"It's not something that defines you," he'd said, crouching down in front of Sam and showing an uncharacteristic tender side as he reached out and used the tissue to wipe her tears away. "It happened to you but it isn't you. You know that, right?"

She'd nodded and sniffled noisily.

"Take some time off," he'd told her as he stood up. "A week…two…take some time and get yourself in order. I'm going to keep what went down in here today off the NYPD radar. They don't have to know what we talked about or even what's going on with you. We'll fill out the paper work for some personal time and we'll make something up. They don't need to know a damn thing. Just promise me that before you come back to work, you'll get some help. You'll talk to the right people. A therapist, a family doctor, a priest even. You'll get yourself on some meds if that's what you need."

"I've got that all under control," Flack had assured him. "I've got some names and numbers. Hawkes helped me out with that. And some 'scripts to get filled."

Mac had nodded. "Come back when you're ready," he'd told her. "And only when you're ready."

_The only thing I'm ready for us to polish off this whole shit load of Easter candy,_ Sam now thought, eyeing the solid chocolate bunny that called her name as it sat in its box on the coffee table. Along with a wide assortment of mini eggs and her all time favourite, Cadbury's Cream Eggs. She had been unable to resist filling her sweet tooth when she'd seen the Easter goods already laid out at the bodega on the corner. She'd gone in on her way home to buy milk. She'd come home with not just that, but enough chocolate to last her for at least a month.

Or less, depending on how much of a pig she actually wanted to make herself.

For now, she amused and pampered herself with a Cream Egg as she lounged on the couch, watching Titanic - she'd seen it at least fifty times since it's release years ago and still cried each and every time- and wearing her comfy clothes. A man's dress shirt pulled from her boyfriend's side of the closet that was miles too big, and a pair of girl boxers with Tweety Bird on them. A box of Kleenexes on one side of her, a glass of milk tucked into the cushions on the other side.

Rose had just managed to free Jack from his confines in the bowels of the ship -_handcuffs, _Sam mused at the sight of them dangling from Leo's wrist, _they should be a definite must in every girl's sexual repertoire - _when she heard keys in the lock and then the apartment door swinging open.

"Better tell your boyfriend to get out of here unless he wants his balls in their proper place," Flack called, as he toed his runners off in the foyer and locked the door up. After her melt down in Mac's office, he'd taken her home and saw her off to bed for a nap calling Whitmore and informing her that there was personal business that needed his attention.

And that he needed a couple of weeks off. The Inspector hadn't been impressed, but had surprisingly granted him the wish. As long as he kept up with old cases by working on the paper work at home, and checked in from time to time in case he was desperately needed.

When Sam had woken up, he'd laid in bed beside her and they'd talked about her birth father and what he'd done to her. He'd assured her, through both words and gentle kisses and touches, that he didn't find her repugnant. That what had happened to her didn't make him think, or feel, anything less towards her. He loved her regardless and was there with her for the long haul. He was going to help her cope. Plain and simple.

Afterwards, he'd gone to the drug store to fill her prescription while she'd took up refuge on the couch with her candy.

"You're too late," Sam returned. "He's gone. He values his life _**and**_ his cajones."

"Smart guy," he said as he journeyed into the living room. "Oh God no…not this again. Why do you watch this so much?"

"Why do you watch The OC over and over again?" she retorted, smiling up at him and turning her face up for a kiss as he stood in front of the couch.

"Because that Rachel Bilson chick is hot," he admitted and tossed the CVS bag in his hands onto the cofee table.

"I need to get my Leo fix," Sam told him. "My young Leo fix. I figured this was the best way."

"You've fast forwarded through almost the whole movie," Flack commented, as he picked up the plastic glass of milk and sat it on the table and took a seat beside her.

"I wanted it to get to the sad parts so I could cry," she reasoned.

"You just love to torture herself," he declared.

She nodded and grabbed the remote to turn the volume up. Not wanting to miss the moment where Jack put Rose into the lifeboat. It was the part that always started the water works. The looks of desperation on the actors' faces, the sad music…it was all just too much to take. And the second Rose leapt off that boat and ran to find Jack, well Sam just became a blubbering fool.

"I swear to God I am burning this DVD," Flack informed her, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, allowing her to sob into his chest. "You realize if the Titanic existed today and we were to go on it, we'd be in steerage considering the way the economy is?" he asked.

"Don't ruin my moment," she sniffled.

"I'm just saying…"

When her crying finally ceased and the movie got past that moment of heartbreak and began it's journey to even more, she sat up, wiped her eyes on the front of shirt and went back to her assault on her Easter Cream Egg. She bit the top of, then proceeded to use her finger to scoop out the gooey middle.

"Must you?" Flack asked, watching as she slowly, and deliberately as far as he was concerned, used the tip of her tongue to clean her finger off.

"What?" she asked innocently. "What am I doing?"

"You know what you're doing. You're making eating that thing a lewd act."

"I always eat them like this," she informed him. And sticking her finger into the egg, scooped out more of the filling.

"Sam…seriously…don't do this to me…"

"I'm not doing anything," she said, and locking eyes with him, ran the tip of her tongue along one side of her finger, then the other. Before taking the tip into her mouth and sucking on it.

"Sammie…come on…don't sit there and tell me you don't know what that's doing to me…."

"I'm not a mind reader," she informed him and dipped her finger into the egg once again. "And it's not my fault you have this erotic compulsion with food. You're truly a perverted man, Donnie. I can't even eat an Easter Cream Egg without you thinking I'm attempting to turn you on. God…and if I even say chocolate and handcuffs in the same sentence and you're…"

"And I'm what?" he asked, and snatching the egg out of her hand, tossed it onto the coffee table. Then taking her by surprise, grabbed her by the hips and threw her down onto her back on the couch. "And I'm what?" he inquired once again, as he covered his body with hers. "Turning into some raging perv? Some total sex maniac who just can't resist ripping your clothes off?"

"You don't need me to say chocolate or handcuffs for that," she laughed, as he straddled her, a knee on either side of her body, his one hand taking firm hold of both of her wrists and pinning them to the couch above her head. "You're just like that all the time."

"Yeah…well can I help it I find you incredibly sexy and irresistible?" he asked, his free hand moving to the front of her shirt and quickly and effortlessly snapping open two buttons before abruptly stopping. He bit his bottom lips nervously. Concern clouded his eyes as he looked down at her.

"What?" she asked. "What's wrong? You don't want to…"

"No…no…I mean yes. Yes. I want to. But at the same time it feels kind of weird wanting this, and you, after what we talked about earlier."

"I thought you said that you…"

"That it doesn't make me think less of you or love you less. And it doesn't. It's just…that's a tough thing to talk about, babe. To find out. And then for us to just jump into this…"

"We're not just jumping into anything," she told him. "We're two adults in a normal, loving relationship. And maybe I need this. Maybe I need to feel normal. Maybe I need for you to make me feel normal. Like what happened to me doesn't define me. That you love me and find me beautiful."

"I do love you and find you beautiful. It's just that…"

"Just what?" she asked, and turning the tables on him, flipped him over onto his back. "I am asking for this," she said, as her lips found his neck and her hand drifted down his chest and up underneath the bottom of his t-shirt. "I am asking for this from you. I need this from you. Do you think you could do that for me?"

"Oh absolutely…" he said, shivering at the sensation of her nails scraping across his stomach as her tongue and lips did wonders on his ear.

"You know what else I want you to do for me, Don?" she asked, mouth against his ear, her one hand brought one of his arms up above his head, followed by the other. "You know what I really, really, really want you to do?"

He shook his head.

She kissed him deeply as, unbeknown to him, her hands rummaged under the cushion for something she'd so strategically hid while he was out. "I want you to close your eyes and lie there like a good boy," she whispered. "Can you do that?"

He nodded and did exactly what he was told.

"Uh-uh…" she said, as his one hand attempted to reach for her. "I want you to lie just like you were. Okay?"

"Sam…what…"

She silenced him with another kiss.

He lost himself in her. In the feel of her lips and the greediness of her tongue and in their hearts pounding wildly in unison. Then his eyes snapped open as he felt a slight tugging and a sudden cold sensation on his left wrist. And before he could react or get a word out of his lips, she was perching herself on his chest and securely fastening the handcuffs on both of his wrists with a dull click.

He grinned up at her. "Damn you're good…" he said, licking his lips and eyeing her appreciatively.

"Never underestimate the little ones," Sam declared. "Now…now it's time for me to tell you exactly what I want."

"I am all ears," he told her.

She smiled devilishly. "I want you to beg for a change," she informed him.

His grin became even wider.

Donald Flack Junior had never been one to back down from a challenge. And he wasn't about to start.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. And the lurkers! I appreciate each and every one of you for all of your love and support. We all make mistakes and do things we regret, and I sincerely thank all of you who accept this and me. **

**Special thanks to:**

**CrazyGirlCass**

**AngelicStars**

**Bluehaven4220**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**

**muchmadness**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**xsamiliciousx**


	59. To protect AND serve

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.**

**A/N: TIME TO PLAY NAME THAT EPI AGAIN! THERE'S A COUPLE MENTIONED IN HERE. LET'S SEE WHO CAN GET THEM AND WIN MY HOMEMADE BROWNIES. AND THEY'RE GOOD, SPECIAL BROWNIES ;)**

**JUST KIDDING! ENJOY! THIS IS A JUST FOR FUN CHAPTER. 'CAUSE I WANTED SOME GUY TIME AND SOME FLUFF TIME AND…WELL DO I REALLY NEED A REASON FOR MY MADNESS? LOL**

* * *

**To protect AND serve**

"I did my best to notice  
When the call came down the line  
Up to the platform of surrender  
I was brought but I was kind  
And sometimes I get nervous  
When I see an open door  
Close your eyes, clear your heart  
Cut the cord

Are we human or are we dancers?  
My sign is vital, my hands are cold  
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer  
Are we human or are we dancers?

Pay my respects to grace and virtue  
Send my condolences to good  
Give my regards to soul and romance  
They always did the best they could  
And so long to devotion  
You taught me everything I know  
Wave goodbye, wish me well  
You've gotta let me go."  
-Human, The Killers

* * *

Dropping his gym bag onto the cold cement, Flack yawned noisily and extending his arms over his head, stretched until both his shoulders and back cracked. Clad in a pair of navy blue athletic shorts that skimmed just below his knees, runners, a baggy NYPD sweatshirt over a t-shirt and a backwards Mets ball cap, he took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp morning air. That clock had yet to strike eight, yet he found himself in the middle of the concrete jungle in Harlem that was known as Rucker Park. His usual stomping ground for shooting hoops with the guys and his YMCA kids. The latter group he'd been seriously neglecting lately and his email and both home and cell phone voice mail stacked to the rafters with messages from both curious, and upset kids wondering if he'd dropped off of the face of the earth. He felt guilty, and knew he had to quickly get his head out of his ass and do something with the youngsters. Those kids deserved better then someone who was just a fleeting older brother figure in their lives.

_Now if my life would only cooperate long enough to give me some extra time, then I'd be set, _Flack thought, as he uncapped the bottle of water in his hand and took a swig of the ice cold beverage.

He realized he didn't have that much of an excuse as to why he hadn't arranged a get together with his 'kids'. Five days into his two week vacation and he'd done little more then sleep in until noon and turn off all of the ringers and every computer in the apartment and leave the television off and spend some much needed quality time with his girlfriend. Both sexual and non intimate. They had spent a lot of time on the couch, relaxing in the peacefulness of their apartment and abandoning all thoughts of work. And they talked. A lot. About anything and everything. About their equally as shitty childhoods -although Flack knew that his nowhere near matched the hell she'd been put through and would have gladly taken extra beats from his father to spare her the agony of being made her father's personal sex servant- and the more light-hearted, humorous and often embarrassing moments of their teenage years. He talked about his time in the academy and the early days of his career. About his training officer Gavin Moran and the massive fuck up he'd made by having a secret life with some woman he'd met while on the beat.

Sam had heard the stories. The precinct was a gossip mill and she'd only been a member of the team for two days when she began hearing about everyone's dirty laundry. From Danny 'shooting' Officer Minhaus, to Gavin Moran stealing a soda can that bore his illegitimate son's DNA from a crime scene and ultimately ending his career, to Stella's ex boyfriend Frankie and the amateur porn he'd made of them and posted on the internet and how he'd broken into her apartment and held her captive and had every intention of raping and killing her.

Until she put three bullets in his chest. Sam had never mentioned to Stella that she knew about it. Although she was pretty sure Stella knew she did. Stories like that had a life of their own and always mad their rounds when new people came along that had never heard them before. She also didn't know if she'd ever mention it to her friend that she both did know, and that she felt Stella deserved a goddamn award for ridding the world of that disgusting, pathetic piece of shit that had the nerve to call himself a man.

A silence had fallen at Sam's brutally honest assessment of Frankie. She and Flack had been sprawled out on the couch. He was on his back with one leg dangling over the edge while she lay on her side, an arm draped over his chest and her head on his shoulder as she listened to his heart beat while he stroked her hair softly.

She'd raised her head to look at him, slightly startled when he suddenly broke the silence with a hearty chuckle.

"We are one fucked up bunch," he'd declared. "The whole damn lot of us. There's not one person on that team that is normal."

"Oh what fun is normal?" she'd asked. "If we were normal, we'd be too damn boring. Look at me and you. Half the time we hate each other and are ready to kill one another. The other half of the time we're…"

"Having totally wild and kinky make up sex," he'd finished and laughed. "You know, I think you just like to pick massive fights with me just so you can get to the make up sex."

She'd snorted and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Don't think so highly of yourself, Detective Flack," she'd said coolly.

There was something so unbelievably sexy watching her transform from giggly little girl in Smurf's pyjamas with pink plastic Hello Kitty barrettes holding her hair away from her face, into a bitchy, smart ass Brooklyn girl. What had attracted him to her right from the get go, and what had kept him going back for more, was the fact that she wasn't one dimensional. Or even two dimensional for that matter. She wasn't all girlie and angelic, yet she wasn't totally evil either. There were so many characteristics in between that drove him insane. And made it impossible to stay away.

"Come on now," he'd said, a smirk on his face as he reached out and traced a fingertip along her skin just underneath the neckline of her pyjamas. "Admit it…the whole reason you like us to fight is to get us to the making up part…don't be shy…"

She'd rolled her eyes and slung a leg over his body in an attempt to climb off of the couch. Only to have him firmly grab her by both hips and hold her tightly on top of him.

"Are you mad at me, Sammie?" he'd asked, an amused expression on his face. "Are you pissed off? Annoyed? Am I irritating you? Come on…get made at me and start a fight…freak out on me…slap me out…just so I can throw you down right here and get to some serious making up."

A smile had threatened to poke through her frown, and she'd leaned over and brushed her lips against his. "You are a pervert," she'd declared. Then kissed him in earnest, her lips seizing his aggressively and her tongue pushing its way into his mouth. The woman knew how to kiss. Her lips and her tongue were capable of bringing him to his knees and possessed talents all of their own. And he'd hissed in pain and his fingers had bit into her hips as he felt her teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. Then she'd pulled back and ever so slowly traced his lip with the tip of her tongue.

"Now whose in charge?" she'd asked in a sultry voice.

It was an epic battle of wills. Every moment of every intimate encounter was a test. She was desperate to capture control, he was desperate to hold onto it. And when he briefly handed it over, when he simply sat back and let her do what she wanted and how she wanted, it was only a matter of time before she became self conscious and unsure if she was actually doing the right thing. If what she was doing was in fact 'doing anything' for him. He didn't know how many times he had to tell her, or show her that she was incredible and what she was doing was incredible, but her shitty confidence soon got the upper hand and she was backing down and relinquishing all control once again.

While he liked having that kind of power, there was also a side to him that just wanted her to take chances. To just toss all of her hang ups aside and for once feel confident in herself and her abilities. That afternoon on the couch had ended just like many other. Her teasing him and driving him to the point of combusting before backing off and allowing him to take the lead. While he had been grateful that they were at least continuing, he had also been frustrated at her complete lack of confidence yet again. Maybe it stemmed from what had happened in her childhood. With having the one man she trusted wholly and completely doing things to her that she had no power to stop. Maybe it had to do with how Zack had been all about himself and hadn't care about her wants and her needs. How he'd made her feel unworthy and unloved. Whatever it was, he knew that he had to be the one to turn it around.

Now if only he could figure out how.

* * *

_Maybe they make books on these things. Like a 'How to unleash the inner sex goddess in your woman for dummies. Or maybe that overpriced quack of a shrink we're going to see today has some answers for THAT', _he thought, as he stood in the middle of the concrete jungle known as Rucker Park, sipping his bottle of water as his eyes lingered on the small, modest bronze plague attached to the chain link fence yards away that had been erected in memory of Chopper Tevis. It had been over three years ago and Flack could still remember taking his Y kids to see Chopper go one on one with NBA star Dante Hope. David had slain Goliath that day, and less then twenty four hours later, Flack had been back on that ball court standing over Chopper's dead body.

A loud groan next to him capture his attention. Looking down, he smirked as a weary Danny Messer laid down on his back on the crude metal bench and placed a forearm over his eyes.

"It is way too damn early for this shit," Danny declared.

"Eight in the morning is early?" Flack asked.

"On a day off it is," his best friend replied.

"How the hell are you ever going to function when the kid gets here? You are aware a baby doesn't have an on and off switch, right? That it's like a goddamn Energizer Bunny? That the second it arrives kicking and screaming in this world, you're life as you know it is over. That you won't be able to get your eight hours every night. You'll be lucky to get half of that. And if it's colicky, shit…."

"Shut up, Flack," Danny grumbled. "When did you become this authority on having kids? What do you know about taking care of a baby? You got a horde of bastard babies out there or something?"

"Sure…a few of them with that really cute cousin of yours that lives in Queens City. Tawny…" Flack shook his head and took a sip of his water. Flooded by memories of a night long ago when Danny's said cousin, after meeting up with her at a bar hours early, had walked out of his bathroom in nothing but her birthday suit and braids in the most unusual of places. Long, tanned, lean legs that seemed to go on forever. And a body that could stop traffic. That was one memory and one woman that would, for as long as he lived, bring a smile to his face whenever he thought about her. "That girl is all…"

"Don't even finish that sentence if you value your life, Flack," Danny warned. "You know she's like a sister to me. You say one wrong thing about her and I don't care how tight we are, I'm handing you your ass right here and now."

Flack grinned. Deciding to spare Danny the details of how dirty his precious cousin really was.

"So how goes the vacation?" Danny asked, putting his hands behind his head and staring up at the brilliant blue sky. "You've been off for five days and you don't bother calling me until last night? What's up with that?"

"I've been busy," Flack told him.

"Doing what? You probably haven't left the apartment in five days."

The detective grinned. "Which is exactly why I've said I've been busy."

"Come on…do not try and tell me that you and Brooklyn have been locked inside the bedroom for the past five days."

"We haven't been. We've been all over the apartment. Bedroom, bathroom sink ledge, bathroom floor, shower, couch, kitchen table…"

"Alright…alright. I'm sorry I asked. I don't want to be hearing about your wild sexual adventures. You better be careful or little Brooklyn's going to come to you in two months and tell you you're going to be a daddy."

"It's called birth control, Messer. Unlike some people I know, Sam and I actually know how to use the stuff. Her doctor got her fitted for a diaphragm, right? So we decide will alternate between that and condoms. So she's not constantly running to the john to put this thing in. So last night, she heads to the bathroom and she's in there for a good half hour. She comes out and oh my God, Dan-o, I nearly lose control right there and then. She's got this black lace corset thing on and a garter belt and stockings and black high heels. She's gone all pin up girl on me. Her hair's wavy, she's got ruby red lipstick on. She's just totally hot. So to make a long story short, we do our thing. And afterwards, and I mean immediately afterwards when I'm still catching my damn breath, she swears and shoves me off of her and I nearly land on the floor."

Danny's eyes widened.

"She hauls ass into the bathroom and I hear her rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. She comes back into the bedroom looking like someone just died and she's got the empty box that her diaphragm goes in, in her hand. Or I at least think it's empty. And you know what she says to me?"

Danny shook his head.

"She says, 'I forgot to put it in'. She forgot! How in the hell does someone forget something like that? Something that you have to put in your…well you know. How does she forget that? This is a woman with a masters degree from Dartmouth and you're telling me she can't remember to put in a goddamn diaphragm?"

"Her masters is in forensics," Danny reminded him. "Not common sense."

"Tell me about it. I love her…" he shook his head. "God I love her…to death…I would take a bullet for that girl and you know that. But sometimes…sometimes she drives me right mental. Remember my whole theory on the higher your education the lower your common sense?"

Danny nodded.

"Sam is proof that I know what I'm talking about," Flack concluded. "Anyway, after all is said and done, we find ourselves at a walk in clinic at six in the morning, five hours after we had sex, and we're getting her the morning after pill. And the doctor…the doctor starts telling her about how she needs to take a pregnancy test if she doesn't get her period when she's suppose to 'cause emergency contraception isn't always a hundred percent effective. And then…then he looks at her and says, you should get screened for STDs with your family doctor. He's thinking she's just some girl who had a one night hook up and didn't bother to use protection. I swear to you, I was ready to beat the shit out of that tool."

"Can't believe you guys got the morning after pill," Danny grumbled.

Flack frowned. "Why? What's the issue? Why'd you get this weird look on your face when you 'said morning after pill?' You're acting like I just told you I'd sold my first born on the black market."

"I just didn't think you guys would do something like that is all. I thought you'd agreed that if it happened it happened. The morning after pill is just like…."

"Like what? Don't say what I think you're going to say next, Messer. This was our choice. Both Sam and I made it. And we also decided that we weren't in any position to have a kid. We're not like you and Linds. We're not at that point in our relationship. And considering all the other shit we're dealing with? Us having a baby…well that would just plain fucking selfish."

"Should have thought about that and used protection," Danny said. "Or made sure she was safe."

"Oh that's rich coming from you," Flack snidely remarked. "Considering birth control completely slipped your mind about four months ago."

"All I'm saying is that…"

"Easy, ladies, easy," a familiar deep voice said from behind them. "It's way too early to be getting your panties in a twist."

"Where you been Scagnetti?" Flack teased his partner as he turned around to watch the big detective, accompanied by Adam, Rick Santucci and Marty Pino crossing the court. "I said eight a.m. You get caught up in the line at Crispy Cream or something?"

"Very funny, Flack. I'm surprised you're even here. What? Your girlfriend finally let you out of the house to play? Give you permission to breath fresh air and see sunlight?"

"Hey, just 'cause I'm getting laid on a regular basis and you're still shelling out the green for a helping hand, don't be getting all nasty on me," Flack shot back.

"Only way I'll be getting nasty on you is I high tail it out of here and haul ass to your place and show Little Brooklyn what a real man can do for her."

"In that case, I believe the job would be up to me," Pino remarked cockily.

"Give me a break," Danny snorted. "She'd pull a hockey fight on you. Yank that Giants jersey over your head and pummel your pretty little face. And aren't you married? Why are you even talking like this with a wife at home in the first place?"

"Because the wife knows it's all in good fun," Pino told him. "I'm coming home to her at the end of that day and that's all that matters."

"In the meantime he's spending the hours in between leaving the house and walking back in trying to score with anything that walks with a wiggle," Scagnetti piped up. "You better watch yourself, Flack. Last case I worked with your girl and him? I spotted him checking out her ass as she was leaving autopsy."

"Can I help it if I'm a man that can admire beautiful scenery?" the young ME asked.

"You'll be admiring that scenery with two black eyes," Flack threatened him.

Pino held up his hands in surrender. "You know I'm just joking with you, big man."

"You're only saying that 'cause you know he could snap you in half," Danny remarked dryly. "And what's up with you anyway, Pino? You seriously look like you've gone on a bender or something. Too many long hours playing the Xbox down in the morgue while working nights or what?"

"Too many nights getting acquainted with your sister," Pino chided him.

The group of men laughed.

"You're damn lucky I don't have a sister or I'd be whupping your ass all over this court," Danny declared.

"What the hell are we doing here so early anyway?" Santucci asked. "My one day off a week and I've got to get up early to shoot hoops?"

"That's 'cause Flack's got a busy social calender," Danny said, as he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bench. "Him and his girl got plans."

"Do they include leaving the apartment?" Scagnetti teased his partner, nudging Flack with his elbow. "Come on Junior, don't be shy. Let us know what goes on behind closed doors. She really as meek and mild as she lets on sometime or does she take that usual bitchiness to bed with her and just punish you?"

"She punishes him," Danny said. "You should see the man's back and shoulders. Guy's got more war wounds from her then he does from the job."

"Uh…guys…" Adam spoke up. "Do we really have to talk about this? 'Cause that is my sister and well… I really don't want to be hearing that kind of stuff about my sister. So do you mind? Please?"

"Don't be such a cupcake," Scagnetti chided, and reached out to tousle the lab tech's hair. "Time to face the facts that your sister is a wild thing. A raging nympho. I bet if Flack would be honest for once, he'd admit she's schooling him."

Adam grimaced. "That I do not need to hear. And why are we all the way out here in Harlem just to play basketball when there's five courts in my neighbourhood alone?"

"'Cause this is Flack's hood," Danny declared, jumping to his feet and clapping his best friend on the back. "This is Rucker Park. He's the resident Larry Bird six years running now."

"If you're the resident Larry Bird I'm the resident Kareem Abdul Jabar," Scagnetti told his partner.

"Actually…" Flack reached out and patted his friend on the stomach. "You're more the resident William Refrigerator Perry."

"That's harsh, Junior," Scagnetti said. "Real harsh."

"He was nicer then I was going to be," Danny told him. "I was going to say the resident Pilsbury Doughboy."

The group laughed heartily once again.

"So we gonna stand here yapping like women and freezing our nuts off or are we actually gonna play?" Scagnetti asked. "'Cause if it's the two formers, I could be warm and snug in my bed with some pretty little brunette."

"Don't give us that, Tony," Flack said. "We all know the rub and tugs don't open until ten am."

"Actually I was going to have one of these guys distract you and head over to your place," the big man teased, then reached out quickly and wrapped Flack in a head lock. "Don't make me mess up your pretty face anymore then it already is, Junior. Don't want your lady not able to recognize you."

"Trust me, Tony," Flack laughed as he wriggled out of his partner's grasp. "She'll know it's me if I just drop my drawers."

"I so do not want to hear this," Adam declared.

"Oh relax Ross," Flack slung his arm across the younger man's shoulders as the group made their way out onto the group. "Your sister is well taken care of, trust me."

"I know…I just…I hate hearing stuff like that about her, you know? It's just…it's not right hearing that about your sister. Would you wanna hear that about your sister?"

Flack chuckled. "Oh…I've heard a lot worse about my sister," he said, then slowed his pace, allowing the others to get further ahead. "You left a message on my cell phone last night. What's up? Everything okay?"

"I don't know," Adam admitted. "Zack stopped by the lab last night."

Flack sighed heavily and immediately tensed up.

"I told him that Sam wasn't there and that she was on personal leave and I didn't know when she was going to be back. He was involved with some bust major crime made last night and he thought he'd kill two birds with one stone and pop by and see how she was."

"Is that what he said? That he wanted to see how she was?"

Adam nodded.

"What did you tell him?" Flack asked.

"I told him that she was fine. And that really, her well being wasn't any of his business anymore. That it hadn't been any of his business for a long, long time."

Flack grinned, feeling an immense surge of pride in Adam surging through his body.

"I'm tired of him thinking that he can just walk right in and take over her life again," the lab tech continued solemnly. "He's controlled her and manipulated her for years. And he thinks that he's going to be able to just talk her into taking him back. To give up the life she has now for the life that she gave up with him. And I guess I kinda…I don't know…I guess I kind of worried she's not strong enough to get away from him completely."

"Trust me, Adam, your sister is a lot stronger then any of us give her credit for," Flack told him. "She knows what she wants, how to get it, and how to keep it. She's not going to fall for his bullshit."

The lab tech nodded.

"And I mean come on. Think about it. Why would she? Why would she want that tool when she's got someone as incredibly handsome and fantastically charming as me?"

Adam smirked.

"Or should I say why she want to be with a prick like that when she has someone that is completely and utterly devoted to her? Who would do anything to protect her? And I mean anything, Adam. If Zack so as much breathes on her, I will end him. I would have thought that T…" Flack caught himself before Terrence Davis' name could escape his lips.

No one knew save for him, Sam and Davis himself. Even the guys who'd put Zack in the hospital didn't know who they were doing the deed for. And Adam was the last person Flack wanted to involve. Adam was, in all fairness, like a brother to him. And protecting Sam also meant keeping her brother out of the shit storm as well.

"I would have that after that beating he was handed he'd learn not to fuck with New Yorkers," Flack finally managed to finish his sentence. "Apparently not, huh? I guess he's just hurting for another ass kicking."

"Personally I hope he gets it," Adam said.

_Personally I hope I'm the one that gives it to him, _Flack thought. Then said no more as they joined the others on the basketball court.

* * *

The sight that greeted Flack three hours later as he stepped through his apartment door and into his kitchen brought a broad smile to his face. He had heard the music the moment he'd stepped off of the elevator, and easily recognized it as coming from his place. Unless one of his neighbours insisted on playing The Killers over and over again just like his girlfriend did. He had made the mistake of picking up the CD for her after she'd commented, after seeing some of the group's songs on You Tube that she really, really like the music. That had been a week ago. It had been playing on the stereo ever since. She knew all the words and they were slowly becoming embedded in his brain as well. And when he'd been putting the key in the door, he'd found himself muttering some of the words to the song Human.

But what greeted him, after he'd toed off his runners and dropped his bag by the door before locking it, was both amusing and adorable. His girlfriend, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his athletic socks, her hair piled up on the top of her head in a sloppy bun and held together with plastic sticks, dancing around the kitchen, a piece of toast and peanut butter in her hand as she sang along to the music blaring from the stereo in the living room.

"_I'm fine, but I hear those voices at night, sometime. The star maker says, 'It ain't so bad' The dream maker's gonna make you mad; The spaceman says, "Everybody look down! Its all in your mind!' The star maker says, 'It ain't so bad' The dream maker's gonna make you mad; The spaceman says, 'Everybody look down... It's all in my mind!'."_

Grinning, Flack tossed his keys onto the top of the microwave. The loud clatter capturing Sam's attention. She blushed furiously and retreated to the counter near the sink.

"Don't stop on account of me," he said. "I was kind of enjoying the show. Would have been a little bit more interesting if you were dancing around in no clothes but beggars can't be choosers."

"I'll handcuff you to a chair later and put on my naughty Catholic school girl outfit and dance around to Britney's I'm a Slave For You," she told him, reaching for a massive New York Rangers mug sitting on the counter and taking a sip of the milk that was inside.

"Don't be making me promises like that," Flack said, leaning down and giving her a soft kiss.

"Why not?" she asked. "That's one promise I will definitely keep. Unless you're worried that all of your dirty little fetishes are going to make it out into public knowledge. Don't worry Donnie. I'm not keeping photos or a journal about you on some secret flash drive or anything."

"Good. Last thing I need is that pompous sonofabitch Dunbrook writing an article on the dark, kinky side of New York's finest."

"God…your tales alone would sell a million copies," she giggled. "And yeah…the guy's a major prick, but his son is kind of hot."

Flack stared at her, then snorted and shook his head.

"How did boy time go?" she asked curiously, biting into her toast, watching as he crossed the kitchen and went to the fridge. Admiring those long, strong legs and possibly the most incredible ass she'd ever seen on a man.

"Aside from being the brunt of Scagnetti's jokes about how whipped I am?" Flack asked, as he opened the fridge and peered inside.

"Those aren't jokes, Donnie. Those are truths."

He snorted and grabbed a small plastic bottle of orange juice. "I am not whipped," he informed her, as he cracked open the lid on the juice and taking a swig, leaned against the counter alongside of her.

She raised her eyebrows and stared pointedly at him.

"I'm not," he insisted.

"Whatever you say," she sing-songed. "What are you going to make me for breakfast?"

"I don't know…what do you want?"

"I don't know…pancakes? Banana pancakes?"

"We don't have any bananas," he pointed out.

"Well the bodega down the street has them," she said.

"I'll go down there after I finish my juice and get some, then and come back and make your pancakes," he told her.

She nodded. Then giggled.

He stared down at her.

"You are so whipped," she chided. "You just totally bowed to me just then! You were willing to go back out to the store just to cater to every little whim I have! If I wanted banana pancakes do you not think I'd call you on your cell phone and ask you to bring bananas home?"

"I don't know, Sammie…I don't know what goes through that twisted little mind of yours."

She laughed and wrapped her arm around his waist. "God…if people only knew how I actually wore the pants in this relationship."

"What?" he nearly choked on a mouthful of juice. "You wear the pants? Are you serious? You can't be serious. I'm in charge here. You know it. I know it. Don't be starting some feminist regime on me here."

"Oh don't worry, baby…" her eyes sparkled up at him as she rubbed his back. "I won't tell anyone your dirty little secret. How at work you're so bossy and assertive and at home…well at home I've got you wrapped around my baby finger. I promise that I will uphold your bad ass, man's man reputation."

He smirked and slinging his arm around her slender shoulders, pulled her into his side and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're feeling alright this morning?" he asked. "You seem like you're in an okay mood."

"It's definitely one of my better mornings," she said. "You know, considering our little…incident last night and the continuation this morning."

"It was an innocent fuck up," he told her, shrugging his shoulders. "Just promise me you'll put a post it note on the bathroom mirror reminding you to put that damn thing in. 'Cause we can't be running to the clinic every time you forget."

"I'll put a post it note up and tie a string around my finger," she vowed. "So your guy time was okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "It was alright. Adam, Santucci and I kicked Danny, Scagnetti and Pino's asses. And you know…there's something not quite right about that guy."

"Who?" she asked. "Pino?"

"Yeah…something just doesn't seem right about him. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's like he's…I don't know…hiding something. Like he's got this big dark secret and the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"I think you need to turn that cop side of you off for a bit," Sam told him. "Especially when we're supposed to be on vacation."

"Come on…you can't tell me you haven't noticed something weird about him."

"I don't know…he's always been a little flirty and a little too touchy feely for my liking, but I've never considered him odd."

"It's just been recently. Like within the past couple of weeks. He's just…not himself."

Sam shrugged and popped the last bit of toast into her mouth. "I guess maybe he does seem a little rough around the edges lately. He looks like he needs about four days worth of sleep and he has been a little on the crabby side. Maybe he's having problems with his wife. I wouldn't doubt it the way he walks around work like he's the biggest man whore on earth."

"Guy's harmless. All talk and no action. And who knows? Maybe he is going through some shit at home. Domestic stress is the worst kind of all."

"Yeah? And how would you know about domestic stress, Detective Flack?" she asked, licking peanut butter off of her index finger. "I wouldn't exactly say you've got the most stressful home life."

"Are you kidding me? In case you haven't noticed, you're enough to drive someone to drink."

She frowned, and picking up her plate, turned around to rinse it in the sink.

"Don't be like that now," he said, reaching out to push a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear. "Don't be going all sulky little girl on me. I'm just kidding and you know it," he pressed a kiss to her ear. "You're right, you know. I don't have the most stressful home life. We have our issues, but they're not THAT bad. We're getting past them, right? Working on things?"

She nodded, and turning off the water, attempted to turn around and grab a dish towel to dry her hands, only to find herself held firmly in position when Flack stepped around behind her and leaning over her, placed his hands on the edge of the counter. Effectively trapping her between the cupboards and his large, strong body.

"I think we should work on a couple of things now," he said, his lips against her ear. "I think we should seriously concentrate on our social skills, don't you? How we…interact with each other?"

"You know what I think? I think you're a pervert," she said. "A pervert in desperate need of a shower. We have to be at the therapist's in a couple of hours and…"

"And what?" he asked, pressing kisses along the outer edge of her ear before travelling down to the side of her neck. "I've got lots of time to take a shower," he assured her, as his mouth continued a sizzling path towards the back of her neck. "We can even kill two birds with one stone and shower together. I know how much you love that kind of thing. What was that you liked so much the other morning? When we were showering together? Oh yeah…and I quote, 'When you bend me over and go all cop on me'."

She flushed furiously.

"Don't be shy, baby," his lips were hot and moist as they tickled the back of her neck. "I don't know why you go all virginal school girl on me sometimes. Why don't you ever just completely relax and stop thinking about what we're doing so much? Why analyze every little thing that we do in the bedroom? So what if some things seem really dirty or a little too kinky? Whose business is it but ours? There doesn't have to be a reason for why we like the things we do. As long as we're liking them together, that's all that matters."

"Sometimes it just seems a little…wrong," she admitted shyly.

"Why? Because maybe somewhere during your fucked up relationship with Zack he told you that if you enjoy something it's wrong? 'Cause all he cared about was himself? Trust me…" he licked and sucked gently at the nape of her neck. "Most important thing about anything we do? Is making sure you're enjoying it and you feel comfortable. That's the different being a pathetic excuse for a man, and one that actually loves you and cares about what you want. And trust me, the last thing I want is you thinking something I did or that we did is wrong. So how about from now on you tell me the things that you like and the things that you want. So that we avoid you thinking things like that after all is said and done. Think we can do that?"

She smiled and nodded.

"You know it's okay, right?" he asked. "To just completely lose control with me…with us…sometimes? That it's okay if you go all wild and crazy on me. I'm not going to complain about anything you want to do or anything you want to try. You know that, right?"

"I know," she said. "I just…I'm not like that. I want to be like that because I know that's what you want me to be like."

"No, Sam. Listen to me. You don't ever have to do something or become something because you know that's what I would like. You do it because it's what you want and you feel comfortable with it. You don't ask me to change who I am, right?"

"Well I wouldn't mind just a little more romance," she said wistfully.

"You know what I mean. You don't ask me to become this completely different person. And I'm never going to expect you to do anything just because you know I want it or I like it. I want you to be confident with us. And the only way you're going to do that is by being confident with yourself."

She smiled and managed to turn herself around to face him. "When did you suddenly become in possession of a psych degree?" she asked, her eyes sparkling playfully.

"I just know that sometimes you're not as comfortable with me…intimately…as you should. And I don't know if that's 'cause you're scared of yourself and you're reaction or if you're scared of me…"

She shook her head. "Never you," she assured him. "I'm never scared of you. I'm scared of…I'm scared of that out of control feeling…where I can't stop what I'm doing and if I don't stop what I'm doing I'm going to lose complete control. And I don't like that feeling 'cause the last time I gave up that last shred of control to someone…"

"Sammie, I'm not Zack. I'm nowhere near like him. I don't know what things we're like between closed doors with you two. Honestly, from the way you talk, I can pretty much guess the guy was a selfish ass. But that was then and this is now. I'm now. And I'm not going to take that control away from you and use it against you. You know that right?"

She nodded. "It's going to take some time," she said, almost sadly. "For me to be like that. I've fought so long and so hard to not be that way."

"That's fine. Take all the time you need. Time I've got lots of. I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

She shook her head.

Laying a hand on the side of her face, he covered her lips with his in a tender kiss.

_God can the man kiss,_ she thought, revelling in the feel of his lips and in the gentle way his tongue pushed its way between her teeth and sought out hers. Every kiss she'd ever shared with him had left her feeling weak in the knees. From the long, slow and patient kisses, to the aggressive and demanding ones and everything else in between. She was more then happy to just lose herself in him. In the way his mouth felt and in the way he smelled and the way his strong, rough hands so gently cupped her face.

He pulled back when the need to draw air into his lungs became a necessity. He ran his thumbs over her lips and simply looked at her. The way her long, dark lashes fell on her pale, silky cheeks. The way her skin was flushed. The way she tried so hard to keep her ragged breathing under control as her hands clung tightly to the front of his sweatshirt. Everything about her was beautiful. And what made her all the more alluring and intriguing, was the fact that she wasn't perfect. She was a real woman with real issues. She struggled valiantly with her demons and didn't hide her weaknesses. She asked for help when she needed it and fought so hard to trust anything, or anyone, completely. She admitted to her fears and her desire to feel loved and protected and wanted.

And most of all, she didn't expect him to perfect. She may have bitched and moaned about his quirks and all the little things that seemed to annoy her. She didn't like how mean he could be during a fight and didn't like how he could easily bring her to tears with a cutting, sarcastic remark. Yet she gave him time to work on those things. Time to learn to be more thoughtful and gentle with her.

She accepted that he wasn't the greatest man in the world. He wasn't the most romantic or the most kind or even the best looking. But she loved him. And that love was enough.

Enough to make him want to be a better man.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "What do you say we go and get a shower and I take you out for breakfast?" he suggested.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "I'd like that," she said. "Maybe we can talk…you know…about this whole therapist thing."

He nodded.

"I'm nervous," she admitted. "I know I've been to one before and I did okay with that. It's just that this time…this time you're with me and that makes me nervous."

"I don't have to go in with you, babe. If you feel more comfortable…"

"I want you there," she said. "I _need_ you there. I just…I worry about how you're going to react. To certain things you hear. I don't want to start talking about my father and have you…"

He silenced her with a kiss. "You have me, Sammie. You have me and I'm not going anywhere. No matter how tough it is to hear some things. You need me there and I'll be there. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Whatever gets said today…whatever you say about your father…I have your back. I may not like what I hear and I may feel like killing someone…but I'm there for you and only you. You're doing good, Sammie. You're going to be okay."

She gave another nod. "I'm not going to be doing okay with your smell in a couple of minutes," she said with a grimace, effectively lightening the mood. "Almost as bad as your hockey bag."

"Nothing can be as bad as that," he chuckled, then reached for her hand. "Come on…let's go and hit the shower. I'll even let you scrub my back if you ask nicely enough."

She rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away as she stepped away from him and headed for the door. "You are so goddamn full of yourself," she declared and disappeared into the living room.

"Give me ten minutes and you'll be full of me too," he responded cockily.

She laughed at that. "Keep your dirty Irish to yourself, Detective!" she called back.

He grinned, and polishing off his orange juice, tossed the bottle into the recycling bin under the sink before heading after her.

_We're going to be okay, _he thought confidently. _We're going to get past all of this and get on with our lives._

_Our future._

* * *

**The song Sam was singing along to in the kitchen was the amazing tune, Spaceman, by The Killers**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all of my lurkers! Please feel free to R and R folks! However, nastiness need not apply! **

**Special thanks to:**

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**Soccer-bitch**


	60. In all darkness there is light

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK AND BABY HUNTER. AMANDA IS GRACIOUSLY ON LOAN FROM LAURZZ**

**THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER. FOR ALL OF THOSE ASKING TO SEE WHEN THE GIRLS MEET THEIR BABY BROTHER!**

* * *

**In all darkness there is light**

"When I'm all alone  
And no one else is there  
Waiting by the phone  
To remind me I'm still here  
When shadows paint the scenes  
Where spotlights used to fall  
And I'm left wondering  
Is it really worth it all?  
There's a peace inside us all  
Let it be your friend  
It will help you carry on  
In the end  
There's a peace inside us all  
Life can hold you down  
When you're not looking up  
Can't you hear the sounds?  
Hearts beating out loud  
Although the names change  
Inside we're all the same  
Why can't we tear down these walls?  
To show the scars we're covering."  
-Inside Us All, Creed

* * *

"_In the end, a man's worth isn't measured by the amount of material possessions he owns or by his wealth. Instead, it is by the number of lives he has touched and those he loved, and who loved him in return."_

Samantha woke with a start. Gasping loudly and bolting upright into a sitting position, her one hand clutching at her chest as her heart hammered ferociously, the other grasping the sheets so viciously her knuckles turned white. Sweat pooled on her forehead and trickled down her neck and back. The sheets below her wrinkled from her relentless tossing and turning and damp from her perspiration. She had been dreaming of Hawkes. Of the moment at his father's funeral six years ago that he'd gotten up to read the eulogy he'd poured his heart and his soul into. Sam hadn't even known his parents were even still alive. No one had for that matter. Hawkes had never talked about them, nor had anyone ever seen them. Whether it was in pictures or in person.

It hadn't been until the team walked into work one day and Mac announced that Hawkes had taken a couple of personal days to attend to helping his mother plan his father's funeral that they'd discovered their friend and colleague even had a family outside of those he'd met and grown exceptionally close to at work. And it wasn't until Samantha herself had received a phone call from Hawkes asking her if she and Flack would like to attend the service, that she'd begun to learn about the circumstances that had seen the relationship between father and son rapidly disintegrate.

Charles Hawkes had been a renowned neurologist. The first African American neurologist in New York State to be exact. He'd been widely respected and acclaimed. Publishing over fifty medical papers in his time and headlining many clinical studies. He had met his wife, Zara, while she was a medical student completing her rounds at Cedars Sinai, where he was the Chief of his specialty. Together, they'd had one child. A son that they'd waited three weeks to name Sheldon. It had been clear, from a very early age, that he was nothing short of a genius. And through constant pressure and prodding from his father, Hawkes had become a child prodigy. Graduating college at eighteen and becoming a fully board-licensed surgeon at twenty four. He was the apple of his father's eye. His greatest achievement.

Or at least he had been.

After a short and tumultuous career and losing one patient too many, Hawkes had hung up his OR scrubs in favour of the ones he'd donned in the ME's office. His relationship with his father had never been the same. Charles had been ashamed. Embarrassed that his son had given up the art of playing God in favour of assisting death. Totally irrational thinking, as far as Sam was concerned. And told her friend so when he'd confided his father's words to her as they sat sipping tea in the lounge of the funeral home while his mother 'entertained' guests in the main parlour. Hawkes had never told anyone about the falling out with his father. How his decision to join the ME's office had put a giant wedge between them. And when he'd decided to take the CSI exam, he had all but been disowned.

So she had been taken back when he'd gotten up in the church and read a speech that had brought tears to even the coldest eyes and choked the hardest of hearts. He had been calm and poised. Speaking in his smooth, poised voice. Recalling fond memories of his childhood. Of his father sitting him on his knee and reading him bedtime stories. His father's voice filling his innocent young mind of tales of dragon slaying knights that whisked the beautiful princess to safety and eternal, undying love. He talked of his father chasing monsters from under his bed and mending many a skin knee. Not with band-aids or iodine. But with kisses and hugs and if he was lucky enough, a few chocolate chip cookies. He told tales of learning to drive and his father's infinite patience with the task. Of his dad's tears of pride when he graduated from college and began his residency.

It was there that the recollections stopped and Hawkes instead focused on his father's personality. Strong and tenacious yet soft spoken and gentle. Patient and kind yet ultimately strict. Loving and attentive, yet always keeping a distance, allowing his wife to tend to most of the child rearing. And when he had already reduced most in attendance to blubbering fools, Hawkes had said those words that had rang so loud and clear in her dreams.

And now echoed in her ears.

Using her forearm to wipe the sweat from her brow, Sam drew slow and steady breaths into her lungs and waited, eyes closed and her chin to her chest, and waited for her pounding heart to settle itself down. The shock of the previous evening's events was beginning to wear off now. The numbness in her mind and body was quickly beginning to dissipate, leaving behind the stark reality of loss and grief. She had had her moments of tears the night before and in the early morning hours. Emotional breakdowns with both her husband and her brother, but immediately after that feeling of utter disbelief and denial had set in. Despite what she was hearing on the television or the tragic news that her husband had delivered before leaving the house, she was unable to fully accept what had happened. She had considered the possibility that it was all just a dream.

That she was going to wake up and in a state of panic from the realism, call Mari under the guise to just chat, and feel relief wash through her when Hawkes answered the phone. Once that irrational thought abandoned her, she began to question the validity of the news her husband had been given, and what she was hearing coming out of the reporters' mouth. Maybe it was all just a horrible mistake. Maybe Hawkes had just been gravely injured and the media was reporting erroneous news. Maybe he had been shot but he was going to pull through.

He had to pull through. For the sake of his loving, devoted and loyal wife and their children. For the sake of his friends and colleagues who had long ago become his family.

The finality, and reality, of what had happened at hit home the moment that her husband had stepped through the front door. Looking weary and broken. She'd never, ever seen him like that before. He was always the strong one. The pillar of strength and support for all of those around him. Especially her. While she was the emotional basket case and could weep over anything and everything at the drop of a hat, he kept things under control. He was the rock, the one that she turned to for comfort and guidance and reassurance.

She had taken one look at his face. At the sorrow and defeat that lingered there and all of her questions and wishful thoughts had been destroyed. Hawkes was dead. There was no doubt about it. He was dead and he was never coming back. And while Flack had been quick to wrap his strong, comforting arms around her, there'd been no whispered words of assurance or promises that everything was going to be okay. Instead, all she had found was silence. He had had no words to give her. He'd simply just held her and stroked her hair, the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart and the strength in his arms making her feel safe and secure, yet unable to full thaw the disbelief that had taken hold of her.

Sam closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. Forcing deep steady breaths into her lungs and willing the tremors that inhabited her body to disappear. It took several long minutes until she felt composed again. Raking a hand through her hair, she grimaced in disgust to discover her tresses, and the sheets below her for that matter, were drenched in sweat. She'd definitely need to shower, and to pull herself together, before she greeted yet another day with her family.

Speaking of family, she thought, and laid a hand on her husband's side of the bed. His empty side. The sheets were cool. He'd been up for some time. After he'd comforted her in the foyer, they'd retreated upstairs to the privacy of their bedroom, locked the door and lost themselves in their own brand of comfort. It had been quick and aggressive. Far from their usual brand of comfort sex. Which was always slow and tender and meaningful. That morning it had all been about release. It had been pure selfishness and need on both of their parts, and afterwards, with their lungs heaving and their bodies drenched in sweat and their limbs untangled, she'd buried her face in his chest and cried. Consumed with guilt that she'd allowed herself to enjoy sex while her friend lay dead in the city morgue.

"What do you feel bad about?" Flack had asked, alarmed at the fact she was both shedding tears and expressing regret despite the fact she'd obviously enjoyed their activities. "There's no reason to feel bad 'cause you liked it. Why do you…?"

"Because he's dead, Don…because Hawkes is dead and we're…"

"We're alive," he interrupted, almost angrily. "We're alive and we're damn lucky to be alive. And there's nothing wrong with us making each other feel good and reminding each other that we are still here."

* * *

After that, she'd fallen into a fitful sleep. She had been aware, on several occasions, of her husband whispering to her and stroking her hair and her back. Doing his best to try and soothe her. But she hadn't realized that he had, during a point in the last hour and a half since they'd retired to their room, slipped out of bed.

She yawned noisily and tossed the comforter off of her. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her feet had just hit the cold hardwood floor when she heard the bedroom door click open behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled as Flack padded into the room, in the same jeans he'd worn the night before, bare feet and a wife beater. Hunter cradled so gently and protectively against his chest.

"What are you two handsome boys up to?" she asked, turning and crawling back into the middle of the bed. There was something so incredibly sexy about seeing her husband with a baby. His hair mussed and his face scruffy and unshaven and giving him that dark and dangerous look. Those strong, muscular arms and hands, capable of seriously punishing someone, so tenderly and lovingly holding such a tiny, precious life.

"Someone needed to eat," Flack replied, his forearm under the baby's bum and his free hand on the back of Hunter's head. "And then didn't want to go back to sleep afterwards. I've been walking the kitchen for nearly an hour. He's just starting to fall asleep now."

"You're a consummate professional," she said. "You're definitely not rusty in the daddy skills."

"I don't know about that…it's been five years since we've had anything this small around the house…here big guy…" leaning down, he gently laid the now sleeping baby beside her in the bed. "Go and see your mommy for a little bit. She's hogging the comfy, big people bed."

Sam blinked, then stared up at him, taken back by the use of the word mommy.

"Well that is what you are, right?" Flack asked, as he carefully climbed into bed as well. He yawned noisily and ran his hands over his weary face and then put them behind his head. "I mean…you're taking care of him now. You're going to adopt him. You're the only mommy he's going to know. Unless you don't want me calling you that."

"Of course I want you calling me that," she told him "And that's what I want to be…it's just…it shocked me to hear you say that. That's all."

He nodded and looked over at her. In awe of the depth of love and acceptance that was in her eyes as she trailed a fingertip down his son's…their son's…nose and fussed with the buttons on his sleeper. She was an amazing mother. In his eyes anyway. When the girls had been born, she'd had her awkward moments. Times when she doubted how she was taking care of them. If she was doing a good job with them, if she was feeding them enough and changing their diapers in time. Was she burping them properly, bathing them fine?

Was she loving them enough?

The truth was, she couldn't possibly love their daughters more. And Flack respected her determination to be the best possible mother she could be. Kellan and Kallison were happy and healthy and blessed to have a mom that love them so wholly and completely.

And now Hunter was going to be blessed to have that in his life as well. He could have so easily went to a foster home. Ended up in the system. And Sam had shown the single most unselfish act of her life by accepting him into her life.

"We're going to have to get him things, Donnie," she said, stretching out on her side, her head resting next to Hunter's, her hand sitting softly on the baby's stomach. "He's going to need a proper bed and everything else that a baby needs. Clothes and toys. A monitor."

"I think you just want an excuse to go to Babies R Us and max out the credit card," he teased, his eyes sparkling playfully.

"Maybe," she said with a smile.

"We'll go out shopping and get him a crib. We'll buy whatever he needs and turn the spare room into a nursery. You can even pick out a theme and paint and wallpaper and all of that and go all slave driver on me. And we'll get his clothes and his toys and all of his other belongings from Jordan's house once we get all of those papers signed with her lawyer this afternoon."

She nodded and combed the fingers of her free hand through Hunter's hair. "I need to ask you something. And I don't want you to get upset or offended. It's an innocent question and I mean it with all respect to you and Jordan."

"Okay…" he said with a frown. "What…?"

"Is it wrong of me that I want to change his name?" she asked.

"He'll become a Flack once we sign those papers and I become his custodial parent. We'll just have to get it legally changed is all."

"I mean his first name," she said, biting her bottom lip nervously. "It's just that…everything is new, right? He's with his daddy now and he's got a new mommy and older sisters. He's got a new life. And I know that as long as he stays Hunter Gates or even Hunter Flack…Donnie, I know that every time you look at him you've got this incredible guilt for what you did. And I just thought…I thought that maybe we could start over again. All of us. And that changing his name could be the start of that."

Flack nodded slowly, considering her words. "Do you have another name in mind?" he asked curiously.

"A couple," she admitted. "I was thinking maybe either sticking with the whole K theme we have going on with our kids or maybe just going completely original. Maybe something like Kaleb or Konnor or Keegan."

He shook his head at all three suggestions.

"Okay…then maybe something different? Like Alexander? Or Austin? Or Joshua?"

"I don't like any of those. I didn't like them when you brought them up when you were pregnant and we didn't know if we were having boys or girls."

"You are so difficult," she huffed. "Well…there is one other name that I really, really, really like."

"And what's that?" he asked.

"Dawson," she replied.

"Jesus, Sam," he couldn't help but laugh. "Not your Titanic obsession coming out again after all of these years."

"Actually, I was thinking more about this massive crush I used to have on James Vanderbeek. You know, the guy from Dawson's Creek? Well I developed this huge crush on him when I saw this movie he was in. Rules of Attraction. He was totally hot in that. The movie was totally hot to be honest and after that, I always said I would name my first born son Dawson. Even though Pacey was my favourite on the show. But I mean who names their kid Pacey?"

"Probably the same people who would name their kid Dawson," Flack teased.

She frowned. "I think it's an adorable name," she said. "And you're right…it doesn't hurt that Leo's name in Titanic was Jack Dawson."

"You have this serious fetish for younger guys," Flack laughed.

_God, it felt so good to laugh after the evening they'd had._

"Well obviously," she said exasperatedly. "I married you didn't I? I snagged myself a younger man. Someone I could whip into shape and teach them everything they need to know to keep my satisfied and happy in every possible way."

"Yeah, right…" he chuckled. "I think you're forgetting who schooled who in this relationship. And it's only a three year difference. Mind you, the way the evil monster in law carried on about it, you would have thought it was more like thirteen."

"She just wanted you for herself," Sam teased.

Flack grimaced. "Now that is seriously disturbing," he declared.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, relaxing in the silence that still enveloped their home. Knowing that in a matter of a half an hour, three giggling, rambunctious girls were going to come bursting out of one of the rooms at the end of the hall and the insanity of real life would begin all over again. He heard the rustling of sheets beside him and felt Sam's body brush up against his as she moved closer to him. And was ready to wrap an arm around her when he felt her place something, or more correctly, someone, on his chest. He cracked open an eye and looked down at his infant son now lying on them, then looked over at his wife.

"You got this real thing with seeing me with babies," he said.

"Can I help it if I find it incredibly sexy?" she asked, and snuggled in tightly against him, her hand resting on Hunter's back. "Like I've already told you, you do the big, strong man with a tiny baby thing very well."

He snorted and shook his head and closed his eyes once more. "So this name thing," he began. "Is it something that you really want to do or just some idea you're tossing out there for consideration or what?"

"It's something I really want to do," she replied. "I know it makes me seem like a selfish bitch and that I…"

"It doesn't make you seem like anything," Flack told her. "And if that's what you really want."

"Well you have to want it too," Sam said. "He is your son."

"He's _our_ son. He belongs to both of us now. And if it's something you want to do, then I'll go along with it. You're right. It is a new life and a new start. It was the name Jordan gave him. I never liked it to begin with. And changing his name…it would help with putting things behind us."

"We can keep the names he has now and use them as middle and third names," she reasoned.

"Whatever you want, Sammie. If you want it, I want it. Okay? We'll change his name. We'll call our lawyer and find out how we go about doing that. Alright?"

She nodded and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Dawson?" she asked hopefully.

He sighed heavily and considered it for a long moment. "We can call him Dawson." he agreed.

"Thank you, baby," she said, and kissed the corner of his lips before settling her head down alongside of his on his pillow. "The girls aren't up yet?"

"Do you hear any shrieking and squealing? Any name calling and ass kicking going on downstairs?"

"Okay smart ass I was just asking," she giggled. Then grew solemn. "I think I'm going to go over to the hospital today to see Danny. I don't know if you want to come or if you want to stay home with the kids. And Adam might want to go and see him."

"Adam can watch the kids and we'll go over and see Danny. I don't even know if he knows about Hawkes yet."

"Someone must have told him by now. It's not something you keep back from someone."

Flack shrugged. "Danny was pretty banged up, babe. In and out of consciousness. They might have held off on telling him until he completely woke up."

"Did you see Mari while you were there?"

He nodded. "I didn't get a chance to talk to her though. She had her mom and her mom's boyfriend and Kelli with her. All talking to a department chaplain Mac had sent over there. I wasn't about to go walking in during that. You know my aversion to anything religious since I got myself blown up eleven years ago."

"There is a God, Donnie," she informed him gently.

"Sammie…don't start, okay? We only get into disagreements when we talk about this stuff. I don't want to get into an argument with you. I agreed to have the girls baptised Catholic because both of us are. I agreed to sending them to a Catholic school. But I only go into a church for two things. Weddings and funerals. So let's not get into a discussion on how the world and everything in it was created, okay?"

"All I was going to say is that…"

"How can there be a God?" he challenged. "How can there be? Look at all the shit that has happened in the course of history. All the horrific things that the world has had to endure. All the wars, genocide. The list goes on and on. Plane crashes that wipe out hundreds of people at once, mass murders that go on shooting rampages in schools. Nine eleven. How can there be a God? Why would God let all of that happen?"

"He doesn't make it happen," she reasoned. "He just doesn't stop it."

"Some kind of God you got there," Flack snorted. "Too many good people are dying and too many evil bastards are living. And that isn't fair. It isn't fair and it isn't right."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "But no one ever said life was fair."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're kidding me right? That's your great philosophical statement? Life isn't fair? You don't think I know that by now?"

"It's not that I don't think you know it," Sam said. "I just think…Don, there has to be a God. I know that there's a God. And we don't have to agree on that. I respect you and what you want to believe. But wouldn't you like to hear my reason on why I know there's a God?"

He sighed heavily. "By all means…" he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"There's a God because something or someone gave me the strength to finally get away from Zack and come to New York City. And I came here and I met you. Someone also had a hand in Kellan and Kallison. When I lost the first baby and the doctors told us we would probably never have any children because of the state of my insides, that was a huge blow to us, wasn't it."

He nodded.

"And it took a while once we got married, but we ended up getting pregnant. And not just with one baby but with two. And I carried successfully. Sure, it was scary a few times and they didn't exactly arrive under the best circumstances or in the best health and I…"

"You could have died," he interrupted her. "You seem to forget about that part."

"But I didn't. And Kellan and Kallison…they're our miracles, Donnie. We weren't blessed with just one, but two. And they make everything we went through worth it. And Hunter…if there wasn't a God, he would have been killed too. But someone was protecting him and he made it. So how can you tell me that there isn't a God?"

"Because Hawkes is still dead," he told her. "And Danny could have been dead too. Because bad things constantly happen to good people. And that's just something I can't accept. You're right about the girls. And Hunter. I'll give you that much. But I'm never going to have this faith that you have."

"Maybe one day you'll get it back," she said.

"Maybe…who knows….all I know is that this pain in my chest…in my heart…it fucking hurts…and when I saw Hawkes lying there in the ME's office…" his words trailed off and he shook his head. "Can we not talk about this?" he asked. "I don't want to talk about this. Can we please just drop it for now?"

"Okay," she said, surrendering in a quiet, understanding voice.

Laying her hand on his unshaven cheek, she turned his face towards her. Golden brown eyes locked on brilliant blue as her fingertips began a soft exploration of his face. She traced the furrows in his brow, allowed her fingers to travel down his nose and skim his cheeks. Her feathery caresses drifted along his jaw before her fingers ever so gently rested on his chin. Her eyes never once left his. The moment was so tender, with all her emotions and feeling laid bare on her face, that it nearly took his breath away and brought tears to his eyes.

Sam smiled, then ran a finger over his lips before covering his mouth with hers in a tender, unhurried kiss. When they were both breathless, she pulled away from him and trailed her finger over his mouth once again. Tracing the small scar near the left corner of his top lip. A lifelong souvenir of a backhand he'd received courtesy his father. For being a mouthy ten year old. She had long ago discovered every inch of him. Every nick, every scar, every little mark that marred his body. From childhood and career wounds to the freckles that dotted his shoulders. She knew every muscle in his arms and back and had memorized how they felt under her hands as he moved. Every inch of soft, warm skin. And what others may have seen as flaws, she was a small pieces of that made him who he was. Strong and brave. Reliable and trustworthy. Determined and hard working. And when it counted most, tender and loving and remarkably compassionate.

He grinned, then pecked the tip of her nose. "You're making me nervous babe," he said. "Staring at me like that."

"I am not staring," she corrected him. "I am admiring. Is that so wrong? That I like looking at you? That I like checking out my man and thinking how damn lucky I am to have ever landed you in the first place."

"Now you're just making me blush," he teased.

"Regardless of what you say or think," she said, as her fingers drifted down his neck and across his collarbone before settling her hand on his chest. "God brought you to me, Don. And I thank Him every day for that."

Flack blinked. Both stunned and remarkably touched by the words that had just tumbled out of her mouth with such ease and sincerity. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to form a suitable response.

Hunter gave a sneeze. Followed by an impossibly large yawn.

"And you, little man," Sam said and pressed a kiss to the top of the baby's head. "You are going to love it here. You've got a mommy and a daddy that love you more then words. And two big sisters that are going to fawn all over you and spoil you senseless. And grandparents that…well I don't know what your grandma Flack is going to say. She's the wicked witch of Queens, you know. But your grandpa will absolutely adore you."

"He will," Flack agreed. "But my mom…she's going to burn me at the goddamn stake. You think she reacted badly when she found out about Jordan? Wait until she founds out she's got a grandson she never knew about. She's going to have a stroke. Or kill me. Or both."

"She's a fine one to talk to about people and their mistakes," Sam snorted. "Considering she got very…what's the word? _Acquainted_ with Stanton Gerrard back in the day."

"Fuck buddies in every sense of the word," Flack chuckled.

"Bad language daddy!" Sam scolded. "Don't make me take you in the bathroom and wash your mouth out with soap. You've really got to watch your mouth around the kids."

"He's a month old. He has no clue what profanity is," Flack defended himself.

"But Kellan and Kallison do. And three mornings ago they were calling each others bastards and bitches while they were scraping it out in the basement. You're damn lucky the f word never escaped from either of them or I would have hunted you down and kicked your a…"

He pecked her lips to silence her. "Language mommy," he said.

She stuck her tongue out at him and rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Relishing the silence in the room and the warmth radiating off of his body and the sound of his heart beating. Until the moment was so rudely interrupted by the sound of a door crashing open at the end of the hall and the girls' giggles and loud chatter as they piled out of Kallison's bedroom.

* * *

Flack gave a tortured groan and ran his hands over his face. "And so it begins," he grumbled.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Kellan's voice appeared on the other side of their closed door. "It's time to get up! Time for breakfast!"

"Yeah!" Kallison cried. "We're hungry!"

"These are the mornings where you wish you could trust them not to get the juice all over the floor," Flack said to Sam. "Just tell them to help themselves."

"You're only saying that 'cause you're not the one who usually cleans the mess," she laughed. "I guess we should do the whole, 'Meet your mysteriously appearing brother' thing first."

"Mommy!" Kellan called, banging her hand on the door. "Get up! Time to get up lazy bones!"

Sam's eyes narrowed as she regarded her husband. "Did you teach them that?" she asked.

"I am totally innocent this time. Seriously though, Sammie…what are we going to tell them? We can't just tell them, your dad got his girlfriend pregnant and now she's dead and the baby's come to live with us. They're not going to understand that."

"We tell them the truth," she said.

"That is the truth. And they can't comprehend the truth at their age."

"Then we just tell her that you had a baby with Hunter's mommy and that his mommy died and before she did, she wanted you to have him."

Flack frowned. "What happened to the original idea about his mom going to heaven to be an angel and God giving Hunter to us 'cause He knew we'd love him and take care of him?"

"You just said ten minutes ago you didn't believe in God and now you want to tell your kids God personally told you to look after the baby?"

"Mommy!" Kallison knocked loudly on the door. "Daddy! Are you guys alive in there?"

"Or are you having a tickle fight again under the covers?" her sister asked.

"Well hurry up and decide what we want to say before they come storming in here," Sam said. "They'll only knock and scream at us for so long."

"Fine..we'll do it your way. The whole baby with the girlfriend thing. But they're not going to understand it. Not right now anyway."

"Maybe not. But when they're old enough to ask questions, you'll be prepared with the proper answers," Sam reasoned.

"That's it…leave the hard stuff to me," he grumbled.

"Exactly!" she chirped and sitting up in bed, leaned over and kissed him. "Which is also why when they're old enough, you're discussing sex with them."

"There's no way in hell you're…"

"Come on in guys!" Sam called. "Daddy and I have a surprise for you!"

"That's one way of putting it," Flack muttered, as the bedroom door flew open and the twins hurried in. Leaving Amanda lingering in the doorway, a shy, awkward look on her face.

"You can come in too, M&M," Sam told her. "You can take part in the surprise."

The little girl gave a bright smile and bounded into the room.

"Whoa…whoa…" Flack attempted to prevent the girls from piling onto the bed. "You guys gotta be careful, okay?"

"Why is there a baby on top of you, daddy?" Kallison asked.

"He's a cute baby," Kellan observed. "Who does he belong to? Are we babysitting him? Do we get to keep him? What's his name?"

"Well, right now his name is Hunter," Sam told them. "But soon his name is going to be Dawson."

"I like that name!" Kallison exclaimed.

"Me too," her sister agreed. "Better than Hunter. Is he visiting mommy? How long is he staying for? Can he sleep in my room until his mommy and daddy come to get him?"

"I want him to sleep in my room," Kallison argued.

"No way!" Kellan cried. "I said it first so he gets to sleep in my room!"

"Girls…Hunter is going to be staying in mommy and daddy's room," Sam said.

"But how long is he here for?" Kallison asked. "And why did his mommy and daddy let him come visit?"

"Well…" Sam chose her words carefully. "He's actually here to live with us. Forever."

"Forever?" Kellan's eyes widened with excitement.

"How come?" Kallison asked. "His mommy and daddy didn't want him anymore?"

"Well you see…" _God, this is more difficult then I thought,_ Sam mused, tucking her hair nervously behind her ears.

"We are his mommy and daddy," Flack spoke up.

The twins' eyes narrowed.

"But mommy never had a baby in her tummy," Kallison stated matter-of-factly. "And that's where babies come from."

"Yeah…" Kellan agreed, her head cocked to the side, a suspicious look on her face. "Mommy never had no baby in her tummy. And you said that mommy couldn't have any more babies. 'Cause God didn't want her to."

"That we were special angels," Kallison added.

"You two _are_ special angels," Flack told her. "And you're right. Mommy didn't have a baby in her tummy and she can't have anymore babies."

"But you just said that your Hunter's mommy and daddy," Kallison pointed out.

"I am so confused!" Kellan declared with an exasperated sigh and slapped a palm to her forehead.

"Well this is how it works," Sam began. "You guys remember when daddy had a girlfriend?"

"Yeah…" Kallison pouted. "Stupid cow."

"Kallison!" her mother scolded. "That's not nice!"

"It's true mommy!" Kellan piped up. "She was a stupid cow! She made you and daddy fight! She made you cry and made us go live somewhere else! She took daddy away!"

"No one took anyone away and no one is a stupid cow!" Sam informed them angrily. "That's just mean and you don't talk like that about people! Understand me? What is wrong with you two?"

"We had to leave daddy 'cause of her!" Kallison, the more stubborn of the twins argued back. "We had to go live with Uncle Sid! She was mean! She made you cry mommy!"

"We didn't get to live with daddy 'cause of her," Kellan added.

"Jesus H Christ," Flack muttered under his breath. "Yeah…this was a good idea…"

Sam glared at him. Then looked back at her daughters. "Listen to me…both of you. What happened was no one's fault. It happened and it's a long time ago. And if I ever hear you say anything bad about daddy or what happened ever again, I will literally put you both over my knee and spank your asses back and blue! Do you understand me?"

They blinked, stunned by their mother's outburst. Flack stared at her, equally as shocked by the sudden change in her. Usually Sam was the calm and composed one. She normally shied away from raising her voice and handing out the discipline. Leaving him to do the dirty work.

"Now both of you be quiet and let your father talk. Kapish?"

Both girls nodded.

Sam sighed heavily. "Go ahead, Don," she said.

"Like your mom said, about me having a girlfriend…" he began, slightly amused by the terrified expressions on his kids' faces. "Well, she ended up having a baby. And she ended up dying and…."

"How?" Kallison asked.

"Was she sick?" Kellan inquired.

"She went to heaven to become an angel," Flack told them. "And she had asked, that if anything ever happened to her, that Hunter come and live with us. Because she'd knew that we'd love him and take care of him. And that you two would make really amazing big sisters."

The girls both beamed.

"So he's going to live with us?" Kallison asked, reaching out to gently touch Hunter's black hair. "Where's he going to sleep?"

"We're going to make him a bedroom," Sam replied. "In the spare room."

"He's cute," Kallison declared. "He looks like you daddy!"

Kellan stretched out a tiny hand and softly stroked her brother's cheek. Then promptly dropped her face into the mattress and burst into tears.

"Kellan, what's wrong?" Flack handed Hunter to Sam and then leaned down and laid his hand on his daughter's head, stroking her hair soothingly. "What's a matter, baby sweets? Why are you crying?"

"Because!" she sobbed.

"Because why? Why are you sad?" he asked. "Look at daddy and tell him why you're sad."

She raised her head. "Because daddy! Because I got what I wanted! God answered my prayers! I prayed and prayed and prayed for a little brother or sister! And…and God gave me one!"

Choking back emotion of his own, Flack scooped her up effortlessly into his arms and leaned back against the headboard, cuddling her close.

"I wanted a baby brother so bad, daddy!" she cried, curling her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. "I wanted it so bad and God listened to me!"

Flack simply nodded and continued to stroke her hair and her back. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

_Maybe God really does work in mysterious ways_, he thought.

And he hoped and prayed that maybe one day, his questions would be answered as well.

Because all of his prayers and wishes had come true. Three beautiful children and an amazing wife.

Life couldn't get much better.

And he knew, if that day was his last one on earth, he'd go having captured everything he had ever wanted.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all of the lurkers! I've got some plans in the making for this story. We're back to the present next (if the muse says it's okay) and we're going to Las Vegas with Sam and Flack and Angell and Mark! **

**Please R and R folks! Makes my day!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CrazyGirlCass**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**xsamiliciousx**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Wolfeylady**

**Madison Bellows**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	61. Analyze this

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH THE SOPRANOS. THERE'S A VERY, VERY SLIGHT CROSSOVER OCCURRING STARTING IN THIS CHAPTER. THE CHAPTER TITLE IS BORROWED FROM THE BILLY CRYSTAL MOVIE OF THE SAME NAME.**

**WARNING: THE FIRST SECTION MAY BE A LITTLE…DARK FOR SOME READERS. IF YOU ARE EXTRA SENSITIVE, SKIP AHEAD TO THE SECOND SECTION.**

**THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER. **

* * *

**Analyze this**

"Sing out sing out, the silence only eats us from the inside up  
I meant no harm but I only get to say these words too late  
Wake up wake up, sleeping only leads to more and more nightmares  
Snap out of it you said it in a way that showed you really up in my wildest dreams the dark red blood streams  
Stretching out like vast cracked ice  
The veins of you the veins of me like great forest trees  
Pushing through and on and in  
Gliding like a satellite in the broken night  
And when I wake you're there I'm saved  
Your love is life piled tight and high set against the sky  
That seems to balance on it's own  
Send your lifeboats out for me  
Send your lifeboat out."  
-Lifeboats, Snow Patrol

* * *

"_He used to come into my bedroom. If my brother was in there, he'd stand in the doorway and clear his throat and crook his finger and motion for me to follow him. If I was alone…if I was alone he'd stand there and watch me. Sometimes I'd be lying in bed looking through a book. Sometimes I'd be playing with my dolls. Other times I'd be sitting in the middle of the floor brushing my hair. He loved to watch me brush my hair. But he loved to brush it himself even more. And he'd give me this smile…I knew what that smile meant. Then he'd walk in and my mom…I remember that sometimes my mom would be there, watching as he walked over to me. And then she'd close the door. I remember being so scared. And he'd sit on the edge of my bed or crouch down beside me…I can still smell the alcohol on his breath. I can still feel the calluses on his hands as he pushed my hair away from my face. The stubble on his face as he kissed my neck. And he'd tell me…he'd tell me I was a good girl. A pretty girl. And that if I wanted to be a good sister to Adam…if I wanted to stop Adam from getting hit so much, that I'd keep being a good girl. And that's all I wanted. To be a good girl. To protect my brother. I just wanted to be a good sister to him. To save him I handed myself over."_

All of those words -spoken in a haunted voice interrupted by sniffles and choked sobs- tumbled around inside of Flack's head as he stood hunched over the cold porcelain sink in the public washroom down the hall from the psychiatrist's office. He couldn't turn them off no matter how much he pleaded with them to just go away. He could hear the terror in her voice. See it in her eyes as he'd sat beside her, tightly gripping one of her tiny hands in both of his own. Her entire body had been trembling. Her skin had gone completely ashen and she'd fought so bravely to keep back the flood of tears that threatened. She had held up remarkably well. When the doctor had brought up her father, she'd slightly tensed and bit her bottom lip nervously. She had been expecting the issue to come up, but she had been in no way ready to talk about. But with gentle prodding on the psychiatrist's part and Flack's calm reassurances, she'd finally opened up after several minutes of silence.

The doctor had said nothing. She'd never batted an eyelash or uttered a sigh. Unlike most therapists and shrinks that Flack had come in contact, she didn't take notes. Instead she tape recorded the sessions and then in the privacy of her office or at home, converted everything to paper and tucked it into her patient's charts. There was an incredible amount of compassion in her soulful dark eyes as she regarded Sam, staying silent as she allowed the younger woman to simply remember things. Instances, smells, tastes, textures. The doctor would offer a nod or shake her head when even she was momentarily taken back by something Sam recalled, but no distinct emotion had ever crossed her face.

Flack hadn't fared so well. The moment Sam had admitted that she had made the choice to give herself to her father in exchange of her brother's well being, his stomach had completely rebelled. By that time, his imagination was running away on him. He'd been involved in several busts in his career that involved some kind of sexual crime against a child. Rape, sodomy, kids coerced into working as sex slaves, children forced -sometimes even by their own parents- to take part in pornography. It had always made him nauseous to hear the gut wrenching, heart tugging stories. He was still haunted some days by some of the images he'd seen on confiscated video tapes and photographs. He'd gone home after witnessing counselling sessions of parents whose kids had been victimized and gotten fall down drunk. He'd sat, stone faced through interrogations with pedophiles and then calmly walked out and went into the locker room and put his fist through a wall. But the next day he'd been able to go on. He'd been able to, somewhere down the road, forget the majority of the names and the faces. His compassion for what the victims had been through had never waned. But in the end, they were still strangers to him.

This time it wasn't a stranger. This time he simply couldn't just walk away. It was personal and cut him deep. And when those last words she'd spoken had nearly knocked the wind out of him -when he heard the guilt and the self blame in her voice - he had had to escape. The rage had quickly built to a nearly uncontrollable state. The bile had crept up into his throat fast and furious and he'd dropped Sam's hand as if he'd been scalded and jumped off the couch and hurried out of the room. No apologies, no explanations. He had simply had to get away.

His first stop -after rushing past the startled receptionist, out of the office and down the hall to the public restroom- had been the first stall he stumbled upon. Where he'd shoved his way through the door and crouched down in front of the toilet and proceeded to expel his stomach contents. More than once. Then, on shaky legs and his throat burning, he'd made his way to the bank of sinks and turned on the cold water. He'd splashed his face and wet the back of his neck. He'd cupped his hands underneath the water and then drank it up in gulps. Desperate to rid himself of the acrid taste in his mouth and the fire in his throat.

His hands planted firmly on the ledge of the sink, he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. To gather his composure. To get his shit together. He inhaled slowly, allowing his lungs to fill with air and holding his breath until he couldn't anymore and then exhaling loudly. Repeating the action several times before the tremors in his legs and arms finally subsided, he finally opened his eyes and raised his head and smirked at his reflection.

_You weak bastard, _he scolded himself. _Running in here like a goddamn girl. Bailing on her the moment things got a little rocky. You promised you'd be there for her. No matter what came out of her mouth. You promised that it wouldn't change how you felt about her. And what did you do? You hauled ass on out of there like some pathetic little bitch. You abandoned her. Exactly what she was afraid of._

The truth was, he had left because he was afraid of his own emotions. Afraid to either rant and rave or completely break down in front of her. He was supposed to be there for her. He was supposed to do the comforting. Not the other way around. And had he not left…had he not escaped when he did, her idealistic thoughts of him as some knight in shining armour capable of battling and defeating all of her demons would be destroyed. And after the abuse and the disappointment she'd already suffered throughout her life, he didn't want to let her down.

_But you did you stupid shit. You did let her down. She's probably sitting in there freaking out 'cause you took off. She's probably terrified you're never going to come back._

Part of him didn't want to. He didn't want to hear the sick, twisted details of what her father had done to her. His imagination was more then capable of putting the pieces together. And every time he thought of her as a little girl, tears streaming down her face and her entire body in sheer agony as she was violated over and over again…

Nausea threatened again. Cupping his hands under the cold water once more, Flack slurped up the ice cold liquid, anxious to stem the flood of bile threatening to erupt.

_Get your shit together, _he ordered himself. _Get your head out of your ass. For Sam. She needs you. She needs you in there. And it's going to hurt like a sonofabitch to hear what she went through. You're going to want to dig her father up and bring him back to life just so you can torture him and then kill him all over again. You're going to want to put a fist through something. You're going to want to barf your guts out all over again. But you're going to go back in there and sit through it because she needs you. Don't be a fucker and just get it together and go back in there. Show her that she can count on you. Show her that all of her faith and trust in you isn't misplaced. Show her that you love her regardless of her past. That what happened to her didn't define her._

_Show her that sometimes, even the strong are weak. _

He turned off the cold water tap and yanked a handful of paper towels from the holder mounted over the sink. Drying his face and hands and the back of his neck, he took a deep breath and released it slowly.

_Don't just do it for her, but for yourself too. Show her that you can be the man she needs you to be._

_The man you want to be._

Sighing heavily, he balled up the paper towels in his hands, tossing them in the trash as he strode confidently towards the door.

There was no way in hell he was letting her down.

* * *

"You have to understand that you didn't do anything wrong," Doctor Jennifer Melfi's soft voice filled her cavernous office as Flack quietly slipped back into the room. The psychiatrist, whom he guessed was in her late forties and of Italian-American descent and had graduated on the Dean's Honour List from Tufts University, briefly allowed her eyes to flicker towards the door. She gave a small nod in acknowledgement, then turned her full attention back to her patient.

In her many years in her selected profession, she had treated a wide variety of emotional disorders in a even wider variety of people. Her clientele ranging from affluent bankers and CEO's with anxiety and depressive issues to socialites with eating disorders and drug addictions. She'd sat across from a couple of professional athletes who were battling secret lives of enjoying dressing in women's clothing and fighting to keep their practices out of the public eye. And she'd once treated a Mafia boss whose attempts are forming a personal relationship with her had eventually led her to cut all ties with him completely.

She had then moved her practice onto the lower west side of Manhattan and began opening her doors to anyone that was referred to her. Blue collar and white collar alike. Those with very little money and relying on insurance of employee benefit packages to pay for their expensive therapy and those who eagerly shelled out the fees, considering the hourly rate nothing more than pocket change.

"What your father did to you, regardless of him trying to convince you otherwise, was not your fault," the psychiatrist continued. "You were just a child. You were terrified of him and you thought you were protecting your brother by offering yourself in exchange for his safety. You didn't ask for it and you certainly didn't want it to happen."

"He said that I must have liked it," Sam whispered, her eyes downcast, riveted on the Kleenex she nervously twisted in her hands. "That I must have enjoyed it because I didn't stop him."

"You didn't enjoy it and you most certainly didn't have the power to stop him. You were violated by somewhat that you trusted. A parent. And your mother knew what was going on and it was her duty to protect you," the older man said. "You were abandoned when you needed someone the most. You were taught that your feelings and your physical and emotional well being were second to your father's wants. You did nothing wrong and you most certainly didn't like it while he was molesting you."

_Not the right spot of the conversation for me to walk back in on, _Flack thought, feeling nauseous once more as he returned to his spot on the couch next to his girlfriend. She glanced over at him. He saw the fear in her eyes. He knew she was worried about why he had walked out and what he may have been feeling towards her or thinking about her.

But what he saw most, what burned so strongly in her eyes was shame. She was ashamed of herself. She truly believed that she was the one that was in the wrong and not her father.

He gave a reassuring smile and wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders. He witnessed the relief that washed over her. He felt the tension leave her body as his fingers softly grazed the bare skin of her upper arm.

"It's okay," he whispered and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "Sorry I took off like that," he addressed the doctor. "I just…I was afraid of what I'd hear next. I mean, I'm okay with what she went through. I can accept that it happened to her and I can help her deal with it. But I can't…" he sighed. "I just can't hear the details, you know? I don't want to hear play by play. I just don't. I'm sorry."

"Never apologize for being honest or for having feelings," Doctor Melfi told him. "It's completely acceptable that you had the reaction that you did.

"I just…" Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I've seen and heard a lot, you know? I've been on the job for twelve years now. I deal with the scum of the earth. Gang bangers that smoke guys 'cause they're wearing the wrong colours, anti-Semitics that kill people all 'cause they're a different colour, drug dealers that sell their shit to kids on playgrounds and create addicts of babies in the womb. Guys that have beaten their wives to death, slaughtered their entire families. Rapists that maim and torture their victims. A guy that used to cut girls eyelids off so it forced them to watch him as they die. Crack whore prostitutes who give birth on the streets and leave their babies in dumpsters. You name it, I've seen it. I see blood and gore and death on a daily basis. Lots of death. I've had to sit across from husbands and wives and mothers and fathers and tell them that their loved one is dead. But this…child molesters…" he shook his head. "I can't handle that. Not child molesters. It makes me physically sick that someone can do something like that. Get off on…" he shook his head. "I just can't handle it…and to sit here and hear the person I love blame herself for what some sick, twisted motherfucker did to her?"

Melfi didn't even blink at the use of profanity. Nor react to the raw emotion in Flack's voice. "It's horrifically tragic because children are innocent and all trusting," she reasoned. "Which is also why it's not uncommon that adults who were victims of childhood sexual abuse are often sympathetic to the offending parents. A child is taught to obey and respect their parents. And by trying to stop the abuse, the child then feels they're bad for doing so. And when there's threats and intimidation involved, and in this particular case, a desire to protect a sibling, it's understandable why Samantha feels the way that she does. As a little girl she never expected someone who was supposed to love her and protect her would do something like that. And that disbelief, that her father violated her repeatedly while her mother stood by, still exists all these years later."

"I just don't understand how she can think that she enjoyed it," he said. "Or that she wanted it."

"She was being told that enjoying it meant that she was a good girl," the doctor explained. "That by not stopping him meant that she wanted it."

"That's fucking bullshit," Flack declared.

"I just wanted to protect my brother," Sam whispered.

"No one here is blaming you," Melfi assured her. "What's important is that you recognize how what your father did do you directly effects your life now. That you're here acknowledging that you need help."

Flack nodded in agreement, and reaching across his body, took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers and placed their joined hands on his thigh.

"It's also harder for you to grasp because this isn't part of your job," the psychiatrist addressed him directly. "This isn't a stranger that this is happening to. This is someone in your personal life. Someone that you love and that you readily admitted at the beginning of the session that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. So naturally it's hard for you to hear about what Samantha endured as a child."

"I ran away," Flack said, shaking his head in disgust. "I ran away the second I heard something I didn't like. And that's not fair to Sammie. You don't run away from someone you love just 'cause things get rocky. I wimped out. And that's not me. I don't wimp out. She knows that."

"And she also know you're human and all humans have moments of weakness," the doctor reasoned. "I'd like to switch gears for a moment. Let's talk about how you feel Don. About how you feel about what happened to Samantha."

_Here it comes,_ Flack thought, fighting to keep a smirk from spreading across his face. _It's my turn to be analyzed. I'm just here as an innocent bystander and now I have to tolerate the psychological bullshit._

"We're not here for me," he said.

"No, you're not," Melfi agreed. "We're here for Samantha. To help her deal with her past and her problems. And part of helping her deal is being honest about our feelings. Maybe she would like to hear what you're thinking. About her father, about her. Maybe she needs to hear something from you."

"I don't know why that would matter," he said. "I'm just here because she asked me to be here. I'm not here to…"

"I need to know," Sam said in a small voice as she turned her teary eyes towards him. "I need to know how you feel about what happened. How you feel about me. Because I'm scared that your…"

"That I'm what?" he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. "That I'm disgusted by you? That I find you dirty and repulsive? That you make me sick to my stomach just by looking at you? That I can't stand being anywhere near you?"

"Is that how you feel?" the doctor asked.

"No that's not how I fucking feel," Flack snapped. "None of that is how I feel. Ever since I found out about what her father did to her I've done nothing but be honest about how I feel. It's all the goddamn time. Seven days a week, every waking moment that we spend together I'm trying to get it through her head that what her father did to her hasn't changed how I feel about her. And I'm sick of constantly having to reassure her about it. I'm sick of her thinking that I'm some kind of shallow, moronic bastard that doesn't realize that what happened to her doesn't define her. That I'm this idiotic prick that thinks less of her 'cause her father was a twisted, filthy piece of shit."

"And you feel that she doesn't believe you when you reassure her," Melfi stated.

"She doesn't believe me," he said. "And that's what pisses me off. That's what annoys the shit out of me. Because I don't know how many goddamn times I have to say it before she starts believing me. Before she starts trusting me. I love her. Nothing is going to change that. And there's no reason for her not to trust me."

"Maybe she has a hard time completely trusting you because every male that's ever crossed her path, whose told her that he's loved he,r has abandoned her and shattered that trust," the doctor suggested.

"Yeah? Well I'm not like the other men that she's had in her life. I'm not some child molester. I'm not a guy that gets his kicks out of beating her senseless and making her eat food off the floor. I'm not like her father and I'm not like her ex. I'm me. I may not be the most sensitive or romantic person on the face of the earth. I may sometimes be an arrogant, smug bastard that shoots from the hip. But I'm a good person."

Melfi nodded slowly as she considered his words. "So the anger that you have is directed at her father."

"She was just a little kid!" Flack spat. "She was a baby practically! She was his daughter and he did all kinds of sick shit to her! And he got away with it! What he did to her was disgusting and repugnant and when I think about it I want to puke. And if I could, trust me, I would dig that sonofabitch up, bring him back to life and then torture him. I'd make him pay for what he did and then I'd kill him and bury him all over again."

"Harsh words for someone you've never met," the doctor commented.

"I may have never met him, but I've sat across an interrogation table from people just like him. And trust me, if I could have reached across that table and killed those bastards, I would have."

"Have you ever seen a psychiatrist for an anger disorder, Don?" Melfi asked.

He stared at her. Long and hard. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"You have a lot of anger built up inside of you. A direct cause of your years spent on the job. Have you ever gotten yourself into trouble? Used threats and intimidation against someone in your watch? Gotten a little too aggressive with a perpetrator?"

"Wait a second here. You ask me to tell you how I feel about what Sam's father did to her. You ask me to be open and honest so she knows how I feel and what I'm thinking and then you turn around and accuse me of having an anger problem?"

"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was simply asking you if you've ever seen someone about anger related issues."

"Which means you think I've got some kind of problem," he concluded. "Come on, Doc. I can sense bullshit a mile away. And all of this? This is bullshit. The way you just sit there, nodding or shaking your head. The way your tone never changes. The way you never show any emotion. It's bullshit. Why am I the one being psycho-analyzed? I'm not the one whose father molested them for five years."

"What was your relationship like with your father?" she asked.

"What does my relationship with my old man have to do with this?" he responded. "So what if my old man knocked me around when I was a kid. So what if he drank too much and had bookies on his ass all the time. My father and I…we are not the issue here. You're suppose to be helping Sam. So fucking help her and get off of my ass."

"I'm only trying to establish what kind of childhood you had. What could have attributed to you having all of this pent up aggression and anger," the doctor said calmly.

"My childhood isn't any of your goddamn business. I'm here for my girlfriend. I'm here 'cause she needs help. Because I promised her I wouldn't let her go through this alone. I'm not here to stretch out on the couch and bitch and moan about my father. Or my lack of a father growing up. I'm here for one reason and one reason only. To help Sammie. And me ranting and raving about my life? That isn't helping her."

"Don…please…" Sam pleaded quietly, squeezing his hand.

"Perhaps if the two of you sat down and compared your childhoods and your experiences with your respective fathers, you'd realize that the two of you are a lot alike. You both suffered abuse. Both physical and emotional," Melfi said.

"This is some crazy ass bullshit," Flack laughed dryly and shook his head. "This is just too much."

"Next session I'd like to talk about the relationships the two of you have with your mothers," the doctor told them.

"No…you'll be talking to Sam about the relationship with her mother," Flack corrected. "I'm not getting involved in this, alright? This therapy is for her. Not me."

"You don't think that you could use some kind of therapy?" Melfi asked. "There's obviously some underlying issues behind your anger and your aggression."

"I'm angry and aggressive because of my job," Flack informed her. "Because I deal with sick and twisted bullshit on a daily basis. I see evil day in and day out. I am constantly looking at death. I am constantly asking myself how in the hell human beings can do such horrific shit to each other. And then I come home and I have to deal with the fact that my girlfriend was molested by her father. By the same type of wackjobs I deal with every day! Yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry that I can't do anything to help her. That I can't go back in time and change everything. And I'm angry that you have the nerve to sit here and actually act as if you care about either of us."

"I do care," the doctor told him.

"No…you get paid to act like you care," he corrected her. "And I'm sorry if you feel I'm hostile and menacing."

"I don't find you either," she said. "In fact I find you the opposite. I find that somewhere underneath this tough guy personna is a wounded little boy that hides his emotions and his true feelings behind a false bravado. Because you're afraid of people knowing the real you. Of shattering this personna of someone whose rough and rugged because you feel being sensitive and talking about how you feel means that you're not a man's man."

Sam's eyebrows shot up at the doctor's brutally honest words.

Flack stared at the older woman and gave a laugh. "That has got to be biggest bunch of shit I have ever heard," he declared.

"I have dealt with bigger, better and badder," Melfi informed him. "And I am saying the same thing to you now that I once said to all of them. The sarcasm? The assertiveness? They're coping mechanisms. Strategic tools to hide your weaknesses. Your emotions. Because you're afraid people will think less of you. That you won't live up to some stereotype of what makes a man a real man."

Flack's eyes narrowed. "I think we're done here," he said.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes remaining locked on his for several long, tedious seconds. "You're right," she said at last, then peered down at her watch. "We are done here. Now I understand that a physician has written you prescriptions for anti-depressants?" she asked Sam.

"And anti-anxiety meds," the younger woman replied.

"How are you sleeping?" Melfi asked.

"I'm a restless sleeper," Sam admitted. "And it's been worse in the last week or so. I don't have a hard time falling asleep…it's just…I can't relax once I am and I toss and turn and talk all night. I wake up more exhausted then when I went to bed."

Flack nodded in confirmation.

"I'll prescribe you something to help you sleep," the psychiatrist said and getting to her feet, journeyed across the spacious yet sparsely furnished room. Stepping behind her desk, she opened the top drawer and took out a prescription pad and then snatched a pen from it's ceramic holder on top of the desk. "I'll also schedule you in two weeks from now. We can discuss at that time how often you feel you need to come and see me. My secretary will call you to confirm your appointment time. In the meantime," she turned, and prescription in hand, journeyed back to where the young couple were now getting to their feet. "If anything comes up…if you feel that you have to get a hold of me ASAP or you feel you're dangerously close to a manic state, do not hesitate to call me. I'll be more then happy to accommodate you."

"Thank you," Sam said, and taking the prescription slip, folded it and tucked it into the pocket of her denim capris before reaching behind her to scoop her purse off of the couch.

"In the next couple of weeks I'd like the two of you to sit down and compare your childhoods and the relationships between you and your parents," Melfi said as she escorted them to her office door. "And to also think about how what happened at the hands of your father affects the relationships in your life. Specifically your intimate relationships."

_Oh that should be good,_ Flack thought, a smug smirk on his face as he yanked open the office door and motioned for Sam to go ahead of him. _Let's compare me to her psycho pathetic, child molesting father. Now that's just a huge ego boost._

"It was a pleasure to meet you and I'll see you again soon," the doctor said, as she extended a hand to Sam. "There's some books that you can get at Barnes and Noble. About how to learn to control your moods and battle your anxiety. Unfortunately it could take weeks before you begin to see any effects from the medication, so if you ever feel you need to…"

"She'll be fine," Flack assured the psychiatrist, as he laid a hand on the back of Sam's neck and gently turned her around and led her away from the office.

* * *

"Don't do that!" Sam whispered harshly and reached up to push his hand off of her. "You know I hate when you do that! Why do you do that? Act like you own me or something?"

"I'm not acting like I own you. I just want to…"

"Protect me," she finished with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah…I know…maybe you should be in there talking about your massive Knight in Shining Armour Complex."

"Hey…you asked me to come today," he reminded her, as he moved his hand to the small of her back and used his free hand to pull open the door leading from the reception area out into the main hallway. "You wanted me to be here. So don't be going all bitchy on me 'cause some quack doctor touched a nerve."

"She's not a quak," Sam argued, her arms crossed over her chest as they headed for the elevators. "She happens to be an excellent doctor."

"What makes her excellent? 'Cause she's published a couple of books? 'Cause she's written articles for medical journals? 'Cause she's some distant friend of Hawkes' and we all know how he's akin to Godlike status as far as you're concerned."

"You're such an ass," she huffed and reached out to violently jam a finger at the down button for an elevator. "I asked you to come with me because I thought it would be good for you. Good for us."

"Good for me? You thought hearing sordid details about you and your father would be good for me?"

"I thought it would make your understand things better!" she informed him.

"What do I need to understand? I understand he was a sick and twisted piece of shit. What more could there possibly be to understand?"

"I thought it would explain to you why I am the way I am."

"Sammie…this isn't rocket science, alright? I think I can understand why you're a basket case sometimes. I'd be a basket case too if someone did that shit to me. But I don't need to sit in front of a psychiatrist and hold your hand and listen to play by play on what happened to you. You asked me to come and I came with you."

"Well remind me to give you a medal for that later," she snorted. "For feeling like I'm some sort of obligation."

"You're not an obligation. You're taking every thing I say completely out of context. You asked me to come here and I came. Not because I felt obligated. But because I wanted to help you. I want to help you. So don't go turning things around so I look like the bad guy."

"Fine…" she sighed. "Fine…I just think you could have been a little more pleasant with the woman."

"It was your appointment and she was in there trying to analyze me. We weren't there for me. We were there for you. And if she starts this voo-doo hoo-doo pyscho babble bullhit on me at the next appointment, I'm out of there and you're going on your own from now on. She wants to talk about our relationship? About intimate things? Are you kidding me? She's not a goddamn sex therapist."

"Why?" Sam asked. "Do we need a sex therapist?"

"I don't know…do you think we need one?" he countered. "I mean…things are great. Sex wise. Even if sometimes I think you could loosen up a bit and be more…."

"Be more what? Be more slutty? Be more of a dirty little skank?" she rolled her eyes.

"I was going to say more confident. That you should be more relaxed and comfortable with me and just try things once in a while."

"Why does everything always revolve around sex?" Sam asked, as a soft chime announced the arrival of the elevator. "Is that all you think about? Is that all that matters to you?"

"No…but it's a pretty important part of a relationship, don't you think? I mean, we live together. We sleep in the same bed. It's not like we can do that and not ever have sex."

"Well one could always try," she mumbled and stepped onto the elevator as the doors opened.

"I'm just trying to say that I think this doctor is messed up," Flack said as he entered the elevator behind her and pressed the button for the lobby. "Something is not right with her."

"Don…please…we're both a bit on edge. Just don't…how about we just don't talk for a little while, okay?"

"Did you see how she just sat there?" he asked. "She barely even blinked. She didn't show any emotion. The tone of her voice never changed. She was like a damn robot for Christsakes."

Sam sighed heavily and closing her eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Don…please…just…"

"You know who she reminds me of?" he asked, completely ignoring her. "Mac. She's the female Mac Taylor. To a tee. They'd get along great. It's like they were separated at birth. Neither of them are quite human. Think they'd get along? Think we should set them up?"

Sam looked up at him and found him grinning down at her.

"Think we should?" he asked with a chuckle. "Think the two of them would wanna hook up? Let their hair down together? Have some wild and crazy kinky sex? Who knows? Could be true love waiting to happen."

"I think you're goddamn disturbed and _you_ need to be on medication," Sam declared, then broke out into a smile.

"Come on…" he laughed in earnest now and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulled her tight into his side. "You love my twisted sense of humour. You're life would be boring without me. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if I wasn't around."

"I don't know about that," she said with a sigh.

A comfortable silence descended on them. The floors ticked by as the elevator made its slow descent. Sam eventually gave a sniffle and reached up to brush the tears away that suddenly slipped down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, baby," Flack said, as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder lightly. "It's going to be okay. I know it was hard talking about stuff like that. But it's going to be okay now. Part of getting over it is dealing with it. No matter how bad it hurts."

"I know…I just…talking about all of that to a complete stranger? That's just not me. And then having you take off like that. I was worried you weren't coming back. That you just figured it was too much for you to deal with. And you know what? I wasn't mad at you. I didn't blame you for feeling like that. And for needing to get away. It's a lot for someone to have to deal with."

"Yeah…and you've been dealing with it for how many years? Fourteen since it stopped? If you ask me, you've dealt pretty damn good with it considering. You got your shit together for the most part. Got yourself an education, a good career. You've been able to develop relationships with people. Maybe not the most healthy of relationships sometimes, but…"

"I just…I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay? Can we just get out of here and not talk about for the rest of the day? Can we go and get some lunch and then just wander through Central Park or something?" she wiped her eyes, and stepping in front of him, wrapped both arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. "I don't care what we do. I just don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Then we won't talk about it," he said and kissed her temple. "Let's go to a movie. We'll sit way at the back…in the darkest corner…what was that you said a while back about never making out with a guy in a theatre?"

"We've already done the making out during a movie thing," she reminded him. "Remember? Paying close to thirty bucks to see that crappy Jason Statham movie and only seeing the first twenty minutes?"

"In my defence, the skirt you were wearing was pretty short. I just had to check, you know, as a concenred boyfriend and all that you were wearing underwear. Unfortunately, you were."

She laughed. "I do tend to wear undies in public. Sorry. I'm not always considering what's easy access for you. And honestly? While making out with you is usually on the top of the list of my priorities? After that appointment…"

"I know," he said and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stroked her back. "Last thing on my mind, too. And no. Before you take that the wrong way, I'm not saying I'm turned off by you or anything. I'm just saying that I think we need some time to…I don't know…get over things."

She nodded in agreement. Then giggled as his stomach rumbled noisily. "The alien is talking to me again."

"I'm starving. It's been three hours since we ate. I'm a growing boy. I need sustenance before I waste away to nothing."

"Oh…I don't think these love handles are going anywhere," she teased, and playfully pinched his sides.

"What is it with you and Monroe and the love handles? She's always on Danny's ass about his. You're always picking on me about mine."

"'Cause they're sexy," she reasoned, looking up at him. "In this weird kind of way."

"You know what's weird? The fact that you find love handles sexy," he teased, and covered her mouth with his in a long, tender kiss.

"Just your love handles," she said, as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She rested her cheek against his chest. Breathing in his familiar scent. Listening to his heartbeat. Feeling the fabric of his forest green Henley shirt against her cheek.

"Everything's going to be okay," he promised. "No matter what gets said or what we hear…it's all going to be okay. We're going to be okay. Just trust me."

She smiled and closed her eyes and clung tightly to him. Relaxed and happy in the fact that she'd found the one person, the one man, that she was willing to put that kind of trust in again.

* * *

Sam pulled two pairs of sunglasses out of her purse as they stepped out into the ferociously bright sunlight. Hanging her boyfriend his pair that she'd stowed in her back upon arriving at the towering office building, she slipped her own -a Paris Hilton-esque pair with large light pink frames- onto her face.

"So where to?" Flack asked, putthing his own shades on. "Other then to the drug store to get your even more drugs."

"I'm starving," Sam replied. "Like literally starving. Wasn't that one of those side effects from the crazy pills Sheldon prescribed me? Increased appetite?"

"No…I think that's a side effect from you getting way too much sex," he teased, taking her hand in his own. "I wear you out. Make you work for your meals. I can't make it too easy on you."

"Well unlike you, I can't eat constantly and not gain weight," she said. "Not that you're on the skinny side or anything. Well, maybe you do have chicken legs. But you're definitely not skinny."

"Are you calling me fat?" Flack asked, grinning down at her.

"No…I'm calling you a big boy. You're…what's that my grandmother used to say about guys like you…built like a brick shit house. You're not light, Don. Sorry."

"I'm six foot two and two hundred pounds of nothing but pure unbridled lust for you, Sammie."

"How the two of you pull that off without seriously damaging her is beyond me," a familiar voice commented, as a hand fell on Sam's shoulder. "But then again, we all know full well you're not that much of a missionary fan, Flack."

"Don't give away all my dirty secrets , Jess," he grinned, as Sam dropped his hand and his current girlfriend and ex embraced warmly in the middle of the sidewalk. _Totally surreal,_ he thought, then nodded a greeting as Mark Powell stepped up beside him.

"Why do women do that squealing and giggling thing when they meet up?" Powell asked.

"It just comes with the territory," Flack concluded. "What are you two doing here?"

"You honestly didn't think I wouldn't show up, did you?" Jess asked, linking her arm with Sam's as the two girls stood before them. "I knew you were going with her for the actual appointment. Didn't mean I couldn't be here for the aftermath. How'd it go?"

"It went," Flack told her.

"That good, huh?" Jess ran a hand over Sam's hair. "That was to be expected, right? This type of stuff always comes with some nastiness. Are you okay?" she asked her friend.

Sam nodded. "It was just…hard. Very hard."

"Well you're dealing with it and that's the important thing, Tinks. Mark and I were thinking that we could take you two out to lunch. We 've got something to discuss with you guys. A propsition to make, if you will."

"I'm not taking part in any kinky shit, Jessie," Flack informed her.

"Well that's a first for you," she shot back. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Don. This is a legit, serious proposition. About our wedding."

Sam's eyebrows raised. "Whose wedding?" she asked.

"Mine and Mark's," her friend answered, and held out her left hand.

"Shit!" Sam squealed and pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head to get a look at the sparkling oval shaped diamond gracing Jess' finger. "When did this happen?"

"Just this morning," the other woman answered, laughing as she found herself pulled into a tight hug. "I actually asked him. Can you believe that?"

Flack grinned at the man next to him. "Are you kidding me? She popped the question?"

Powell nodded, a proud smile on his face as he regarded his new fiancee.

"We just picked the ring out before coming here," Jess explained. "It's why we're a bit late."

"And you guys are just getting married right away?" Flack asked.

"In three days actually," she replied. "In Las Vegas."

"Vegas?" Flack chuckled. "As in the Little White Wedding Chapel and an Elvis impersonator preforming the ceremony?"

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Just a civil ceremony in the classy chapel," Jess explained. "Me and Mark…"

"And a couple of show girls as witnesses," Flack teased, receiving an elbow in the stomach from his girlfriend.

"Exactly," his ex said. "We were hoping that the two of you would come with us. You're both on vacation right? It's only for five days. I'm sure you guys can swing five days in Vegas."

Flack looked down at Sam, his eyebrows arched, looking for a decision.

"I'm game if you are," she said.

"Five days?" he asked Jess.

"We can discuss it over lunch," she said. "We can stop in at a travel agency and get some brochures. Pick a hotel to stay in. It'll be a blast. You two deserve to get away for a few days. To put all the troubles here behind you and just relax and have some fun. Come on….what do you say?"

Flack grinned and gave a small nod.

"I say Viva Las Vegas, baby."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I figured that it was due time for Sam and Flack to have some fun! And I am just itching for write some fluff. We all deserve some fluff. And some smut, if my girl Cass gets her way in upcoming chapters. LOL. We'll just have to wait and see…**

**So thanks to all of you who are supporting me and this story. I appreciate each and every one of you. Even the lurkers! Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**muchmadness**

**afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**hardylover7477**

**wolfeylady**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	62. Fluffy and fuzzy in Sin City

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OR ANYONE OR ANYTHING RELATED TO THE CSI FRANCHISE IN GENERAL. I ONLY OWN SAM. AND LOVE HER OR HATE HER, I'M PROUD OF HER. **

**I WANT TO DEDICATE PORTIONS OF THIS CHAPTER TO MY DEAR FRIEND DORI (AFROZENHEART 412). YOUR IDEAS AND SUGGESTIONS AND YOUR SUPPORT AND FRIENDSHIP ARE SO GREATLY APPRECIATED**

**ALSO, A HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF MY SUPPORTERS WHO HELPED THIS STORY REACH 700 REVIEWS! ALREADY! I BOW TO ALL OF YOU!**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE THREE F'S. FLUFFY, FUZZY AND FUNNY. THREE THINGS I DON'T NORMALLY INDULGE IN. LOL. I AM BLAMING IT ON THE MIXTURE OF PAIN MEDS AND ANTIBIOTICS BEING PUMPED INTO ME WHILE COOPED UP IN THE HOSPITAL. NOT FUN ON YOUR BIRTHDAY LET ME TELL YA. THANK GOD FOR A PRIVATE ROOM, LAP TOP AND FREE WIRELESS INTERNET. AND OF COURSE, ALL OF MY AMAZING FRIENDS AND THEIR WELL WISHES!**

**ENJOY! **

* * *

**Fluffy and fuzzy in Sin City**

"I never thought I'd... be in love like this  
When I look at you my mind goes on a trip  
And you came in... and knocked me on my face  
Feels like in I'm a race  
But I already won first place  
I never thought I'd... fall for you as hard as I did  
(As hard as I did, yeah)  
You got me thinking' about our house and kids  
Every morning I look at you and smile  
'Cause boy you came around and you knocked me down... knocked me down

Sometimes love comes around  
And it knocks you down  
Just get back up  
When it knocks you down

I never thought I'd  
Hear myself say  
Y'all go ahead  
I think I'm gonna kick it with my girl today  
I used to be commander and chief  
On my pimp ship flyin' high  
Til I met this pretty little missle that shot me out the sky  
Until I crash it, I don't know how it happened  
But I know it feels so damn good  
Said if I could go back, and make it happen faster  
Don't you know I would baby if I could."  
-Knock You Down, Keri Hilson featuring Kanye West and Ne-Yo

* * *

Flack tapped his foot impatiently as he waited in the small foyer of his apartment. Surrounded by luggage -some of it a rather outrageous combination of purple and pink paisley prints, a set that his girlfriend had brought home the night before and he'd all but begged her to return for something a little less hideous- and grasping his house and car keys in one hand and two airline tickets in the other. Sighing heavily, he checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in ten minutes and rolled his eyes and issued a heavy sigh.

"Sam!" he bellowed through the apartment. "Come on! Let's go! Flight leaves in two and a half hours babe!"

"I'm just checking to make sure that I didn't forget anything!" she called back from the bedroom.

"You've packed enough shit to last you a month in Vegas," he complained. "I doubt you forgot anything."

"Well I've got to make sure…" she insisted. "I want to know that I'm not going to need any extra clothes or shoes or…"

"Sammie! You packed ten different pairs of shoes! Three sandals, two pairs of runners, four different kinds of heels and a pair of hooker boots! Leave the rest of your footwear home, okay?!"

"Would you just keep your pants on Donald! I just want to be sure! What if I didn't pack enough clothes? Do you think I have enough jeans and shorts and tops? What about dresses? I packed two sun dresses and two somewhat trampy slash dressy ones. Not to mention the one I bought for the wedding. Do you think that's enough? Did I pack enough underwear and bras? And what about a swimsuit?"

"Listen to me…you've got enough clothes to live in Vegas for a few weeks. In fact, you've got enough shit that you could change three times a day and still have enough. And I told you about the swimsuit. You packed it already. Even if I don't think you're going to need it."

"I want to go swimming," she informed him. "And there's a hot tub in our room."

"Hey! If you think you're actually wearing a bathing suit in our own hot tub in the privacy of our own room, you're delusional. Would you please just come on. Why does it always take you so long to get ready every time we're going somewhere?"

"Because it just does!" she reasoned. "And why do we have to leave so early in the first place? You just said the flight was in two and a half hours. We only have to drive to JFK."

He sighed once more and fought the urge to bang his head off the wall in front of him. "Sammie…it's forty five minutes to JFK on a good traffic day. There's all kinds of construction going on in the city now that it's spring. We'll be lucky if it doesn't take us two hours to get to the airport. Then we've got to go through security and all that other shit. So would you please, please just cut me some slack, quit driving me nuts and come on already."

"Fine…fine…" she huffed. "It's too bad that we couldn't get on the same flight as Mark and Jess," she huffed and journeyed out of the bedroom, the heels of her bubble gum pink sling backs clicking on the hardwood as she headed down the hall and through the living room. Her ever present black and pink Kate Spade purse over one shoulder and a knapsack that matched her luggage over the other. "Although I wasn't exactly thrilled at the thought of having to catch a six thirty in the morning flight. I'm glad we got an eleven o'clock one. Makeup! Did I bring my makeup?"

"Yes, Sammie…every last piece of that Hello Kitty stuff you just bought. I swear to God woman, I'm never travelling with you ever again," he complained.

"I keep you young, Don. Do you think I look okay?" she asked, as she tugged at the hem of her dark denim skirt. It clung to her hips and ass and stopped two inches above her knees and showed off her well toned legs and drew attention to the seahorse tattoo on the back of her left calf. Finishing off her ensemble was a soft pink eyelet top with cap sleeves. Her hair was loose and tumbled down to the small of her back, and a white macramé skull style cap sat on the top of her head.

"Let's put it this way," he said, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. "You're hot enough to make me want to drag you into the bathroom on the plane and anoint both of us as the newest members of the mile high club."

She frowned. "In your wildest and wettest," she said with a snort.

"Come on…you can't tell me you don't find the thought of that remotely exciting. It's kinky as all hell. Getting busy at thirty five thousand feet? That doesn't turn you on the in the least little bit?"

"It does…but it just isn't me."

"You know," Flack said, handing her the plane tickets as he unlocked the apartment door and yanked it open. "When I said after your appointment that we take a little sex break, I meant for just yesterday. I didn't mean for it to extend into today."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, holding the door for him as he began moving their luggage out into the hallway. "We had sex this morning."

"What? That was no sex. Oral is not sex."

"Okay Bill Clinton," she laughed as she tucked the tickets into her purse. "You got off didn't you? It's sex. Regardless of what you say."

"Let's just agree to disagree," he said. "You are going to put out in Vegas right?"

"Are we staying home if I say no?" she asked curiously.

"I never said that. I'm just asking here. I don't want to be just sleeping in our outrageously priced suite at the Bellagio."

"What are you going to do if I got all frigid on you? Spend your days and nights in the casino gambling all of our money away?" she asked, pulling a tube of lip gloss from the pocket of her skirt and uncapping it before gliding the glittery pink concoction over her lips.

"I'm going to find me some hot show girl that's into big bad New York City boys. I'll just flash my badge and wave the 'cuffs around and she'll be all over that like flies on shit."

"Yeah? And you know what will happen to you?" she asked with a sweet smile as she slipped the gloss back into her pocket and stepped out into the hallway. "What does the name Lorena Bobbit mean to you?"

He grimaced and locked the apartment door. Then handed her the keys to deposit in her purse. "It means I better either sleep with one eye open or make sure there's no knives or sharp instruments of any kind in our room."

"Exactly," she said, and pulling up the handles on her two wheelie suitcases, draped her purse and carry on over them.

"Mind you…" Flack gathered up the rest of the bags and followed her down the hall towards the elevator. "I could just save myself a whole lot of trouble and just 'cuff you to the bedpost once you fall asleep. But then again, you might like that too much. Considering you've got the love for the handcuffs and a raging cop fetish."

She blushed furiously. "Do you mind? Our neighbours do not need to hear stuff like that."

He laughed. "Are you kidding me? Do you honestly think that me talking about handcuffs and your cop fetish bothers them? Especially considering how many times they've banged on the walls because of all your noise when we're…"

"Do you mind?" she asked, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Must you talk like that?"

"Don't go all innocent virgin, Sammie. Imagine if mommy and daddy knew about our MSN moments when I'm working nights and you're home all alone and horny."

She shook her head and pressed the down button for the elevator. "You are unreal. Why do you talk like that? Why do you insist on pushing my buttons by talking like that in public?"

"Oh I'm sorry…" he said, and setting the bags on the ground, wrapped his arm around her slender waist and pulled her tightly against his side. "I keep forgetting you just like to reserve the nasty, dirty talk for the bedroom," he teased and pressing a kiss to her temple, ran his hand over her hip and around, letting it lightly graze her ass.

"What is wrong with you today?" she asked. "Talking like this? Feeling me up in public?"

"I always talk like this 'cause I know it does something for you. And I am not feeling you up. I'm touching your ass. There's a difference."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Okay…so maybe I had this really wild and perverted dream last night and even what you did this morning wasn't enough to…how should I put it?….Flush it out of my system."

"And what exactly happened in this wild and perverted dream?" she asked.

"Well, let's just say it involved chocolate sauce, ice cubes, champagne and our all time favourite, mint chocolate chip ice cream. Oh…and there may have been some slight bondage."

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"You tied to the bed with two of my ties, actually," he admitted.

"You are seriously disturbed," she laughed. She tapped the toe of her shoe on the tile flooring, silent for a moment as they heard the distinct rumbling of the elevator as it approached their floor. "I hope it wasn't the nice ties I bought you," she said. "I hope it was one of your many fugly ties."

"Fugly ties?" he asked curiously.

"Fucking ugly," she clarified. "And you've got a lot of them."

"You just made me throw out tons," he reminded her. "I hope you realize how I am going to look in front of all my guys if they ever find out you're picking out my clothes for me."

"I am simply the tie chooser," she said, then eyed him from head to toe. Nodding appreciatively at the way his blue, yellow and white Michael Jordan golf shirt fit tight around muscular biceps and the way his Tommy jeans fit loose in the legs but hugged his ass just perfectly. There was a small, frayed hole in the back pocket and she couldn't resist sticking her finger into it. "I have no complaints about your wardrobe," she assured him. Then frowned when she looked down and saw those hideous Adidas sandals on his feet. She gave a groan and a roll of her eyes. "Must you, Don? Like really. Must you?"

"You have your Kermit Crocs and I have my Adidas sandals. Deal with it."

"I will one day succeed in throwing those things out," she declared. "At least tell me you packed other shoes."

"Yes, dear. I did. Just to appease you. You didn't really think I'd subject myself to your constant bitching and moaning by not bringing other pairs?"

"Be nice to me!" she cried, and pinched his ass.

"And you complain about me feeling you up?" he laughed, wriggling away from her as her hand drifted over his butt.

"I'm sorry. I can't resist. You just have the most incredible ass I've ever seen on a guy. And apparently, I'm not the only woman that notices. Remember that old lady at the bodega down the street last week? How she caught me looking at your butt and tapped me on the shoulder? Then proceeded to tell me how, and I quote, 'he should charge for a view like that'?"

"What can I say? The ladies love me. You've got yourself some heavy competition."

"Oh yeah…" she giggled. "I'm just going to have to beat all the old ladies off with a stick."

The elevator finally shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open with a noisy squeak. Flack motioned for Sam to go ahead of him and she held the door as he loaded the luggage in before stepping on himself.

"You asked Danny to come over and check our mail?" Sam asked, pressing the button for the underground lot.

Flack nodded and yawned noisily. "He was kinda pissy with me though. I think he's got his undies in a twist that I'm making friends with someone else. He's got that clingy best friend vibe going on lately."

"I think he's just trying to hold on to you 'cause you're still single and his single days are quickly slipping away," Sam reasoned. "He's living vicariously through you."

"'Cause I just live such a wild and crazy care free life," Flack laughed. "I told him that if he was having second thoughts he should have bailed months ago. You know, when he was going through his, 'am I doing the right thing?' stage. I mean, it can't be a good sign when someone says they're not sure why they're marrying someone."

"It wasn't that he wasn't sure why he was marrying her," Sam said. "He was just…not sure if he was doing it for the right reasons."

"Love is always a right reason. But he couldn't even tell me if that was the reason why he wanted to get married."

"Don't be so cynical, Don. Of course he's marrying her for the right reason. He loves her and wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He's just…scared of surrendering his bachelor status. You'll be the same way if you ever get to the point in your life that he's at now."

"It's not if, Sammie. It's when," he corrected her. "And I'm at that point in my life. And you know what? I know why I want to marry you. There isn't going to be any hesitation or second guessing if someone asks me why."

"And why do you want to marry me?" she asked curiously.

"Because I love you more then I thought I could ever love another human being. 'Cause I'd take a bullet for you. 'Cause I want forever with you. The house in the suburbs with the white picket fence and two point five kids or whatever the hell it is. I want you. And only you. I want to be able to call you my wife and it actually be true. I want to go around bragging to everyone when we find out we're having a baby. I want to be that guy who keeps an ultrasound picture on my desk and who buys ball gloves and baseball caps and you're only a few months along. I want to go to all the scans and all the appointments and then nearly faint watching you give birth. You'd be a really sexy pregnant woman, you know that?"

She beamed up at him.

"I just want you, Sammie. A life with you. A future with you. Sure, we got love, but we got so much more then that. And all of it together will make our life together amazing. Being friends for an entire year and a half? I think it did wonders for us. We didn't just jump into something not knowing the other person. Being friends first…I don't know…I think we're stronger 'cause of that."

"I think so too," she agreed and rubbed his back affectionately as he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips.

"By the way," he said, and running a hand down her hair, allowed it to settle on the small of her back. "You look really pretty today."

"Yeah?" she asked, and snaking an arm around his waist, rubbed his hip softly. "You look pretty damn fine yourself. Well, save for them horrific excuses for shoes."

"Come on…you love them. Shows off my toes. Good for your foot fetish. And for the record, I'm at the point in my life where I want to get married. It's you that's dragging your heels."

"Don…" she sighed heavily. "Don't ruin our vacation by starting that again."

"I'm just saying…I'm the one whose ready. You're the one with the marriage paranoia."

"It's not a paranoia," she informed him. "It's a…I just think it's way too soon for us to be talking marriage."

"We live together, Sammie. That's like being married."

"I know…I just…"

"Would it be different if we got engaged and stayed that way for a year? Would it be okay then? I mean, that gives us an entire year to keep living together. Three hundred and sixty five days to get used to the idea of being husband and wife. To really get to know one another. Would that be okay?"

"Is that what you really want?" she asked.

"I want what you want. If you want to stay engaged for a year or two, that's fine with me. I just…I'm ready for that step and I want to know that you're ready to take it with me."

She smiled and gave a nod. "I think I'd be okay with that," she said. "Why? What little secret are you hiding from me?"

"No little secret," he assured her and kissed the top of her head.

_At least not yet, _he thought with a grin.

* * *

The Las Vegas strip wasn't much to look at during the day. A mixture of luxurious, monstrous and outrageously expensive all inclusive resorts, lower end hotels and casinos and high end boutiques and factory outlets, the strip's magic prevailed at night. Once the sun went down, it came to life. As day gave into night, the flashing and shimmering lights would blaze as thousands of tourists strolled the streets and the floors of the casinos were packed to bursting. During daylight, things appeared remarkably subdued. Scattered handfuls of small groups wandered the strip while others preferred quiet time at their hotels, Whether it be lounging by the pool or simply hanging out in their rooms or browsing the shops that the high end resorts boasted on their premises, there was always something to do.

Despite the fact that the strip appeared relatively boring at the moment, Samantha was in complete and utter awe of their surroundings. The moment Flack had drove their rental car off of the airport lot, she'd rolled down the window and got out her digital camera and snapped pictures of everything and anything on the forty five minute drive to their hotel.

As soon as their flight had taken off from JFK, she'd been like a little kid on Christmas morning. All wound up and talking a mile a minute, barely able to contain her excitement. The very second the go ahead had been given to the passengers to remove their seat belts, she'd hurriedly stripped herself of the belt and turned to Flack and tossed her arms around him and kissed him until he was breathless. Much to the chagrin of the of the passenger sitting on the other side of him.

"I can't believe we're going to Vegas!" she'd shrieked, bouncing happily in her seat. "I'm so exicted I'm going to pee my pants!"

Her childlike exuberance was charming, adorable and extremely contagious. Even if she had spent the entire three hour trip yapping his ear off about all of the things their hotel had to offer. He hadn't had the heart to tell her that she'd already told him all of it five times already, or remind her that he'd been the one to make the reservations and print off the information and the pictures that were clutched in her hands. The night before she'd snatched the papers off of the kitchen table and folded them and stuffed them into her purse. She didn't want to forget anything. And she couldn't seem to get enough of reading about the Bellagio. She went on and on about the beauty and extravagance of their room. About the hotel's many amenities. From the boutiques that sold everything from crazily expensive jewellery to designer clothes and home furnishing and accessories inspired by the Cirque de Soilel. She talked about the many restaurants and their twenty four room and concierge service. She raved about the botanical gardens and the art gallery on site and the Mediterranean inspired courtyards and pools.

But her favourite part? What she was looking forward to the most? The majestic beauty of Bellagio's world famous fountains. Which had become even more popular since the scene near the end of the movie Oceans Eleven. A film that Sam had seen -thanks to her self proclaimed George Clooney crush - at least two dozen times.

And as Flack had sat listening to her chatter on about their trip, he'd decided that the Bellagio's fountains were going to create one hell of a memory for her. One that existed outside of a favourite film.

The forty five minute car ride had turned into a nearly hour one thanks to her insistence that he pull over and let her out so she could take pictures of the New York, New York Hotel and Casino.

"You don't get enough of the real city?" he'd asked, feigning annoyance -it was hard to be genuinely irritated when she was just so damn exicted and happy- when she'd made him get out of the car and flag down someone to take their picture in front of the hotel. "I mean, we live in the real New York City, babe. Why do we need pictures of a replica one?"

"Because this is Vegas," she'd reasoned, tossing the tourist he'd corralled her camera and putting her arm around his waist and flashing a huge smile for their picture. "And besides," she'd added, after thanking and sending the tourist on his way. "It's a little easier to appreciate home when you're away from it. When you don't have it right in front of you eating your ass and kicking you while you're down. You know…like gang bangers and drug dealers and murderers. Crack whores, car jackers, home invaders…"

Now, as they continued their journey to their hotel, Sam was somewhat calm and relaxed as she sat in the pasenger seat of the black Chrysler Sebring, one ear phone to her Ipod in as she flipped through the assortment of photos on her camera. The seat was reclined back and she had her shoes kicked off and her barefeet were tapping out a rhythem on the dashboard as she sang along to her self proclaimed official 'theme song' and the breeze from the open window lightly tousling her hair.

"_Love me, hate me, say what you want about me. But all of the boys and all of the girls are beggin' to, if You Seek Amy. Love me hate me, but can't you see what I see, all of the boys and all of the girls are beggin' to if You Seek Amy." _

Flack grinned as her soft, if yet not slightly out of tune voice filled the car. She was young at heart, no doubt about it. From the piercings and the tattoos -the branding and the nose ring were slowly growing on him- , her penchant for cartoon inspired pyjamas and t-shirts and anything Hello Kitty, and her near obsession with her Ipod and the singing and dancing that accompanied it, Sam was living life to the fullest. She didn't let the darkness of the job haunt her once she was off the clock.

While memories of tough cases lingered just under the surface, she never dwelt on what she couldn't change or what she could have done better. She accepted the finality of death and her inability to bring departed loved ones back to their family members. She tried her hardest to give them closure, to capture justice, but knew the harsh reality that only twenty two percent of homicides were ever solved. Once she was out the exit, she became an entirely different Sam Ross. Fun loving, free spirited, and for the most part lovable and deceptively naïve and innocent.

He wondered, as he listened to her singing -a Kanye West song now- if her carefree, if not often childish tendencies, were a coping mechanism she'd designed to deal with the rigors of the job, or if they existed because she had never really had a childhood. If she was hanging on to a shred of youth because hers had been so cruelly ripped away from her.

"Don!!" she suddenly screeched, both tearing him out of his reverie and his eyes off of the road in front of him. He nearly hit the brakes, worried that he had, in his brief moment of internal debate either drifted into the opposite lane or actually run something or someone over.

"Sam…what the hell? You scared the shit out of me!" he scolded her, watching out of the corner of his eye as she bolted upright in her seat and unclasping her seat belt, turned right around to look out the back window.

"Did you see that, Donnie?!" she cried. "Did you? Did you see that?!"

"See what babe? What are you…?"

"Behind us! Walking down the street! Three people dressed as…stuffed animals!"

"Get outta here," he laughed. "You're seeing things."

"No! I'm not! I'm looking right at them! One of them is dressed as a kangaroo, the other is dressed as a Panda Bear and the other…well I can't quite make it out…it's either a sheep or a goat."

"Big difference between a sheep and a goat, Sammie…" he said.

"I know…but I never got a good look at him…what the hell is going on? Why would people be dressed as animals?"

"Some kind of mascot convention or something?" he suggested. "Are you sure you're not hallucinating or something? You did have that one cranberry and vodka on the plane. Maybe it's had some kind of adverse reaction on you 'cause of your meds."

"I am not hallucinating!" she argued, still looking through the back window "I am watching them walking down the street. It's three adults dressed as stuffies."

"You're mental, Sammie," he declared, and casting a glance through the rear view mirror, frowned at her. "I don't see a thing," he told her.

"They're right there! In front of the Flamingo! See them?"

"No," he lied and pulled to a stop at a red light.

"How can you not see a six foot kangaroo talking to a six foot Panda Bear?" she asked exasperatedly. "Especially when they're accompanied my a six foot sheep?"

"Maybe because there's no one in front of the Flamingo. Well, other then that guy in that massive Stetson and the shirt that reads, 'My ex got all my good clothes in the divorce'. What are you doing? Why are you talking a picture of that guy?"

"I am not talking a picture of him," she huffed. "I'm taking a picture of the kangaroo!"

"Sam! I swear to you, babe. You're imaging things. Your meds are acting up. There is no kangaroo or panda bear or sheep in front of The Flamingo."

"Yes there is!" she insisted, then leaned out the window. "Excuse me!" she called to an elderly couple walking hand in hand on the sidewalk. "Do you not see a kangaroo down the street?"

Flack shook his head vigorously. Then groaned inwardly, pissed that his joke was foiled when the woman looked down the street and nodded an affirmative.

"Thank you!" Sam chirped. Then slapped him on the arm. "I told you!" she exclaimed. "You've seriously got something wrong with your eyes!"

"Sammie…I saw them…I was just trying to convince you that you've gone nuts."

"You're mean!" she cried and punched his shoulder.

"Oww…" he grimaced and rubbed his arm. "You seriously punch like a man. Are you happy? Now that you've gone and embarrassed yourself in front of complete strangers over a bunch of wack-adoos dressed as…"

He stopped mid sentence, his eyes widening as a someone in a tiger costume passed by the front of the car on their way across the street.

"What in the hell…" he said.

"Oh my God!" Sam put her hand over her mouth and giggled. "What is going on? Is there something in the water? Is this an episode of The Twilight Zone? Are we being punked? Why are all these people dressed like animals?"

"This is some seriously fucked up shit right here," Flack declared, watching as the tiger met up with a pig, the two embracing warmly on the sidewalk.

"We're supposed to be used to strange and obscure!" Sam laughed hysterically, her body soon consumed by hiccups. "We're from New York City! We're supposed to be used to weird shit!"

"People do not walk around New York City dressed as stuffed animals," Flack said, leaning forward, chest against the steering wheel as he continued to watch the exchange at the corner. "I tell you, Sammie…anyone starts humping each other's legs and I'm calling animal control."

"Think it's some kind of kinky thing?" she asked, wiping tears off her cheeks as the light turned green and they cruised through the intersection. "I mean, do they do it for kicks or something?"

"I don't know. But you know what would happen to them if they walked through mid-town like that? Or went to Crown Heights? They wouldn't be walking out alive I'll tell you that much."

"There's got to be some explanation," she concluded, and grabbing a bottle of water from the cup holders between their seats, uncapped it and took a swig. "Got to be."

Flack snorted and shook his head.

"Maybe it's some cartoon character convention," she mused. "Hey…you could dress up as your favourite. Mighty Mouse."

"Tom and Jerry," he corrected her. "Hawkes was Mighty Mouse, remember? And what was your favourite? Betty Boop?"

"Strawberry Shortcake," she huffed. "You know this."

"Oh that's right…makes sense too…you're sweet like cake and practically a midget."

She frowned at him.

Flack winked at her playfully, then leaned across the seat and pecked her lips quickly before turning back to the road.

"You love me," he declared.

She smiled.

Unable to deny it.

* * *

Impressed didn't come close to what Flack was feeling as he stood in the Bellagio's Executive Lounge. Spending a ridiculous amount of money for a suite as opposed to a standard guest room had started paying off from the moment they'd stepped into the extravagant hotel and the clerks at the normal check in desk had informed them that the price of the Cypress Suite he'd reserved, located on the thirty-second floor, came with not only exclusive key card only access to rooms between the twenty-ninth floor and the thirty-sixth, but a private registration in the Lounge.

So while he stood at the registration desk, signing his life away while hotel bell boys were already on their way to the suite with their luggage, Flack took in his surroundings. The walls were covered in hand stitched leather and walnut trim and a picture window gave a stunning view of the hotel's lush botanical gardens.

_I could definitely get used to this, _he thought, as he accepted his MasterCard from the clerk and tucked it back into his wallet. _I'm nearly bankrupt 'cause of a five day trip, but if I go seriously nuts at the blackjack table or poker, maybe I can win enough to actually stay longer._

"Here's a pamphlet listing all of our amenities," the young concierge said, as he laid a crisp sheet of cream coloured paper down on the marble counter in front of Flack. The hotel's name and address gracing the top right corner in raised gold ink.

Flack nodded and folded the piece of paper up, prepared to stuff it in his back pocket and walk away before a sudden thought hit him. "You guys got a jewellery store here, right? I thought I heard my girlfriend mention something like that."

"Tesorini," the concierge replied. "It's located on the Bellagio Lobby, one floor above us. Spectacular jewellery. Renowned houses such as Cartier, Rolex, Roberto Coin to just name a few."

"Engagement rings?" Flack asked curiously.

"A beautiful selection, sir. By Hearts on Fire. Exceptional pieces. If you would like, if you are considering making such a purchase, I could give you their card. You can call and arrange a one on one appointment with one of their certified diamond experts. Such a moment in ones life should not be taken lightly. They could help you pick the perfect ring."

Flack considered the suggestion, then nodded slowly. "You know what? I think I'll take you up on that."

"Very good, sir," the young man praised, and opening a drawer behind the counter, pulled out a business card bearing the same gold ink as the list of amenities. "Their business hours are listed, but you can make appointments to have one of their experts come to your suite with some of their wears."

"I'm trying to keep this a secret from my girlfriend," Flack said as he plucked the business card out of the younger man's hand. "I want it to be a huge surprise. So I think them coming to the room is out of the question," he held the card up as he walked away from the from the desk, elevator key and room card already securely tucked in his back pocket.

"You're very welcome, sir. Enjoy your stay here at the Bellagio. And good luck."

Flack waved his thanks and looked down at the card in his hand. A slow grin spreading across his face as he ran his thumb over the raised lettering.

_Hopefully Lady Luck is on my side, _he thought.

_Or I'll be going home completely busted._

* * *

Stepping out of the executive lounge, Flack prepared to head in the direction of the public washrooms located just off of the main reception area. Every inch of the Bellagio was exquisite. From the imported Italian marble floors to the gilded gold fixtures, intricate sculptures that sat upon carved columns and expensive water colours that graced the walls to the antique furniture that decorated the massive lobby. He actually felt…out of place. He'd never been on a proper vacation before, let alone stay in a five star resort. He'd been to Ireland a few times to visit distant relatives of his father's in the old country, but he'd always stayed in their homes or inns where the rooms were no bigger then postage stamps. This place…this place was for the big boys. The high rollers. And it had an overall feel to it that quickly reminded him that he was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

He stopped in his tracks in the middle of the lobby, a smirk taking over his face as he caught sight of his girlfriend, at the entrance of the small hallway that led to the public restrooms, talking amicably to a complete stranger.

A six foot skunk to be exact.

He watched, both amused and somewhat concerned that she was socializing with someone crazy enough to dress themselves in costume months away from Halloween, as she and the skunk had a friendly conversation. That ended with him -or was it a her?- handing Sam a brochure and Sam letting out her musical giggle and squeezing the skunk lightly on the arm before walking away.

"Eyes off the prize!" Flack called out, as the skunk's eyes lingered a little too long -as far as he was concerned- on Sam's ass as she journeyed across the lobby. "I can't let you go anywhere alone," he teased his girlfriend. "I let you go and take a pee while I check in and when I come out you're making nice with some weirdo."

"I am telling you, Donnie…even though we saw those three furries earlier? I seriously wondered if I was tripping out on my meds when I walked out of the john and saw a skunk standing there. But then Pepe Le Pew started talking to me and I realized I wasn't going insane after all."

"So what did he want? Trying to convert you to the fluffy side? Make out with you like Pepe did to that poor cat in the cartoon?"

"He was just telling me about the convention that's in town," she said, holding out the brochure for him to see. "A furry convention apparently. I guess it's just all these people who get in touch with their fuzzy side. Who believe in acting on animal instinct."

Flack's eyebrows arched. "So basically it's just a whole bunch of wackjobs in one place."

"To each their own, Donnie. We should go and check this convention out. For shits and giggles."

He stared at her as if she'd grown another head.

"By the way," she chirped. "The skunk said I'd make a really good bunny."

"A bunny, huh? Sammie, there's only one bunny I'd kill to see you dressed up as. And that's a Playboy Bunny."

"Oh naturally," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I'll tell you what. You find a Playboy Bunny costume and I'll seriously consider wearing it. Just once. Just for you. Even though it will totally overshadow my slutty Tinkberbell outfit."

"You brought that along?" he asked curiously.

"Maybe," she replied, running the corner of the brochure down his chest and over his stomach. "I know how much you like it," she said, and tapped the corner of the pamphlet against his belt buckle. "And maybe I just felt the urge to be nice to you."

"For once," he teased and leaned in to kiss her softly. "You ready to head up?" he asked, laying his hand on the small of her back and turning her in the direction of the elevators.

"Yeah…I'm ready to see my playground," she answered, giving him a playful wink. "What's this?" she asked, snatching the business card out from between his fingers.

"Nothing," Flack quickly grabbed it back from her. "None of your business."

She frowned and attempted to take the card back. "Come on…I thought we agreed to an honesty is the best policy type of relationship?"

"We did," he said and held the card out of reach. "You just can't know about this."

"But I want to know," she told him, and standing on her tiptoes, reached vainly for the object he was coveting. "If deserve to know if you've got some number on you for an escort service or something."

"An escort service?" he laughed at that. "Far from it, babe. I've got you. And when we get up to that room, we're putting that Do Not Disturb sign on the door and we're spending the next couple of hours disturbing everyone around us. This is something for you. A surprise."

"I hate surprises," she complained.

"Well this one you'll love," he assured her, and tucked the card into his back pocket. "Trust me."

She pouted dramatically.

"Trust me," he repeated, and kissed her once more before leading her, his hand on the small of her back, through the lobby.

"Is it a good surprise?" she asked, curling an arm around his waist.

"It is," he assured her, and clamped his free hand over his pocket so she couldn't reach inside.

"How good?" she asked.

He just smiled and bent down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

_Amazing and unforgettable, _he mused silently, fighting hard to keep a massive grin from spreading across his face.

_And life altering._

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all of the lurkers! I am having great fun with this story, and I hope that you're all having fun reading it! I decided to turn things humorous and fluffy for a while. Not that you guys mind, right?**

**Please R and R!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Madison Bellows**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**wolfeylady**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Soccer-bitch**


	63. Mr and Mrs Flack?

_**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAM ROSS.**_

_**A/N: I WANT TO THANK ALL OF YOU FOR YOUR WELL WISHES AND BIRTHDAY WISHES! I REALLY APPRECIATE ALL THE LOVE PASSED MY WAY. TWO MORE DAYS HERE AND I CAN GO HOME. THE PROCEDURE WAS ABLE TO BE DONE LAPROSCOPICALLY AND WE AVOIDED MAJOR SURGERY! SO THANK GOD FOR THAT!**_

_**THIS CHAPTER GOES OUT TO MY BESTEST, CRAZIEST GAL PALS LAURA, CASS AND MY 'ROCK' HEIDI.**_

_**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS RATED A STRONG M FOR ADULT CONTENT. IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THAT KIND OF THING OR SHOULDN'T BE READING IT, PLEASE AVOID THIS CHAPTER ALTOGETHER ONCE IT HITS THE SECOND SECTION. THANKS, BEG 75**_

* * *

_**Mr and Mrs. Flack?**_

"Lay where you're laying, don't make a sound  
I know they're watching, they're watching  
All the commotion, the kiddie like play  
Has people talking, talking  
You, your sex is on fire  
The dark of the alley, the breaking of day  
The head while I'm driving, I'm driving  
Soft lips are open, knuckles are pale  
Feels like you're dying, you're dying  
You, your sex is on fire  
Consumed with what's to transpire  
Hot as a fever, rattling bones  
I could just taste it, taste it  
If it's not forever, if it's just tonight  
Oh, it's still the greatest, the greatest, the greatest  
You, your sex is on fire  
And you, your sex is on fire  
Consumed with what's to transpire."  
-Sex on Fire, Kings of Leon

* * *

The 1,525 square foot suite was nothing short of spectacular.

Built in a semi circular design, the room -which in fact was an open floor plan combing the living room, dining area and sleeping quarters - was exquisite from the moment a young bell boy, who'd been waiting in the hallway after help load the luggage inside, escorted them into the suite's foyer. Cream coloured walls were adorned with gold and crystal sconces that played host to vanilla scent pillar candles. The floor was made of the same beige, gold flecked marble that was in the Bellagio's lobby, and a crystal chandelier sparkled gloriously from the vaulted ceiling.

As Flack generously tipped the bell boy -enough to cover both himself and the colleague that had assisted him, Sam hurriedly kicked off her shoes and ran off in her bare feet to explore their temporary home. Letting out shrieks of excitement with each little thing she discovered. With a grin and a shrug, Flack dismissed the bell boy and then hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the front of the door before closing and locking it up tight. The game plan for their first night in town was to meet Jess and Mark at eight o'clock at the Prime Steakhouse, one of five fine dining establishments in the hotel. A table had been reserved on the outdoor patio which over looked the fountains at the front of the Bellagio. Fine dining unfortunately meant formal. Which in turn meant a suit and a tie. And a suit and tie, especially when he wore them to work nearly every single day for the last eight years on the detective squad, was not Flack's idea of vacation wear.

Now seeing his girlfriend in a dress…well he was all for that.

He journeyed further into the suite, planning to take full advantage of the complimentary bar and the three hours there were to kill before dinner. The living area was impressive. Beige wall to wall plush carpeting, olive green suede couches, chaise longues and easy chairs, a massive entertainment unit that boasted a forty two inch LCD television, DVD player and home theatre system. To the left was the dining area. A black wood, glass topped table with four beige suede chairs and a fully stocked bar. To the right was a work station with wireless internet and a fax machine for those guest who'd brought along their lap tops and were mixing business with pleasure.

Walking towards the wall to wall windows at the far end of the suite -they gave a phenomenal view of the entire strip and Flack imagined it was absolutely amazing at night when Vegas was lit up- he found himself suddenly standing in the bedroom. The living area's entertainment unit was what separated the two rooms. The bed itself -a double king - was covered in luxurious earth toned sheets and comforters and half a dozen pillows and the headboard was bound in chocolate brown suede that matched the chaise longue by the window.

"OH MY GOD! DONNIE!!!" Sam shrieked from the bathroom. "OH MY GOD! COME HERE! YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS!"

"If it's an automatic toilet, babe, we can see those back home!" he called back.

"NO! THIS BATHROOM! IT'S LIKE HEAVEN! IT'S BIGGER THEN OUR WHOLE APARTMENT! HURRY! COME AND SEE IT!"

"Why do I have to hurry?" he asked with a chuckle, as he slipped out of his sandals. "Is it going to suddenly up and disappear?"

She huffed loudly in exasperation.

"I'm coming, babe," he assured her as he headed through the suite. "Keep your skirt on. Or don't. actually, I prefer that you don't."

"There's no way I am making things that easy on you," she declared. "You've got to actually work for it, you know."

"Since when?" he teased, as he stood in the doorway of the enormous bathroom. Sam hadn't been exaggerating. Decorated in earth tones as well and boasted a spacious wall to wall marble counter top and his and hers sinks with polished brass fixtures along with two toilets and a bidet, the place actually did appear bigger then their entire apartment.

She rolled her eyes at the comment and picked up a luxurious forest green chenille bathroom robe. "Look at this!" she cried, rubbing the fabric against her cheek. "Complimentary! Slippers too! And look!" she gestured to a large wicker gift bag wrapped in cellophane sitting on the counter top. "Spa products! A whole shit load of them! Stuff that would cost enormous amounts of money downstairs in their spa!"

"You called me in here to show me spa products and fuzzy slippers and bathrobes?" he asked with a grin.

"There's more!" she exclaimed and motioned for him to follow her. She slid her feet into the slippers and pulled the robe on over her clothes as she crossed the room. "I swear to God I am never taking these off," she declared.

"Wanna bet?" he asked with a smirk.

"Such a perv," she huffed and led the way to a sunken whirlpool tub. "Look!" she pointed to an LCD television mounted on the wall. "I can watch Maury while I'm taking a bath!"

"Forget Maury," Flack said. "This vacation could very well go down in history as the first time I don't bitch and moan about taking a bubble bath with you. It's a win-win situation for both of us, Sammie. You get your romance, I get to be naked with you and watch the Rangers at the same time."

"You wish," she retorted. "Nakedness and the Rangers do not go in hand. Unless your planning on getting down and dirty with one of the Rangers."

He frowned. "That's just disturbing," he declared.

"This technically isn't even your bathroom." she informed him and led the way across the room. "This…" she said, and yanked open the doors of a glass enclosed stall. "Is your own steam shower! Isn't this so cool! His and hers bathrooms! This is so awesome. Who would have thought two blue collar NYPD employees would ever be standing in a john like this! In a suite in the Bellagio!" she gave an excited squeal. "Just because I'm so happy you can share the tub with me, honey. I was thinking we can do this whole champagne and strawberries thing! In the bath!"

"Whatever you want, Sammie," he said, unable to control the grin that covered his face at her excitement. "Speaking of champagne…there's a complimentary bottle of it sitting in an ice bucket next to the bed. Which is probably there 'cause I told them when I was reserving the room that we were on our honeymoon."

"Oh great…now I have to pretend I'm Mrs Donald Flack Jr?" she asked with a dramatic sigh. "Wonderful…what a shitty ass lot in life."

"You be careful and stay on my good side, Sammie. Or I'll crush up a whole crap load of your meds and drop them in your champagne and knock you out for the next five days," he teased. "Come on…" he reached for her hand. "If we're supposed to be newlyweds we have to actually act like we just got hitched. Which means we have to put some serious mileage on that bed."

"You just want an excuse to get into my pants," she said, then laughed as he tugged her by the hand and pulled her out of the bathroom.

"You think I actually need an excuse?" Flack asked, as he led his way through the suite. "I don't need an excuse when I just naturally want to get into your pants. And all I have to do to suck you right in is flash my pretty blue eyes and give that dimply, boyish smile you go on and on about."

"You really need to stop reading my emails to my girlfriends," she informed him.

"Come on, Sammie…how else would I know that you find me a major hottie?" he asked, giving her a playful wink. "You shouldn't be talking about me to your little friends if you didn't want me to know what you're saying. It's all good though, babe. It's a huge ego boost to see you telling them about how cute I am. And how I was the one to debunk your whole 'the g spot is a total myth' theory."

She flushed furiously.

"Don't worry, Sammie…I'll debunk that theory time and time again. Starting with five minutes from now when I manage to get you naked."

"Five minutes?" she arched her eyebrows. "You're seriously slacking. Whoa…" her eyes widened as he led her to the bedroom. "Look at this bed!" she shrieked, and dropping his hand, jumped into the middle of it and tossed herself backwards into the mounds of pillows. "There is a God! I love a large playground!"

"Maybe having a bed this big will finally enable me to both sleep beside you and keep some blankets for myself," he mused.

"Doubt it," she said, and gave an evil laugh. "I am the master cover hogger."

"Don't you think this is kind of kinky though?" Flack asked.

"What's that?" she asked and sat up.

"These windows," he nodded towards them. "I mean they overlook the entire strip. And if we can see out, everyone can see in. And that means we're giving a whole lot of people a free show."

She frowned and crawled towards the end of the bed and climbed off. "You're such a tool, Donnie," she declared, and going to the windows, lifted the edge of the insulated curtains that were pushed back. Finding a small black switch, she flicked it into the downwards position and grinned victoriously as him as the curtains began to close.

He sighed heavily. "I knew that was there," he told her. "I knew they were automatic. I was just testing you. To see if you knew."

"Mm-hm," she said, and slipped out of the slippers and the robe. The latter she tossed on the chaise longue, then pulled off her cap and threw it on top. "So…" she journeyed over to the bucket of champagne parked by the side of the bed. Digging inside of it, she removed a handful of ice cubes before climbing back onto the bed and moving towards him on her hands and knees. "What's this whole deal about you telling hotel staff we're newlyweds?" she asked, sitting back on her heels as she held an ice cube up to her lips and commenced sucking on it.

"I told them that we had just gotten married so they gave me a deal on the room," he explained, slightly turned on as he stood at the side of the bed, watching as she held the piece of ice between her thumb and forefinger and flicked the tip of her tongue across it.

"And they didn't ask for some sort of proof?" she asked. "Like they didn't want to see a licence or anything?"

"I told them that we're both cops. Guess they figured they could trust us."

"Hmmm…and what do we do if they see we don't have wedding rings on our fingers?" she inquired, drawing the ice between her lips and sucking noisily.

"I guess we just suck it up and pay the difference on the room," he replied, swallowing noisily as she slurped noisily at the ice cube before popping it into her mouth. "Or go downstairs to the jewellery store and buy the cheapest wedding bands possible and put them on."

"Oh you are so not getting me sucked into your evil little mess," she declared, then crunched on ice in her mouth. "I guess the best thing to do is act like we're newlyweds. Just like you said."

"That would be the easiest thing to do," he agreed, unable to, and not wanting to, ignore the stirring in his groin as she began to work a second ice cube with her lips and tongue.

"Well I don't know about easy," Sam said. "Anything worthwhile is never easy to obtain."

"Quit playing these little games with me," he told her, fighting the urge to grab that small chunk of ice from her, throw her down on the bed, strip her naked and glide it slowly over every inch of her body until she was begging him to stop.

"What little games would those be?" she asked innocently. "I'm not playing any games."

He stared down at her, a smirk on his face.

"I'm not," she insisted. Then giving a devilish grin, got down on her hands and knees and moved towards him. "Now this…" she sat back on her heels once more, and lifting the bottom of his shirt, grabbed a hold of his belt and yanked him towards her. "Now this would be playing games," she told him, and proceeded to run the ice cube around his navel. Giving a victorious smile as he winced at the cold that quickly spread through his body. "And you know what, Don?" she asked, her golden brown eyes peering up at him as her hand pulled his pants away from his body and she ran the ice just under his waist band. "I want to be in charge of this game for a while."

"Whatever you want," he croaked, his eyes locked on hers, his erection straining against his pants as she drifted the ice along his stomach.

"Whatever?" she asked.

He nodded, then swallowed noisily as she popped the ice cube into her mouth and ever so slowly un-buckled his belt. He gritted his teeth, fought the urge to tell her to hurry the hell up and just get on with his business. He knew, by the determination in her eyes that she was serious this time. And that if he wanted to keep her going on the path she was currently treading, his best course of action was to say nothing. Getting bossy and demanding would only cause her to back off. And as he anxiously and impatiently watched as her fingers worked ever so agonizingly slowly, the last thing he wanted was for her to back off.

"You're being very, very good, Don," she said, in a low, seductive voice, as she finally released his belt and popped upon the button on his jeans and slid down the zipper. Her hand grazing over his painfully swollen cock, causing him to take in a sharp breath. "Usually you're not so…cooperative."

"I won't be in about five seconds," he told her, then bit his bottom lips as her fingernails lightly scraped against his hips as she slowly pulled both his jeans and boxers down.

"Well that would just run all of my fun," she declared. "Hmmm…" she licked her lips suggestively as she stared up at him. "Very, very impressive," she said, then bent to circle the head of his cock with the tip of her tongue.

"Why don't you just…"

She smiled and shook her head and backed away from him. "I am going to do things on my terms," she informed him, then turning around and presenting him with her back, crawled across the bed. "Now you just wait there," she gently ordered, casting a glance at him over her shoulder.

_Jesus Christ_, he thought. Her skirt had ridden up, giving him a perfect view of her bare ass. A smirk covered his face as he realized that she had had this all planned. These little mind games. She had been wearing underwear since they'd left the apartment that morning. A barely there black thong with little red bows on the hips. And she'd purposefully ditched them while she was in browsing the bathroom. He leaned forward, unable to resist running a hand over one of the smooth, luscious cheeks.

"Hey!" she snapped. "I told you that this is my game! And my game does not include you touching me. I thought I said to just stand there!"

He blinked at her tone and backed away, hands held up in surrender.

"Just be good," she said, and scooping more ice from the bucket, dropped it into one of the champagne flutes. "Now…" she turned back around and shimmied her way back across the bed. He had a perfect view down her top and was somewhat amused, and completely turned on, to see that she'd also ditched her bra in the bathroom and that the crisp fabric was brushing against her rosy, erect nipples. "I seem to recall a time when you had a little fun with ice," she said. "Do you remember that, Don? That little orgasm without touch experiment we did?"

He nodded. The moment was fresh in his mind. He'd taken an ice cube and had ran it from the top of her foot, down her leg, along the inside of her thigh and then onto her clit. He could still hear her whimpering, still see the way her body arched off the bed and her toes curled into the mattress. And he could still vividly recall, when, after he'd finished massaging her clit with the ice, he'd blown on the sensitive bud, she'd screamed in pure unbridled, unabashed ecstasy as a powerful orgasm ripped through her.

"Well I can't say that there won't be any touching…on my part at least…but I am going to see just how far I get with these ice cubes. Are you game?"

"Absolutely," he told her.

"Good…now all you need to do is stand there and enjoy it. Oh…and trust me. I'll be very gentle."

"No biting," he warned her.

"I would never think of damaging such a fantastically useful part of your body," she said, and sitting the champagne flute down on the bed, plucked a piece of ice out. "I mean, if I hurt it…I'd only be hurting myself in the end wouldn't I."

"I don't know. But you need to…" he winced and drew in a sharp breath as she ran the ice cube along the underside of his cock. The contrast of freezing cold on blazing hot skin nearly bringing him to his knees. He bit his lip and fighting the urge to tangle his hands in her hair and encourage her to do more, watched as she ever so slowly glided the ice over every possible inch of his erection. She was proud of herself. He could see the glitter in her eyes as she stared up at him, her golden brown eyes never leaving his baby blues as she thoroughly enjoyed both what she was doing, and his reaction.

"I don't need to do anything that I don't want to," she informed him, as she circled the head of his cock, already leaking pre-cum with the ice cube before sliding it down the side of his shaft. "And right now, this is what I want to do. You always get to have your fun. And now I'm having mine. Understand me?"

Flack smirked. Finding the assertive, bossy side of her a total turn on. "Yes, m'am," he replied.

"You can tell me to stop at any time," Sam said, as she continued to caress him with the ice. "I mean, if you feel like you can't take it anymore and you have to tell me to stop, you can."

He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. No way in hell was he going to submit to her.

"Okay…" she chirped. "I guess your…manhood…is in my hands."

_I am going to die before the end of this,_ he thought, transfixed by the sight of her so engrossed in her task. It was the first time in almost six months that he'd seen her that enthused over oral sex. At least the giving end of it. Well she never complained about doing it and always willingly indulged him, he knew that it wasn't her favourite thing in the world. No matter how many times she did it or how many times she -in her own words- 'cleaned her own mess'.

But this afternoon, she was 'attacking' the moment with genuine enthusiasm.

Flack let out a small yelp, followed by a guttural moan as the ice cube passed smoothly over his scrotum. First one side and then the other. His eyes closed and his breath hitched as he felt a fingernail scrape along the bottom of his shaft, then heard the rustling of clothing against sheets as Sam moved closer to him. His hips suddenly jerked forward in response to her tongue swirling over the head, and he fought hard to control himself as he felt the sensation of her piercing dragging along the entire side of his cock.

Unable to contain himself he blindly reached out and tangled his fingers in her hair. She didn't resist, but paused briefly and reached for the champagne flute beside her. He heard the jingling of ice on glass, and he cracked an eye open in time to see her resume her teasing. She continued to rub him with the frozen cube in one hand as she bent and took the tip of his cock into her mouth. Sensitive skin made contact with the small chunk of ice she held in her mouth and he nearly lost all control right there and then.

And that wasn't the way he wanted things to go down.

* * *

Flack backed away from her abruptly, startling her. "Lie down," he demanded, his chest heaving.

"I already told you that…" she began to protest.

"That this is your game," he finished for her, and stepping out of his jeans and boxers, scooped them up and tossed them onto the chaise longue. "Well guess what? Game over. Lie down."

Sam grinned and scooted backwards across the bed. "What are you going to do?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows as she munched on the ice in her mouth.

"Not waste any more time," he answered, and kneeling down on the bed, grabbed her by the hips and yanked her towards him, causing her to burst into giggles as she landed flat on her back.

"I love it when you go all bossy and aggressive," she said, and reached for the bottom of his shirt. "Show me what you're made of, Mister Policeman."

Smirking, he tore her hands away from his shirt, forcibly shoved her skirt up around her hips and devoured her mouth with his. His tongue pushed greedily and hungrily between her teeth as he settled himself between her splayed thighs. The tip of him briefly brushing against her hot, moist opening before he suddenly drew away.

"What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly. "You're not stopping 'cause of that appointment yesterday are you? Because if you are I already told you…"

He shook his head. "It's not that…trust me. I just…I need to get a condom. And honestly? I can't remember where I packed them."

She gave a mischievous smile and slipping her hand between their bodies, reaching into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a condom package. "You put them in with all my meds and personal stuff," she said, and tearing the small pouch open, gently removed the contents.

"One step ahead of me," he grinned, then shuddered as her soft, skilled hands rolled the rubber onto him. He'd been surprised when, after a couple of months of being sexually active with her, she'd taken the condom from him one night and sheepishly asked if she could do it for him. She'd been embarrassed that she'd never, ever in all the years she'd spent with Zack, done that simple act for him. There was actually a lot she'd never experienced. And Flack was more then willing to teach her. And so far, she was proving to be an excellent pupil.

"Of course," she said once her task was finished. Raising her head, she licked a path from his Adam's apple, under his chin and up to his lips. "I am a woman after all. And women are always one step ahead."

"Think so, huh?"

She nodded, then reached for the button on her skirt. "Give me a second to…"

"No seconds," he told her, kissing her savagely before entering her with one strong, fluid thrust that caused her to cry out, both in surprise and pleasure.

Their love making was quick and bordered on rough. There were no whispered words of love or long, affectionate gazes into each other's eyes. It was all about sex. Plain and simple. Greed and need on both of their parts. He tangled one hand in her hair as the other shoved her top up to her chin, giving his rough, strong hand and his warm mouth access to her breasts. As his tongue teased the nipple before drawing it into his mouth, she gasped loudly and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her ankles locking together at the small of his back, drawing him in deeper.

He moved fast and furious inside of her, his breath escaping his lungs in ragged gasps, his arms shaking as he propped himself above her. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his body. Her hands slipped up the back of his golf shirt and he winced as her nails raked painfully down his back. His mouth ceased hers once again, their tongues mating frantically. He relied on one hand to bear his weight as his other reached between them to fondle her breasts. She cried out into his mouth as he pinched one nipple quite hard. And then breaking out of the kiss, he bent to take the hard peak into his mouth and sucked aggressively on it.

Her orgasm took hold of her. Her body arched off of the bed, her toes curled and bore into the mattress. The nails of one hand dug into his side as the other gripped his forearm hard enough to draw blood. She screamed his name, over and over again as her body shuddered beneath him and her muscles contracted around him. Seeing her, hearing her, feeling her as she lost control was incredible.

The pressure of her rapidly contracting kegel muscles and the pleasurable agony of her nails cutting into his flesh, quickly and efficiently sent him over the edge as well. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, his entire body spasmed and he groaned her name loudly while spilling himself inside of the condom.

Flack wasn't sure how long they stayed in that exact position. His eyes were firmly shut and her legs remained tightly wrapped around his waist. Both of her hands now gripped his biceps as one quivering arm barely supported his weight. His head rested on her chest and he was aware of their harsh breathing and their pounding hearts. He felt the sweat trickling down his back the scrape of now wrinkled clothing and he could smell the heavy scent of sex in the air.

Eventually Sam's legs slid from around his waist and dropped down onto the bed. Her hold on his arms finally released and her hands drifted along his skin. All the way from his wrists and over his forearms and biceps and up to his shoulders. She burrowed one hand in his hair, and lightly pulling his head up and towards her, she covered his mouth with hers in a long, deep kiss.

She pecked his chin, his cheek and finally his forehead. Her fingertips skimmed along the outer edge of his ear and travelled down his jaw.

"You okay?" she asked.

Flack opened his eyes. Giving a small smile, he nodded. "You?"

She nodded as well. "That was…"

"Intense," he finished her. "Are you sure you're okay? I was kind of…I was rough, Sammie."

"So was I," she said with a giggle. "I hate to see what your back and your side looks like."

"I just…we get into the rough stuff a lot and after what went down yesterday…" he sighed and chose his words carefully. "I just don't want you having some kind of flashback to what you went through. I like it rough and I know you do…but I want you to genuinely like it and not want it 'cause you think you deserve to feel pain."

"I genuinely like it," she assured him. "At least with you, I do. We're two consenting adults, Don. There's a big difference between what we do and what…well you know."

"I just want to make sure that…"

She silenced him with another kiss then wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly to her.

They remained in that position, their bodies joined in the most intimate fashion possible, her fingers of one hand combing through his hair while the other hand, underneath his shirt, travelled along his shoulder and down his back.

"Donnie…" her voice was a mere whisper as she kissed the top of his ear. "No offense, babe...but you're getting a little heavy here."

He nodded in understanding and gently pulled out of her. Rolling over onto his back, he placed a forearm over his eyes and lay quietly as he listened to her moving alongside of him.

Sam turned over onto her stomach and pushing herself across the bed, grabbed a hold of a box of tissues on the nightable and tore out a handful that she used to clean herself up. Climing off the bed, she stood and on shaky legs, made her way over to the trash can by the window and tossed the tissues into it. Peeling off her clothing, she tossed them on top of his discarded boxers and jeans before returning to the bed.

Flack smiled as he felt her hand drifted down the front of his shirt, then her soft, small fingers gently removing the condom from him.

Tying a knot at the end, she leaned over him and kissed him. "I think you can take care of this from here," she said, and taking his hand and opening it, laid the used rubber in his palm.

"I'm on it," he said, and taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, sat up and climbed off of the bed. "You want anything to drink?" he asked. "Bar's stocked. There's pop and bottled water too."

"I'm good baby, thank you," she replied with a smile, from where she was crouched down alongside of one of her suitcases.

"You're going to put some clothes on right?" he asked hopefully.

"What?" she asked with a frown. "Suddenly you can't stand seeing me naked?"

"No…I love seeing you naked…it's just that I'm tired from the flight and wanted to take a nap and you're…well you walking around like that is really distracting."

She grinned and unzipped her suitcase. "Well seeing as I need a nap, too…I will put some clothes on."

"And by clothes I don't mean anything from Fredrick's or Victoria's Secret," he added, winking at her before heading off through the suite.

"I will save my skanky undies for later," she promised and flipped open the lid to her luggage. Rummaging through the neatly folded and organized clothes, she found a lilac coloured satin nightshirt and then closed the suitcase before standing up and slipping into the nightie. She loved the feel of the cool satin on her skin. But not as much as she loved the feel of flesh to flesh.

Journeying back to the bed, she peeled the covers down and climbed underneath.

"Heaven," she declared with a long, content sigh. "Too bad there's no chocolate under the pillows though."

"What was that?" Flack asked, catching the tale end of what she said as he returned to the sleeping area, a bottle of water open in his hands.

"You complain about me walking around naked but you're doing it!" she cried. "That's not fair! What about you distracting me?"

"You have more will power then I do," he reasoned.

"Please put some boxers on at least. How am I suppose to sleep feeling your…not so concealed weapon pressing up against me?"

"How many nicknames is that now?" he asked with a chuckle as he fetched his boxers from the chaise longue and climbed into them. "You never call it exactly what it is."

"Because the word penis reminds me of being in grade eight health class!" she laughed. "And it's not the most attractive thing to look at never mind the most appaling word in the world."

"You're just a tad strange, Sammie," he teased and finishing the bottled water off in one large gulp, tossed it into the trash can before walking over to the bed and slipping in beside her. "And what were you saying?" he asked, settling his head into his pillow and reaching sideways for her.

"I was saying that this bed feels like heaven," she told him, snuggling in close as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She draped her arm over his chest and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "And that it was too bad there's no chocolate."

"I'll get you some chocolate later," he promised, stroking her hair softly. "I think I saw chocolate sauce and strawberries on the room service menu."

"Mmmm…." she licked her lips and rested her chin on his shoulder. "The wicked things I could to do you with that chocolate sauce."

"Whipped cream too," he quickly added.

"You order me strawberries with chocolate sauce and whipped cream and I am tying you to a chair and doing all kinds of naughty things to you."

"Is that a promise?" he asked.

"Do you want it to be?" she retorted.

He nodded.

"I'll be your genie in a bottle for one night," she giggled. "Maybe I'll even see if I can get one of them sexy little costumes."

"A little harem outfit and a Playboy Bunny one?" he arched an eyebrow. "Plus whatever was in that Fredrick's bag you guarded with your life last night and packed this morning?"

She nodded and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Let's just say you are going to be one lucky, lucky boy, Donald."

He grinned. "I already am…but God is definitely rewarding me for something."

"All of them mind blowing G-spot orgasms," she said with a giggle and nuzzled his neck. "And you know what?" she asked, as she combed her fingers through his chest hair. "Who needs a fuzzy convention when I have you? You're big and tall and fuzzy."

He smirked and turned quickly onto his side and deftly pinned her to the bed. "You love me," he said.

"You are so sexy, baby," she declared. "Every dirty, kinky, perverted inch of you."

"Yeah?" he asked, and began popping open the buttons on her nightshirt. "How about I show you just how dirty I can be? And how about you let me taste every kinky, perverted inch of you?"

She bit her lip, her eyes sparkling in anticipating. "I thought you said you were tired," she said.

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," he told her with a wink. "Right now…on vacation? Let's make every moment about us, okay?"

She nodded and burying her fingers in his hair, yanked him towards her for a sizzling kiss. "You better get to work then," she suggested.

"I will…" he promised. "Just…"

"Now," she demanded.

He grinned broadly.

Who was he to disappoint a lady?

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**muchmadness**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**xsamiliciousx**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Soccer-bitch**


	64. What happens in Vegas

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS. DON'T LIKE HER, DON'T READ. 'NUFF SAID.**

**TIME TO PLAY NAME THAT EPI AGAIN! THINK THERE'S TWO OR THREE MENTIONED IN HERE! FIRST ONE TO NAME 'EM ALL GETS A CYBER COOKIE!**

**THANKS TO ALL OF YOUR FOR YOUR LOVE AND WELL WISHES DURING A DIFFICULT TIME! ESPECIALLY TO LAURA, CASS AND HEIDI. HUGS AND KISSES TO YOU ALL.**

**AND AN EVEN BIGGER THANKS TO CASS FOR ALL OF HER HELP AND SUGGESTIONS AND FOR JUST SUCCEEEDING IN CHEERING ME UP AND MAKING THINGS EASIER TO BEAR. LOVE YA!**

* * *

**What happens in Vegas….**

"I love your black dress, your red lips, your long legs, your high heels  
I love your thigh high boots, your snakeskin one piece suit  
Yeah you really get me going when you put it all on  
But I like it a little better when you take it all off  
Baby  
C'mon put it all on  
Baby  
C'mon take it all off  
I love your leopard spot bikini and your black kangol  
I love it when you hop out of bed and dance to the radio  
Yeah you really get me going when you put it all on  
But I like it a little better when you take it all off  
Baby  
C'mon put it all on  
Baby  
C'mon take it all off  
I love the way you keep me moving every time your standing still  
I love the look in your eyes when your licking your lips  
Yeah you really get me going when you put it all on  
But I like it a little better when you take it all off."  
-Bounce, Danko Jones

* * *

She was stunning.

Even in just that plush bathrobe -he hadn't been lucky enough to see what kind of bra and undies she'd slipped into before covering herself back up, but judging by the sultry items she already owned, his imagination was working overtime - she was nothing short of alluring. She'd used the hotel provided curling iron to painstakingly style her hair into tight ringlet's and then had styled her tresses into a half up, half down style held in place by long metal, crystal topped hair sticks. Bouncy ringlet's tumbled down on either side of her face and her smooth, delicate face bore a touch of shimmering shadow, smoky eyeliner, a coat of mascara and a light dusting of bronzing powder.

There was no question that she was a beautiful woman.

What was in question was what he'd ever done to deserve her.

"You look amazing, baby," he said from the doorway, admiring her as she sat on the edge of the whirlpool tub, putting a coat of polish on her toe nails.

She looked over at him and smiled. "You're prejudiced," she said, then eyed him as well. Feeling the flush that quickly crept up in her cheeks and the unmistakable flutter that took up residence in her stomach as he stood there, impossibly sexy in a pair of well tailored dress pants, his belt and button still undone, a baby blue dress shirt that was un-tucked and unbuttoned over a wife beater. His feet were bare, and his hair was still damp and slightly spiky from his shower.

_God…how easy he can get to me,_ she thought.

"You look pretty hot there yourself," she said, and turned back to her 'painting'. "You don't do your pants and your shirt up and we won't be making it to dinner."

"And that's a bad thing?" he teased, wandering into the bathroom. "Way you totally took charge that second time around? I wouldn't mind taking advantage of that kind of mood again. That was incredibly hot, babe."

"Yeah…I could tell you were liking it at the time," she said with a grin, and turned her face up towards him for a kiss.

"Liking it doesn't come close to what I was feeling. Trust me," he ran a hand softly down her face. "You were incredible. Almost every sexual fantasy of mine come true."

"Almost?" she laughed, and pressed a kiss to his palm.

"Hey, we gotta keep back some fantasies," he said. "We have to hold onto something wild and crazy, right? Something that is just for us?"

"Well…" she pondered, as she put the brush back into the polish and tightening the cap, set the bottle on the counter. "...as long as you're not thinking about someone like that Rachel Bilson while we're having sex, I guess it's okay to have some kind of kinky secret," she said with a laugh. "You like baby?" she asked, stretching out both legs and wiggling all of her toes.

"I do," he replied, and taking on her heels in one of his palms, he used a finger tip from his free hand to trace a slow, soft path along the entire length of the bottom of her foot. "Very, very sexy," he said, and tickled the sensitive area under her toes.

"Stop that!" she cried and let loose on of her infamous giggles as she yanked her foot away. "You and your foot fetish," she sighed.

"Why do you think I'm always willing to pay for your pedicures?" Flack asked. "And how I always want you to walk around the apartment barefoot?"

"You are a strange, twisted man Donald Flack Junior," she declared, and standing up, walked gingerly over to the marble topped makeup area across the room. Pulling out the cheery wood bench that was tucked underneath the counter, she propped on foot up on it and grabbed a hold of the hotel's hairdryer she'd used earlier while working on her hair.

"And never mind why I liked seeing you in all those sexy little sandals you own," he added.

"Why do you think I own so many?" she asked, winking at him before switching the dryer on and using it to quick-dry her polish.

He grinned at the sight of her. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she lightly bit her bottom lip as she focused on the task before her. "Hey, Sammie!" he called over the noise of the dryer. "What'cha wearing under that robe?" he asked curiously when she looked up and acknowledged she'd heard him.

"Underwear," she answered simply.

"Well I figured as much. But what kind of bra and underwear? Something sexy?"

"I'm wearing those little black lace things from Fredrick's with the bows on the hips," she told him.

_Good lord,_ Flack thought, feeling that old familiar stirring inside of him at the visual in his mind of those goodies.

"…and I'm not wearing a bra," she added.

His eyes widened.

"The top I'm wearing can not be worn with a bra," she explained. "So either I don't wear it and wear one that _can_ have a bra underneath, or the girls go free and easy tonight."

"Free and easy," he told her.

She smirked. "Why am I not surprised you would say that?" she asked.

"'Cause I'm a massive perv," he readily admitted and journeyed over to the his and her sinks. Where he surveyed the arrangement of complimentary cologne. Diesel, Hugo Boss, CK One, Reaction by Kenneth Cole. It was an impressive list of names.

"Definitely the Kenneth Cole one," Sam yelled to him. "I sniffed them all already. And that one…it's totally yummy and sexy, baby."

"Well I'd hate to be anything but in your eyes," he teased, and caught her smile through the mirror in front of him. "So I was talking to Adam while you were in her dolling yourself up," he said, as he picked up the bottle of Reaction and popped the cap off. Taking a sniff, he nodded his approval.

"He called here or you called him?" she asked.

"Sammie…come on…when do I ever call your brother?"

"Well considering you hung out at his toxic waste dump of an apartment a couple times I figured you two were homies now."

"Homies," Flack snorted and shook his head. "We talking ghetto speak? We taking a trip down memory lane through Crown Heights or what? He called here. Wanted to make sure we got in okay."

"That would be my fault," Sam said, and prodding her toe nails with her index finger, was satisfied with their appearance and feel before replacing her right foot on the stool with her left. "I told him I'd call him when we got in. He's got airline paranoia. He was worried a shoe bomber would get us. And he hasn't been right since Mac made him dig through all that waste during the whole fake air marshal, vigilante stewardess deal."

"Actually, I think the deal with her was that her boyfriend or lover or whatever? The fake air marshal? I think she stopped him from hijacking the plane. Guess he wanted to be taken to Canada or whatever," Flack told her, as he applied a healthy, yet tolerable amount of cologne.

"Montreal," Sam clarified. "My whole point was that Adam hasn't been right in the head since he dug through all that waste. The fumes must have got to him."

"He wasn't right in the head long before that," Flack commented, and recapping the bottle of cologne in his hand, set it back with the others before turning around to face her. "I ever tell you about that DB me and Aiden Burn were investigating at this construction site in Queens?"

Sam shook her head.

"Obvious blunt force trauma to the head. And he stunk. And when I say stunk, Sammie, I mean horrifically stunk. The guy smelled like ass."

She couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Anyhow, I guess this guy pissed another worker off 'cause this other worker got suspended for being a little drunk on the job. So our dead guy goes into the Porta Potty to do his business and the guy who'd been suspended and the rest of his douche bag friends decided it would be funny if they tipped the thing over with him inside of it."

Sam grimaced.

"My reaction exactly. And you know my aversion to going in public? Well that case made it ten times worse. So anyway, turns out that he didn't get a fatal knock on the head when the porta john was tipped over."

"So what killed him?" she asked.

"Airplane waste."

Sam arched an eyebrow.

"I am not making this up. No word of a lie, a plane flying over the site from La Guardia decided to 'shed' some of its excess weight in the form of some waste. And you know how when something is that high up, like forty thousand feet, it freezes?"

She nodded.

"Well that's what happened. And this guy was just walking along, minding his own business when BOOM. A chunk of frozen shit hits him on the top of the head and kills him."

"So what you're telling me is that a crapsicle killed this guy," Sam stated.

Flack grinned. "Those were my exact words to Aiden," he said.

"Talk about when it's your time to go it's your time to go," she concluded, and satisfied with her toes, put her foot down on the floor and laid the hair dryer on the counter. "What I don't get is how you can remember something from so long ago but you can't remember to put the toilet seat down ninety percent of the time," she teased.

"Well maybe if you turned the light on in the bathroom when you went in there to pee in the middle of the night, you would see the seat was up and not fall in," he told her. "Sometimes I just remember certain things about her," he said.

"About your friend Aiden?" Sam asked.

Flack nodded. "Mostly funny things that happened during cases. Or something that happened while she was out with the boys and we were all trashed. She was like one of the guys. She didn't like any of us treating her any differently 'cause she was a woman. Definitely didn't like being treated like this delicate piece of china. And she let you know right quick if you were over stepping your boundaries in that respect. Sound like someone you know?"

Sam grinned. "Must be a Brooklyn thing," she said. "She was really pretty though," she commented, as she walked over to where he was leaning back against the sink, his hands on the counter behind him. "Danny showed me a picture of her once when I was over at his place."

"What were you doing over at Messer's place? You and him getting a little…"

"Don't even finish that sentence. Danny and I are, and always have been strictly platonic. I was never interested in him in any other way."

"That's 'cause you were into the tall, dark, incredibly handsome, rough and tumble, smart mouth detective kind," he teased, nudging her playfully with his elbow. "Why would you want the skinny runt science geek type when you could have six feet of Flushing, Queens bad boy?"

"Oh yeah…." she said with a dramatic sigh. "That must have been it. I was too busy pining over you to be interested in anyone else. "

"Save for that bomb squad tool and that asshole defence attorney," Flack muttered.

"Water under the bridge, Donnie…I'm here with you, aren't I? I've been with you for how long now?"

"You telling me you don't bother keeping track of days?" he asked. "Aren't women supposed to know these things? Don't they circle it on the calendar? That way every month on the same day they can celebrate a different anniversary?"

"I've marked down the sixth month and the one year," she confessed. "And my point was…what was my point? What were we even talking about?"

"Aiden…you at Danny's apartment…"

"Right…" she scooped a bottle of lavender scented moisturizing cream from the wicker basket of spa products on the counter. "I was never interested in Danny in that way. He's just not my type. He's cute and all that. But he just isn't…I don't know…he just isn't you."

"See?" Flack grinned. "You do have a thing for tall, dark, incredibly handsome, smart ass bad boys."

She smirked and opening the lid on to cream, squeezed a quarter sized amount into the palm of her hand. "As I was saying, Danny showed me a picture of Aiden when I was at his apartment once. I'd just stopped by to check on him about a week after Ruben died and he was in a mood. Slightly drunk and incredibly bitchy. He kept telling me to go away and leave him alone. He wasn't too impressed when I stuck my foot in the door when he tried to close it. Or when I shoved him out of the way and waltzed right into his apartment."

"Yeah he told me about that. About you dumping all his booze down the sink and then making coffee and forcing him to sit down and drink it."

"I threatened to get a funnel and put it in his mouth and pour the coffee down his throat," Sam laughed. "He called me every name in the book and then some. But nothing I haven't been called before, that's for sure. Then about an hour into my mock intervention he gets into this really down sort of mood and just started blubbering away about Aiden. About how much he missed her and how much he cared for her."

Flack arched an eyebrow. "He told you that?"

Sam nodded. "He told me that he was always into her. And that once when he commented on how nice she looked after shift and how if they didn't work together he'd hook up with her, she told him that while she thought he was cute and all of that, he just wasn't her type. That she was way out of his league. I mean, judging by the way Danny said it, I think she was really gentle about it. I don't think she might it to be harsh. But he took it that way."

"He actually told you all of this?"

"You didn't know about all of that? I just assumed 'cause you two are best friends and all of that…"

"I know about her shooting him down like that. What she said to him. But when he told me about it…when he told the whole team about it…we all went out for a drink after her murder was solved and Danny talked about that. But he was laughing about it. And they were always really good friends after that."

"Well he took it pretty bad," Sam said. "Maybe he didn't want you to know how much it did hurt his feelings. He probably didn't feel comfortable talking about that kind of thing with you. Emotional stuff."

"Why?" Flack asked, slightly offended. "I get that kind of stuff. I'm an understanding guy."

Sam arched her brows and stared at him pointedly.

"Sometimes," he added. "I just can't believe he'd tell you all of that. I don't even think he's ever told Lindsay stuff like that."

"I was there and he needed to talk," Sam reasoned. "And because I'm a female, he probably thought I'd be more understanding about it and not ride him for having his ego stomped on. It's really no big deal."

"For Danny it is," Flack told her. "Danny doesn't open up to anyone."

"And he will probably never open up to me ever again. It was a fluke. I was just in the right place at the right time is all. And maybe he felt it was the right thing to do considering all the times I opened up to him about personal stuff. I don't know. What I do know is that he was interested in her. As more then colleagues. And for a long time he wondered what would have happened had things never gone down the way they did. She was a beautiful woman. It's no wonder you didn't go after her."

"Oh I did…" Flack admitted with a sigh. "I crashed and burned. Aiden had a strict 'no dating anyone in the work place' policy. She shot me down. And trust me, she wasn't as gentle with me as she was with Danny. But you're right. She was beautiful."

Sam nodded, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

"Not as beautiful as you though," he added quickly, and grabbing a hold of her wrist as she went to walk away, yanked her gently towards him. "You were worried there for a second, weren't you," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist as she leaned her body against his. "I saw that look that came over your face. You didn't think I was going to toss that in at the end there."

"I was ready to kill you," she admitted. "I have to admit that you saved yourself pretty good at the end there."

"Just pretty good?" he asked, pecking her lips.

"Well you didn't say it quickly enough for my liking," she chided. "It hurt my feelings."

"Yeah?" he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Guess I'm going to have to make it up to you then."

"You are," she said, then giggled as his lips found the sensitive stop just below her ear. "Grovelling on your hands and knees is always good."

"Oh I'll get on my hands and knees alright," he chuckled, nibbling and sucking and licking at the side of her neck, hearing her long, drawn out sigh. One of his hands slid from the small of her back, over her ass and back up again. As the other sneaked in between them and reached for the belt on her robe.

"I don't think so," she declared, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. "There's no time for that."

"There's always time for that," he informed her, and yanked her back into him with one hand while the other untied the robe.

"No…" she insisted and managed to escape. "There's not. Can't you keep your hands to yourself and your thing in your pants for even a couple of hours?" she asked, stepping away from him and doing her robe back up.

"No. I can't. I'm horny. Constantly. And I've been this way since I started my vacation. And it's worse now that we're here. We're in Vegas, baby. Far, far away from any work disruptions. There's not going to be any calls from dispatch interrupting us during intimate moments. There's not going to be double and triple shifts that wear us out to the point where sex is pushed so far on the back burner it's almost non existent. We're here for five days. We can lock ourselves in the room if we want. And trust me, that's what I want."

"And Jess and Mark will both physically beat you within an inch of your life if we don't spend time with them," she added. "They're getting married. And I'm sure she wants some girl time alone with me and you guys wants some guy time where you can drink and gamble all you want."

"You mean I actually have to share you?" he asked in mock horror, as he followed her out of the bathroom and through the suite.

* * *

"Yes…you have to share your toys, Donnie. I'm sorry. And how did we go from talking about Adam calling you, to Danny and Aiden, and then to this? What did my brother want?" she asked, and untying her robe, shrugged out of it and tossed it onto the bed.

"Sammie…" Flack bit his lip and shook his head as his eyes feasted on her naked form. Even from behind she was exquisite. Her smooth, creamy skin, that sexy tattoo that stretched across the small of her back from one luscious hip to the other, those sexy, barely there underwear only being held in place by those tiny bows on either side.

"I have to get dressed babe," she laughed. "And getting dress does include taking off my robe."

"Well don't get offended that I actually have to turn away so that I'm not looking at you, okay? It's just…trust me, it's better for both of is if we just keep our backs to each other for now."

She grinned, relishing the sense of confidence that surged through her at the thought of being able to affect him that quickly, easily and powerfully. "So…Adam…" she pressed, as she picked up the above the knee, plain black skirt she'd laid on the bed earlier.

"I just told you. He was making sure we got here okay," Flack told her, as he buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants.

"And?" she asked, wriggling into her skirt and doing up the side zip.

"And what? What makes you think there's an and?"

"And?" she repeated.

"I thought we were supposed to be on vacation Sammie," he groused, as he slid up his zipper and did up the button on his dress pants before buckling his belt. "I wear a suit and tie to work nine and a half times out of ten. Why do I have to wear them while I'm on holidays too?"

"Because it's not exactly the kind of restaurant you go to while wearing jeans, Adidas sandals, a backwards ball cap and a Rangers jersey" she teased. "And please stop avoiding my question."

He sighed and flipped up the collar of his shirt as he walked to the dresser, where he'd earlier laid a navy blue, powder blue and pale pink striped tie. Pink, he thought and physically shuddered. When she'd brought that particular tie home with the others she'd purchased at the Tommy Hilfiger store, he'd taken one look at it and declared it unfit to wear. Not that it wasn't a nice tie. Compared to what he owned it was the Monet of ties. But pink?

"It looks like white Donnie it's so pale," she'd said, as she took the tie from his hands and draped it around his neck. "You have to look really, really closely to tell it's pink."

He'd frowned, then picked up the end of the tie before she could begin tying it. "Are you blind?" he'd asked. "Is there something wrong with your eyes? You can tell that that's pink. What will my guys say if they see me in a pink tie?"

"It's not like it's all pink," she'd said. "You see the two different blues before you see the pink. And the blues really bring out your eyes. You have really, really beautiful eyes."

He'd smirked. "Quit trying to kiss my ass. I'm not wearing a tie with pink in it."

"It's a very, very, very nice tie," she'd ignored him, as she set to quickly and efficiently tying the object in question. "I happen to think you will look incredibly sexy in it. It's just a little bit of pink. A little bit of pink is no threat to your masculinity."

"Next thing you'll be making me wear pink shirts and underwear," he'd griped.

"There is nothing wrong with getting in touch with your feminine side," Sam had informed him. "And look…" she'd tightened the tie and smoothed it down. "I was right. You look insanely sexy."

Then she'd wrapped the tie around her hand and roughly yanked him into a steamy, toe curling kiss. And before he even knew what was happening or had a chance to react, she'd laid her free hand on his chest and catching him off guard, aggressively pushed him backwards until the back of his knees collided with the edge of the bed and he tumbled onto it.

"Now," she'd said, in a low, sultry voice as she climbed on top of him, a knee on either side of his torso. "I think maybe you and I need to take a moment to rediscover your masculine side. Your very, very, very masculine side. Together. What do you think?"

"I think that you're a dirty, dirty girl, Sammie," he'd said, and reached for the buttons on the front of the dress shirt of his she wore.

"Uh-uh," she'd captured his hands and deftly pinned them above his head. "I want to lead this little lesson for a bit. I want to both help you find that masculine side and me find my feminine side. Okay?"

"Yeah…but…"

"Okay?" she'd asked, and bore down on his erection.

"Okay…okay…uncle! I surrender! Do what you want! Whatever you want!"

"Whatever, huh?" she'd licked her bottom lip as she slid down his stomach and moved down the bed. "You might live to regret that," she'd said, and proceeded to pop open the button on his jeans.

He hadn't lived to regret it. In fact, she'd completely blown his mind, among other things that night. And he'd certainly proved he was all man.

But it still didn't make the idea of a pink tie seem any better.

"Are you going to tell me what else my brother wanted it or not?" Sam asked from behind him, snapping him out of his reverie

"Sorry…" he chuckled and set to work on his tie. "I just had this crazy little daydream going on over here."

"Let me guess…it involved that night you started flat on your back but ended up completely naked except for that tie you're wearing right now."

"You know me so well, baby," he grinned. "And Adam wanted to let me know that Zack keeps coming by to see you. Apparently getting his ass handed to him did nothing to stop his bullshit."

"Well he had very little brain cells to begin with so I imagine that the beating just obliterated whatever he had left," she said, and picking up a shimmering gold satin top from where it lay on the bed, pulled it over her head and shimmied into it. "I need some help, baby," she said. "Will you come here and put those fingers to good use?"

He laughed at that, and finishing with his tie, he flipped the collar of his shirt done and walked over to where she was waiting for him, a hand clutching the front of her top to her chest. "What? Are you modest now or something?" he asked. "It's not like I haven't seen the girls a million times or taken them out for play dates."

"Don…please…no perv comments, okay?"

"Sorry…" he smirked. "How many fingers you need?" he asked, then placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. "One?" he placed his lips against her neck. "Two?" he pecked her cheek and then rested his lips against her ear. "Or how about your favourite number? Three?"

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, her cheeks flushing.

"What?" he couldn't help but chuckle. "Come on…three fingers is a good thing. Means all the bases get covered."

"Don!" Sam snapped and directed an elbow towards his stomach. "Please! Just stop!"

He smirked in amusement. "Fine…fine…sorry…those topics are completely unacceptable. What did you need me for?"

"I need you to tie up my top," she told, and held up two pieces of gold satin. "This goes at the nape of my neck."

"Gotcha…" he said, and taking the pieces of fabric from her, tied them into a delicate bow.

"And these…." she moved her hands down to the sides of her breasts and picked up another two pieces. "These two tie at the middle of my back."

"Alright…" he busied himself tying another bow. "When did you buy this?" he asked curiously.

"Last night when Jess and I hit Macy's."

"It's really pretty… but where's the rest of it?" he patted her lightly on the shoulders to signal that he was done.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and turned around to face him.

"What I mean is where is the rest of the top?" he answered, as she straightened his collar and tie. "I mean all that's holding it up at the back are those two bows. Rest of your back is wide open."

"My front is completely covered though," she pointed out.

"I see that," he said, taking in the mock neck and the way the fabric clung to her curves. "But what about the back?"

"What you see is what you get," she told him.

"Think maybe you left half of it at the store when you took it off the hanger?" he asked, only half joking.

"No. This is how it was on the mannequin when I saw it," she replied. "Two bows. Nape of the neck, middle of the back. Why?"

"Nothing…I just…I mean you look amazing in it and you're totally sexy and all of that…"

Her eyebrows arched as she waited for him to continue.

"I just…I guess I'm surprised it's so…daring. That it's so…revealing."

"I'm not flashing my boobs to everyone Donnie," she said. "It's just my back."

"Still pretty sexy, Sammie. Gonna be given all kinds of guys all kinds of ideas."

"Please…" she laughed and stepping away from him, slipped her feet into a pair of gold strappy high heels.

"You have a sweater or anything that goes over it?" he asked, as he stepped into a pair of polished black dress shoes he'd placed earlier by the window.

She reached behind her and held up a black pashmina.

"And you're going to wear that downstairs and through dinner?" he inquired.

"Are you kidding me, Don? Like seriously. Are you kidding me? You're concerned that guys are going to look at me because I'm not completely covered up to my neck?"

"It's just a little…racy is all. For public anyway."

"What do you want me to wear? A nun's habit?" she asked angrily.

"Don't get upset. I'm just saying that…"

"You're not saying anything," she interrupted me. "You're ordering me in that subtle way that you have. When you don't like something, when you feel threatened by something you get this way about you. Where you try being bossy in this smooth, gentle way."

"I'm not bossing you around, Sammie. I'm just…I mean you'll need that little sweater thing. It's not that warm out tonight. I don't want you catching a cold or anything."

She stared at him. "Don't hand me that shit. You just don't want anyone looking me. Guys look at women, Don. I'm a woman. I may not be the most beautiful, sexy in the woman in the world. And not every red blooded male falls at my feet. But there are men that do find me attractive."

"I know that. I see it with my own eyes. Guys checking you. And you know what? To me you are the most beautiful, sexy woman in the world. And I guess I just want these guys to realize that you're not going home with any of them."

"Don…I'm with you. I came here, to Vegas, with you. I live with you. I'm madly and wildly and passionately in love with you. And only you. I don't give off single and available vibes. You want to hold my hand all night, walk with your hand on the small of my back or on the back of my neck, that's fine. You want to find a way to advertise it to everyone that I'm with you? Then do it. But don't tell me what I can and can't wear. Don't pull that shit with me."

"I'm not trying to…" he attempted to defend himself.

"You are trying to!" she snapped and snatched her black evening purse off the bed. "And don't do it! I am with you and I love you. I'm yours wholly and completely. But that doesn't give you the right to treat me like some kind of possession. Okay?"

He nodded.

"I don't…" she took a deep breath and let out slowly as she draped the pashmina over one arm. "I don't want to fight, baby. We do enough of that at home. We come to Vegas and the second we stepped off the plane…I don't know…we seemed so different with each other. We're getting along so much better. Don't you think?"

"I think that things seemed more relaxed between us," he told her, as he grabbed his suit jacket off of the chaise lounge and slipped into it. "We don't seem on edge like we are back home. Probably because here we don't have to worry about getting called out during inopportune times and all of that. And we don't have to worry about working crime scenes together and getting into little fights 'cause we don't always agree on things."

"Working with someone you have a relationship is not for the faint of heart," she sighed.

"But I wouldn't change it though," Flack said. "I mean, if it wasn't for work we probably never would have met each other."

"I was still going to come to New York City regardless of whether I got a job with the crime lab," she told him, as he laid a hand on the small of her back and led her through the suite. "We would have met somehow. Probably whenever I paid my brother a visit."

"Yeah but you might not have been into me if that was the case," Flack said, as they walked into the foyer, where he snagged the key card off of the table near the door. "What if you had have gotten a bigger and better job? Teaching or something?"

"Donnie, I still would have been attracted to you regardless. I mean, tall, dark and handsome? Amazing blue eyes? What's not to love?"

"Thought you loved the handcuffs," he teased, as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"They are my weakness," she said with a wink, and prepared to pass under his arm to get out into the hall. Slightly startled when he grabbed a hold of her upper arm with one hand and closed the door abruptly with the other. "What are you…?"

All words were cut off as he laid one hand on the back of her neck, the other one her hip and he pushed her roughly against the wall next to the door. Capturing her lips with his, his tongue urgently pushed its way into her mouth and sought out hers. He leaned into her, the weight of his body crushing as the hand on her hip slid around to aggressively fondle her ass as he kissed her until she was dizzy and breathless.

* * *

"Ummm…okay…." she barely managed, after he'd broken away and stepped back slightly to give her breathing space. Her body slumped against the wall as she brought a trembling hand to her sweaty forehead. "That was…that was…interesting."

Flack grinned and ran a hand over her face and pecked her forehead. "You're my weakness," he told her. "You always have been. You always will be."

She let out a shaky breath and fanned herself with her hand. "Okay…I think we should get going now…."

He nodded and opening the door once more, motioned for her to go ahead of him. "Think maybe we should take the stairs?" he asked.

"Nearly thirty flights? Are you insane?"

"Well I was just keeping in mind your thing for elevators," Flack told her as he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door. "Every time we get into one together you turn into this raging nympho. And I'd hate for those bows on your top to accidentally come undone on our way downstairs."

"I think there's a greater chance of you tearing my clothes off during the long trip downstairs then there is of you doing it in a short elevator ride."

"Oh I don't know," Flack said, winking at her as he took her hand and entwined her fingers with his. "Elevator has a stop button."

"You wouldn't do something like that," she laughed.

He arched an eyebrow. "Wanna bet? Wanna take chance that I won't undo that top and do kinky things to you in the elevator? And that's without pressing the stop button. How much do you want to bet that I could make you come in the short time it takes to get on that elevator and down to the lobby?" he asked confidently.

"I don't bet," she replied. "You know that."

"Come on, we're in Vegas, babe," he fished the elevator key out of his jacket pocket and slipping it into the lock mounted on the wall between the two lifts, turned it to the left. "I know for a fact that you're going to go wild at the slots. So how about we make a little bet between us? I bet that I can, while leaving all of your clothes on and not making use of the stop button, make you lose your mind by the time we hit the ground floor."

"There's no way," she scoffed.

"Come on…make a bet with me. I bet you that I can. And if I do…well I want you to be totally at my mercy later. You do what I want. Whatever I want. Wherever and however I want. Deal?"

"And if you don't succeed?" she asked.

"Well then I'm at your mercy later. Completely."

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Then looked up at the elevator as the chime announced its arrival.

"Well?" he asked. "We got a bet or what? Is the game on or…"

The elevator door slid open. It was thankful empty as she stepped inside, and giving him a devilish grin, she reached out and grabbing him by the lapels on his suit jacket, yanked him inside.

"The game is definitely on," she said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of the love and the supporter! And all of the lurkers too! Please R and R folks! Hope you all come back once exams and all the other life related craziness calms down!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Forest Angel**

**xsamilicousx**

**Soccer-bitch**

**wolfeylady**


	65. A Matter of Opinion

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAM ROSS AND MARK POWELL. WISH I OWNED ANGELL'S BODY, FACE AND WARDROBE HOWEVER….**

**A/N: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM LAST NIGHT AND SLIGHT DANNY BASHING. JUST SLIGHT. NOTHING HORRENDOUS. THE MUSE STILL LOVES HIM IN OB OG LAND. IT'S JUST ONE CHARACTERS ASSESSMENT OF SITUATIONS. SO NO OFFENCE TO ANYONE. DANNY'S PRIDE WILL REMAIN UNSCATHED. ENJOY!**

**I WAS WORRIED ABOUT INCLUDING LAST NIGHT'S EPI IN THIS CHAPTER. I WAS CONCERNED I WOULDN'T HANDLE ONE OF THE WORST MOMENTS IN HISTORY WITH ENOUGH SENSITIVITY. I HOPE THAT I HANDLED IT WITH RESPECT. **

**I GUESS YOU COULD SAY MY STUFF IS AU...MAYBE? SOME THINGS FROM SEASONS 1- PRESENT HAVE HAPPENED, SOME HAVEN'T. AND THOSE THAT HAVE HAPPENED (LIKE THOSE EPIS I MENTION FROM SEASON 5) HAVEN'T FOLLOWED THE EXACT TIME LINE ON THE SHOW, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT. LOL. **

**ALSO, THANKS TO ALL OF YOU SENDING ME YOUR WELL WISHES DURING THIS FRIGHTENING TIME. I WANT YOU ALL TO KNOW THAT THERE IS LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL AND THINGS ARE IMPROVING.**

**HUGE THANKS TO LAURA, CASS, HEIDI, MICHELLE AND RACHEL FOR EVERYTHING THEY'VE DONE FOR ME.**

**AND ANOTHER ONE TO CASS FOR ENCOURAGING ME TO GO WITH CERTAIN ASPECTS OF THIS CHAPTER! LOVE YA, GIRL!**

* * *

**A matter of opinion**

"The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful  
Stop me and steal my breath  
Emeralds from mountains thrust toward the sky  
Never revealing their depth and  
Tell me, that we belong together  
Dress it up with the trappings of love  
I'll be captivated I'll hang from your lips  
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above and,  
I'll be your crying shoulder  
I'll be love's suicide and I'll be better when I'm older  
I'll be the greatest fan of your life

And rain falls angry on the tin roof  
As we lie awake in my bed and  
You're my survival, you're my living proof  
My love is alive and not dead and  
Tell me that we belong together  
Dress it up with the trappings of love  
I'll be captivated  
I'll hang from your lips  
Instead of the gallows of heartache, that hang from above

I've been dropped out, burned up, fought my way back from the dead  
Tuned in, turned on,  
Remembered the things that you said."  
-I'll Be, Edwin McCain

* * *

Flack peeled back the cuff of his dress shirt and peered at the watch that graced his right wrist. "Quarter after eight," he commented, and flipping the cuff back down, reached for his glass of wine and took a large swallow. "Go figure it's Jess and Diesel that are late and it's us that are on time for once," he said, as he placed his glass back down on the exquisitely set table.

"For once," Sam giggled.

She'd been a flushed, giggling school girl since the moment they'd stepped off of the elevator. She couldn't keep a straight face no matter how serious the conversation Flack was trying to have with her, or if the waiter dared said anything that she found some kind of sexual innuendo in. Of course, there was no sexual undertone to anything the guy said, but she was like a giddy high school girl on her first date with the captain of the football team.

After making out in his father's car first.

"They're probably practicing for when they're newlyweds," she mused, as she leaned forward and picked up her wine glass. "Lucky them."

"What do you mean, lucky them? Lucky you if you ask me," he said, nudging her playfully with his elbow as they sat alongside of each other.

He noticed that the only after effects from their incident in the elevator was a permanent, natural blush to her face. Less then twenty minutes before, just as they reached the third floor, she was a panting, quivering mess clinging to him as she rode the waves of a powerful orgasm. By the time the second level arrived, Flack was leaning against the far wall of the elevator, grinning wickedly -and victoriously- at her as she rearranged and smoothed down her skirt. The only item of clothing that was askew on her body. Once they hit the lobby, he'd grabbed her and kissed her greedily. And then releasing her just as the doors began to open, stared her dead in the eye and licked each of his three fingers. Then the doors opened and life went back to normal. Save for her rosy cheeks and ragged breathing. They'd found the closest public restrooms and cleaned themselves up. Flack washed his hands in the men's while Sam dabbed cold water on the back of her neck in the ladies.

They'd reunited in the hallway outside. And with broad grins on their faces and their dirty little secret on their minds they'd headed for the restaurant hand in hand. Only to find out their friends hadn't even arrived yet.

A maitre-d' clad in a tuxedo with tails and crisp white gloves, had escorted them through the elegant and extremely busy steakhouse. The décor was chocolate brown and robin egg blue. Or, as Sam had so excitedly put it as she took in the beauty of the establishment, Tiffany blue.

Flack had laughed at that. He'd even commented to that maitre d' how it wasn't surprising a woman would find something to remind her of the famed jewellery store. The polished, elderly man had cracked a small smile and informed him that Tiffany blue was the actual name of the colour used in the room. And then he'd proceeded to give them the low down on the Prime Steakhouse. It was the brain child of award winning, celebrity chef and restaurateur Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Their specialities were prime steak, seafood and lamb, along with their extensive wine list and succulent desserts. There were prominent pieces of artwork on display. Including commissioned paintings by Carlos Maria Mariani, George Deem and Michael Gregory. As well as a stunning water themed canvas created by Joseph Raffeal.

Sam was in complete and utter awe and didn't bother hiding it as her golden brown eyes sparkled as she took everything in. Flack hadn't expected to see her that enthused. She had, after all, been to the legendary Tavern on the Green back home. But he could tell, by the way her face lit up with sheer enthusiasm, that this experience was like no other as far as she was concerned.

"It's because of the company," she'd told him, when he'd commented on her exuberance. "I wasn't with the love of my life when I went to Tavern on the Green, was I?" she'd added, hugging his arm tightly and smiling delicately up at him. "How can I not enjoy this more? I'm with you."

He'd smiled back and stopped right there in the middle of the restaurant and kissed her for that. Much to the chagrin of the maitre d' and fellow dinners.

Now they sat, sipping an expensive bottle of imported white wine and browsing the brown leather bound menus as they waited, not so patiently, for their dinner guests to arrive. The view from the patio was outstanding. As darkness hung in the sky, the Vegas strip was light up and the fountains in front of the hotel were in their full glory. There was a slight breeze on the air that tousled the tendrils of hair that lay at the back of Sam's neck and the ringlets on either side of her, and had brought a discernible chill on the table. Sam had wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders the moment they'd sat down, and now they shared body heat as well. Their chairs pushed tightly together, her elbow resting on the arm rest on his seat, their shoulders pressed against each other and their knees touching under the table. Their actions more out of affection then the need to keep warm.

"God…I'm starving," Sam complained, as she rubbed her gurgling stomach. "Think they'd be pissed if we ordered some appetizers or something?"

"Who cares?" Flack responded. "They're the ones that are late. And I'm dying of hunger here, too."

"You know," she dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned into him. "Lots of sex is great. But we do need sustenance to keep going."

He grinned and pressed his lips to her temple. "Great sex, huh? I was thinking it was more along the lines of pretty good. I was hoping we could go up the scale towards greatness."

"Just tonight or over the course of the next five days?" she asked curiously.

"Just tonight if you can handle it," he replied with a grin. "Then tomorrow we can start at the bottom and make our way up again."

"Hmmm…" she considered the idea as she toyed with the commitment ring on her finger. "I did have some delicious plans for later," she told him. "Like relaxing in that tub back in our room with some champagne and strawberries. Or did I mention that already."

"You mentioned that already. And I promised you that tonight was all about the romance thing. I will order you some strawberries when we get back to our room. And some chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Just in case."

She giggled at that and laying a hand on the side of his face, ran her thumb along his lips before kissing him softly. Giving a content sigh, her eyes still closed, she laid her forehead against his as the fingers of the hand on the side lightly caressed his cheek.

She had never thought it was possible to love someone as much as she loved him. To feel that heart tugging, raw emotion that being with him made her feel. That all consuming, overwhelming sensation that nearly brought her to her knees some days. And she never dreamed that she'd ever feel that kind of love in return. Yet there it was every time he kissed her. Every time he held her face so tenderly in her hands. Every time he used his thumbs to gently clear her tears away. Every time he caressed her hair. Every time those blue eyes stared deep into her soul and spoke volumes to what he was feeling. She felt his warm breath against her face and felt him press a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She opened her eyes and smiled dreamily at him. "I don't ever want to go back to New York City," she said. "Things are so different there. Between us. And here it's just…"

"Better?" he asked.

"Not better. Just different. Things are just much more relaxed between us. We're not arguing about stupid things. And we argue a lot and I can't stand that part of us."

"It's not exactly my favourite part either," Flack said. "But it's just something we do. It's just…us. I don't know why we do it. Or what makes thing so different when we're back home. Work stress, I guess? Here we don't have to worry about any of that. We don't have to worry about getting into things over differences of opinion during a case. Or struggle to find five minutes together when we're on opposite shifts. We live together and sometimes we only see each other in passing."

"Well win the lottery and we can both retire early," she laughed and tugged playfully on his tie. "But then, if we were both home all the time, we'd probably drive each other completely insane. So maybe having just that little bit of distance sometimes actually does us wonders."

"Maybe," he sighed. "But you're right. About the fighting thing. I don't want us to fight that much either. Just it seems like we can't help it. It seems like we honestly…I don't know…get off on it."

"All the adrenaline coursing through our bodies I guess," she said. "Makes the whole making up thing so much more intense."

He grinned and nodded. "That it does. I'll never complain about the making up part."

She smiled and pressing a kiss to the spot below his ear, rested her head on his shoulder.

He pecked her forehead and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They sat in companionable silence. Sam's eyes closed, Flack's riveted on the fountains a hundred yards away, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the side of his wine glass.

"What are you thinking about, baby?" Sam asked, reaching up to comb her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. "I can tell you're thinking about something. So don't even try and tell me nothing. I've known you long enough to have picked up on all of your little habits."

"What little habits?" he inquired.

Reaching out, she captured his hand with hers, bringing an abrupt end to the tapping of his nails against the glass.

"Sorry," he said with a light chuckle.

"You do that at work, at home. Whenever you've got something on your mind," she told him. "You always drum your fingers against something. Your desk, our kitchen table. I've even caught you doing it on the mattress while you're sleeping. Tell me what you're thinking about, Don."

"Us," he said simply.

"As in a good us or a bad us?" she asked.

"A good us. A very good us. I just…" _Don't chicken out, Flack. Don't be a pussy. Just be honest with her. Tell her what's in your heart. What's the worse that can happen? She'll laugh in your face? Call you a tool? Tell you that she's just not ready for that thing and going that fast so soon scares her?_

_Go upstairs, pack all of her shit and head home? And then when you get back to New York City you find all her stuff and her gone? And then you can kick yourself in the ass for the rest of your life because you single- handily pushed her away?_

"You just…" she pressed gently.

Flack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew that she wasn't going to let it go now until he did tell her. And he also knew that she could spot bullshit from a mile away. Lying was just not an option. "I want us to get married," he told her. And almost immediately regretted if when he heard the long sigh she gave off.

"Donnie…" she raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him, her fingers drifting down to the collar of his shirt. "We've…"

"I don't mean that I want to get married right now," he quickly explained. "I don't want to rush out tomorrow and go and get a licence and get hitched while we're here. I just…I want to know that that step is coming some time in the future. I need to know that's it coming. I don't know why. It's just how I feel. Like if I don't have that guarantee that it's going to happen in a year, even two years from now, I'll just…" he sighed heavily and leaning forward, snatched up his wine glass and took a large gulp. "Forget it. I don't even know what I'm trying to say anymore."

"What more do you feel you need to say?" Sam asked gently, one of her nails scraping lightly against the slice of skin between his collar and his hair. "You brought it up when we were leaving the apartment. We talked about it then. And now you're bringing it up again. What is going on, Don? I thought that you were happy with the way things are. Us living together. As a married couple. I thought you were alright with that."

"I am alright with that," he assured her. "I'm more than alright with that. I love having you to come home to at the end of the day. Thinking about you being there waiting for me? That's what gets me through the really bad shifts. I love living with you," he took another sip of wine and grinned before adding, "Can't say the same about living with all the stuff that came with you when you moved in, but…"

"I'm self-admittedly high maintenance in some respects," she said, smiling lovingly at him as she brushed some wisps of hair off of his forehead. "I come with a lot of stuff."

"No kidding. How many pairs of shoes and purses does one woman need? Especially when you wear the same three pairs all the time and alternate between only two purses. And never mind all the makeup, body sprays, lotions and everything else that's taking up every available space in the bathroom. And that entire box of those porcelain dolls that you're always on me to put shelves up in the bedroom for."

"Precious Moments," she clarified. "My uncle…the one that worked at The Widdington? He bought me my first one when I was five and Adam was born. I was so pissed off that my parents had the nerve to have him. I didn't want a baby brother and my nose was all pushed in 'cause he was getting all the attention. So my uncle took me out for the day and he gave me this Precious Moments figurine. A little girl holding her baby brother. And he told me that it was from Adam. A best big sister gift."

Flack smiled. "It's nice to know that there were some good times for you, Sammie."

"If it hadn't have been for my uncle and my mom's parents in Albany taking us for a couple of weeks during the summer, Adam and I…well I don't know what would have happened to us."

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. He knew how difficult it was for her to talk about her childhood. And while she'd come leaps and bounds just from one session with Doctor Melfi, he knew that it was just one small step on what would be a rocky road. He'd learned from the get go that the best way to get her to open up, was to just sit back and wait for it to happen. It was difficult at times to be that patient and that understanding, but the end results were always worth it.

"If they mean that much to you babe, when we get home I'll buy you some shelves and put them up and you can do whatever you want with them little dolls," he said. "I just like teasing you about them. You know that right?"

Sam nodded. "They just mean a lot to me. Because they remind me that my life wasn't horrible all of the time. And I know that I'm not always the easiest person to love and that I'm totally unlike anyone else you've ever been with before, but I…"

"You say that like it's a bad thing, babe. You are totally unlike anyone I've ever been with. But that's in a good way., There's all these different sides to you. There's that quiet, studious, brainiac side that seriously shames me when we watch Jeopardy or that Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader?…"

She grinned.

"Then there's that bubbly, outgoing, almost childish side of you. The one that likes me to take her to the Statue of Liberty and buy her one of those corny foam hats that look like Lady Liberty's crown. Who likes to put glitter stickers and charms on her nails and wear pyjamas with cartoon characters on them and puts plastic barrettes in her hair. Who get up at two in the morning to make S'mores for a snack."

"Hey…S'mores are the best," she declared, and taking the glass from his hand, sipped at his wine.

"And then there's that feisty, take no prisoners, put up with no shit, bad ass Brooklyn girl. And all of that rolled into one? It's a killer combination. Keeps me on my toes, that's for sure."

She grinned and kissed him chastely.

"And you're not perfect and I know that. But I'm not perfect either and that's okay. You don't expect me to be."

"I just expect you to be you," she said. "Because if you were perfect…I don't know…to me all of your little quirks and all of your little flaws…to me they just make you even sexier. And if you want to get engaged, Donnie, well then that's what I want too."

He shook his head. "I don't want you to want it because I want it. I want you to…"

She laid two fingers over his lips. "I want it because I want it. I do want to marry you. I do want forever with you. I just don't want it to be a rushed thing. I want us to take our time planning things. Making it everything we've ever wanted. I don't want us to running to City Hall and doing it in haste. That's all."

"Well weddings take a long time to plan, right? So there's our long engagement," he said. "No rushing into anything. No frantic trip to a JP. Nothing like that."

"You are just right into this whole engagement thing," she laughed.

"Sammie, I just…"

She silenced him with a kiss. "Donnie…what part of I'm okay with this don't you understand? No more talk about it okay? We've discussed it and agreed to it and now…well know it's time to just pull up your big boy pants and put all of those words into action."

"It's going to happen when you least expect it," he promised, and laying a hand on the side of her face, leaned in close to kiss her. Their lips just brushing against each other before a voice at the side of their table brought the moment to an abrupt end.

* * *

"Rent a room, you two…" Jess ordered. "Oh…wait a second…you already have one."

"Speaking of rooms," Flack retorted as he pulled away from Sam. "You two have a hard time forgetting how to open the door to yours? Or did you get lost on the way down here?"

"Actually, we took advantage of the stop button on the elevator," Mark answered.

Sam nearly spit out a mouthful of wine. Swallowing noisily, she coughed several times before pushing her chair away from the table and standing up. "I guess between the four of us, it's good that there's no cameras in those elevators," she said.

"Well if there is cameras, the cops will be coming for us soon," Jess laughed, then embraced her friend warmly. "Mark and I are so glad that you guys were able to come here and share our wedding with us," she said, then kissed Sam's cheek and held her out at arms length. "Check you out…I knew you'd look totally hot in that outfit. Even if the overprotective romance troll made you cover it up."

"And you…" Sam nodded approvingly as she studied the other woman. Jess' traffic stopping figure on full display in a tight, strapless scarlet red dress cut just above the knee, four inch black heels and her lips painted a shimmering ruby red. Her dark tresses were loose and flowing. She looked…exotic. And sexy as hell. "Easy to see why Mark is all over you," she commented. "Hell, in that dress? I would have jumped you in the elevator too."

"Not that is something I'd kill to see pictures of," Mark teased, giving his fiancee a peck on the cheek, his hand grazing lightly over her hip before pulling her chair out for her.

"You and me both, Diesel. Either pictures or permission to be an active participant," Flack said, grinning up at Sam as she rolled her eyes at his comment and returned to her seat. "You clean up pretty nice there Jessie," he commented, admiring his ex from across the table. He gave her a gentle smile before adding, "You can almost pass for a girl."

_Almost? _Flack thought. _She's far from being just a girl. She's one hundred percent, red hot woman. _It didn't matter if she was in a pair of jeans and a modest t-shirt with a Kevlar vest over top, or a designer dress that fit like a glove. Jess could make wearing a garbage bag sexy. And it wasn't just her looks. It was in the confident, proud way in which she carried herself.

Sam squirmed beside him. Uncomfortable with the way he was blatantly checking his ex girlfriend and her friend out. The truth was, she could never hold a candle to Jess in the looks and popularity department. In that friendship, Jess had always been the beautiful one, the confident one, the sexy one. Women either loathed her or wanted to be her. Men just wanted her. And to have someone that claimed to love you and who claimed to want to spend the rest of your life with you all but flash fuck me eyes at his ex….

_But he's with you, she reminded herself. She didn't dump him because she didn't want to be with him. He broke up with her to be with you. He didn't want to be with her. How much more prove to you need that he does want you and love you? _

A smirk tugged at the corner of Jess' lips at his comment. "You don't look half bad yourself Don," she said, as Mark filled everyone's wine glasses. "Nice tie, Sam. About time someone became his personal shopper."

"See baby…" Sam managed to recover from her initial hurt and annoyance, and giving a small laugh, tugged playfully at Flack's tie while he feigned offence at Jess' comment. "It is a nice tie."

"It's the Mona Lisa of ties compared to what you usually own," Jess said as she sipped her wine. "All your usual ties? Well they're like Dogs Playing Poker done on black velvet."

Sam giggled.

"That's it, laugh it up you two," Flack snorted. "And I never said this wasn't a nice tie. I just said it was a little girlie."

Sam rolled her eyes. "This…" she picked up the end of the tie. "…is not girlie. Solid pink would be girlie. This is very masculine and very sexy."

"Don't tell me you were afraid that a little bit of pink made you less of a man," Jess couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that suggestion. "There's nothing that could make you less of a man, Don."

The wine glass nearly slipped out of Sam's hands. Taken back by the comment, she glanced across the table to where Mark Powell was both frowning and shifting awkwardly in his chair. She was about to open her mouth, ask some random question about who he was hoping would get into the NHL playoffs or who looked like they had a good baseball team going into spring training. Anything to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the table. When the moment was blessedly saved by a waiter arriving to inquire about placing their orders.

They quickly decided on a plate of appetizers for four recommended by the waiter. Stuffed mushroom caps, mini quiches and oysters on the half shell. Conversation stayed relatively safe as they browsed their menus and polished off the bottle of wine. Flack and Mark talked about work, much to the dismay of their dates, while Sam and Jess talked about their plans to hit the pool and do a little shopping the next day. Girl time they called if, while the guys rolled their eyes and made plans to, after sleeping in, hit the in house casino. After the appetizers arrived and orders were placed for entrees - "You're just having a salad?" Flack had asked Sam, after she'd opted for just spinach salad with only half the normal portion of dressing.

"Well I have to get down to a size four somehow," she'd snapped back. "Seeing as that's what you're into."

Everyone at the table had blinked at her outburst. Her words had come out sounding harsher then she had intended them to, and while she had meant them, instead of sticking up for herself under Flack's heavy, angry glare, she'd quickly backpedalled and blamed the mixture of meds and wine screwing with her personality. Then she'd excused herself and quickly left the table. Finding solace in the bathroom of the restaurant. Where she'd sat in a stall for several long minutes. Giving herself a mental pep talk.

_He shows you how beautiful and irresistible you are. How sexy he finds you. You can tell my looking in his eyes that he's sincere when he tells you he loves you and wants forever with you. He's not lying to you. He's not settling for you._

_He left her -willingly- for you. You're just overreacting to things. Your emotions are all over the place. Your brain isn't quite working properly. Doctor Melfi said that it would take some time to see, and feel, results from the meds. You're just seeing things and hearing things that aren't there. He doesn't want Jess. He wants you. How much plainer does he have to be?_

_You're just being stupid about things._

* * *

She had returned to the table with a renewed sense of confidence and decided to be the bigger person and apologize for her outburst. Even if she wasn't a hundred percent sincere about it. And she'd been relieved when dinner and dessert- a fabulous slice of molten chocolate cake she and Jess shared- that no other flirtatious comments of behaviour were exchanged. And as she and Jess -both with their heels kicked off and their legs stretched out, their bare feet resting on each other's chairs and their boyfriends' suit jackets around their shoulders to ward off the chill - sipped lattes and discussed the upcoming nuptials, their attention was drawn to the other conversation taking place at the table. As soon as the name Michael Elgers was brought up, all talk of a wedding was quickly halted.

"Everyone's favourite psychopathic, scumbag Neo-Nazi," Sam remarked dryly, and with contempt in her voice.

"Is that the one you told me about yesterday?" Jess asked. "The one that called you a….you know what? I can't even bring myself to say the word. He called you a 'insert the N word here' lover because you defended Hawkes?"

Sam nodded. "Same prick that as he was being hauled away, turns to Danny and asks him which of the two of them, him or Hawkes, the little bitch whore was sleeping with."

Jess snorted and sipped her latte. "Asshole."

Sam shrugged. "I've been called worse. The stuff he said about Hawkes makes me sick. Never mind what we found when we went to our vic, Xander Green's apartment. That little secret room of his?" she shuddred from the sheer force of the memory. Of the things she'd seen, both in during projects on the Holocaust in both high school and college and in Green's apartment that day, and in her inability to process how human beings could do such horrific things to each other. "I mean he had a lamp shade made of human skin," she said quietly. "Peoples teeth in a cup. This little doll that.." she couldn't finish.

It had been two months now, but that day still bothered her. She could vividly recall standing between Flack and Mac, overcome by pure shock and horror at the sight of the swatztika mounted on the wall and the items from the Holocaust laid out on tables. And when Mac had dumped the teeth into his palm…Flack had barely gotten the words, "Please tell me those aren't what I think they are," out of his mouth and Sam's stomach had rebelled and she'd bolted from the room. A hand over her mouth as she raced for Green's bathroom. Where she proceeded to drop to her knees in front of the toilet and vomit profusely.

"It was pretty sick," Flack agreed in a soft voice, and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulled her into him and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "I was just telling Diesel about Elgers' attorney trying to get him off on a technicality."

"What technicality?" Jess asked.

"Don may or may not have refused Elgers' request for a lawyer," Sam replied. As much as she loved Jess and Mark seemed like a stand up guy, the truth was she doesn't trust anyone. There were three people in the observation room that day that knew for sure what had gone down in interrogation. And neither she, Danny or Hawkes had mentioned it to outside sources.

Jess arched an eyebrow.

"That's all I can say," Sam told her. "I can't even tell you if I heard it. I just know that it may or may not have happened. And on top of that, on top of the fact that the Miranda Rights may have been trampled on, Elgers is thinking of suing Danny civilly for bashing his head off the floor."

"Guy deserved to have his head bashed off the floor and then a bullet put into it," Flack remarked.

"I'm not saying that he didn't deserve to have the shit kicked out of him," Sam defended herself. "He deserved an ass kicking of a lifetime for the things he said. I'm not denying that. Hell, I would have loved to kill him myself. But the point I'm trying to make is that he goaded Danny into that. He knew how to play the system. By pissing Danny off and getting Danny to go nuts on him, Elgers had him and us, right where he wanted. So that he could turn around and cry police brutality and then bring down this complaint which tarnishes not just Danny, but the whole department."

"You heard what he said Sammie," Flack told her. "You can't tell me he didn't deserve to have his face smashed in."

"I just said he deserved it. But it wasn't up to Danny to do it. As much as I love the fact he's that passionate about defending his friends and colleagues, in essence it was a dumb ass, unhinged thing to do. Did we all want to kick the shit out of Elgers? Of course we did. But we weren't the ones that put Danny in the situation he's in now. And I love Danny. You know that. But think about this sensibly, Don. What's going to happen if Elgers does sue? Who will Elgers call as his witnesses of the incident?"

"You and Hawkes," Flack reluctantly admitted.

"And you don't see something wrong with that? That he's going to call two cops to rat out another cop? We can't go in there and lie. Or is that what you think we should do? We should all just put our badges on the line to defend Danny. God knows you've done it enough times. You've always been there to help Danny out. And that's commendable, babe. It is. But when does that help start being repayed to you?"

"Sam…I think maybe you should just stop now and not let this turn into a big thing," Flack suggested calmly.

"And I think maybe you should let her say what she has to say," Jess was quick to her friend. "Just because you don't agree with it Flack, doesn't mean she doesn't have the right to speak her mind."

"I just think sometimes things are one sided," Sam said, shrugging indifferently.

"Don't do that," Angell scolded her. "Don't fucking back down from him 'cause you feel threatened. You say what is on your mind. Don't ever let anyone bully you into keeping quiet or changing your views. Don't…"

"I'm bullying her?" Flack couldn't help but laugh. "How the hell am I bullying her?"

"Because you intimidate her," Angell told him. "You get that goddamn condescending tone and that look…that look that tells her she better not piss you off. She can say what she wants and think what she wants. You can't control her. So do me a favour and sit there and shut up and let her talk."

Flack sighed heavily and holding his hands up in surrender, sat back in his chair.

"Go ahead Sammie," Angell encouraged. "You're entitled to your opinion."

"I just think that sometimes Don does so much for Danny and doesn't see anything in return," she said. "He has Danny's back no matter what but when Don needs someone…"

"I'm not going to go to Danny and ask for help," Flack argued. "I don't help him out because I expect something in return. I don't ask him to…"

"You shouldn't have to ask," Sam told him. "He's your best friend. He should just do it. Friends don't need to be told or asked. I don't ever have to ask Lindsay to be there for me. She just does it. And she doesn't expect anything in return. She's there for me because she wants to be. Just like Jess. And to me it doesn't seem like Danny is that way with you."

"Name three times that Danny wasn't there for me when I needed someone," Flack challenged.

"I can name two off the top of my head," Sam said confidently. "Todd Fleming for one. Did Danny ever once come to your desk while you were sitting there with your thumb up your ass and no badge and no gun and tell you he had your back? Did you even call you at home after hours and lend support? No. You know who was there for you? Jess, Mac, Stella and me. Even Lindsay sent you an email about believing in you. Where was Danny?"

Flack didn't respond.

"And the second one, courtesy of Stella, was the night after you were nearly killed in a bombing and he didn't even stick around at the hospital when you were in a coma. Stella had seen him and Lindsay leaving. Yet she and Mac stuck around. Hawkes even talked to your doctor. And before you jump down my throat, I am not blaming Lindsay. She's my best friend and I will defend that girl to the death. So don't turn this into a me hating on Danny and Lindsay thing."

"What could Danny have done?" Flack asked. "I was on round the clock care. What could he have…"

"Nothing! He couldn't have done a damn thing!" Sam replied exasperatedly. "But that's not the point! If my best friend was teetering on the brink of death I would have been there! Any normal human being would have I like to think. Would you not have done it if that was Danny in that hospital bed, Donnie? Tell me the truth. Would you not have stuck around?"

He nodded.

"My point exactly. You would have done it for him. All I'm saying is that I wish he was there for you like you're there for him. That is all I'm saying. Because I love you and I'll defend you and have your back no matter what. So when I see that…it just hurts me, okay? Because to me it's like you're being used. And I hate that. Because you care so much about everyone else and when you don't get that back…I take it personally okay? Sue me. I'm sorry if it hurts my feelings to see you treated like that."

"You don't have to be sorry baby," he said and wrapping his arm around her, pulled her into him. "Just because we don't see things the same way doesn't mean you have to apologize. It's how you feel. I'm not going to disrespect that by arguing with you."

"I just wish he wasn't such a stupid little fucker sometimes," she laughed, and reaching out and grabbing her wine glass, swallowed down the remains. "I love him to death. But he can be such an ungrateful, spoiled little brat."

"Can't all humans be that way?" Jess mused. "We all have our moments, trust me. And Sam…don't ever be afraid to speak your mind, okay? Don't ever let anyone scare you out of being truthful. Of having an opinion. Not even Don. Just because you love him doesn't mean…well no offence, Don…but being in love with him doesn't mean you have to quit being yourself to make him happy. And if he can't accept your opinions or beliefs, then fuck him. He doesn't have to agree, but he doesn't have to condemn you for them either."

"I never…"

Jess held her hand up to silence Flack. "I'm not saying you do that. I'm just saying that she should never feel as if you _are _doing that. She's not saying these things to be anti-Danny Messer. She's saying them because it's how she sees things and she's defending you. And if you can't see that…well then you're a dumbass who doesn't deserve a woman like her."

Flack's eyes widened at his ex's brutal honesty.

Jess smirked and downed the last of her latte. "Isn't freedom of speech wonderful?" she asked cheerfully. "It gives me free reign to be a condescending bitch."

"You don't need freedom of speech for that babe," Mark teased and kissed the side of her head.

Sam laughed out loud at his comment. Then laid a hand to her forehead. "I have had way too much drink," she admitted. "And there's a huge bathtub back in the room and a massive, comfy bed calling my name."

"And some strawberries and chocolate sauce," Flack added, and waved the waiter down.

"In other words you two are going to go upstairs and have some wild and crazy make up sex," Angell mused.

Flack just grinned. Then asked the waiter to put the dinner on a tab to be directly billed to his room. "Consider it an early wedding present," he told Angell and Mark when they opened their mouths to protest.

"Yeah…" Sam said. "I'd like to be able to tell you we're giving you guys a shit load of cash in honour of your nuptuals, but after this trip, I'm afraid Don and I will be living in a pup tent in Central Park and catching pigeons and cooking them on a stick over and open flame and calling it dinner."

"It's called credit Sammie," Flack told her, as he pushed his chair away from the tabe and stood up. "And unlike you, I have amazing credit. So don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

"Oh now he's kissing up and calling me pretty," she teased.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Let's call it a night, okay?" he asked, as he pulled her chair out for her.

"Or at least a night down here," Jess said. "'Cause I seriously doubt you two are actually going to bed anytime soon. And thank you…for dinner."

Flack waved it off.

Sam bent down and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

"Bright and early," Jess told her. "You two have a fun night."

"Oh we will," Sam assured her, giving an enthusiastic two thumbs up.

"Night guys," Mark said in farewell, then watched as the couple walked through the crowded patio hand in hand and disappeared inside. "They're a really nice couple," he commented, as he turned back to his fiancee.

"They're crazy about each other," Jess said. "They always have been. And I can't deny that. It doesn't take an Einstein to figure out how much he loves her. Or how much she loves him. Don't you just see it? The way she looks at him? The way he looks at her?"

Mark nodded and laying a hand on the back of her neck, leaned in close. "Looking at Flack looking at Sam…it's honestly like peering into a mirror. You know why?"

Jess shook her head.

"'Cause it's the exact way I look at you," he told her, then covered her mouth with his in a tender kiss. He felt her sigh of contentment against his lips and the way she gently caressed his face.

Once the kiss had ended, Jess smiled adoringly at the her future husband and laying her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and relaxed in his familiar, wonderful smell and the warmth of his strong body. This was the man she would spend forever with. Have babies with. Grand babies, even. Who she would go old and grey alongside of.

Her life had never been more perfect.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all of the lurkers! Please R and R!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**muchmadness**

**wolfeylady**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**xsamiliciousx**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	66. Moments of Extreme

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAM ROSS.**

**TINY, LITTLE WARNING FOR SMUT NEAR THE END. **

**A/N: A MASSIVE CYBER COOKIE TO WHOEVER CAN PICK OUT THE REFERENCE TO SEASON FOUR'S, YOU ONLY DIE ONCE. IT'S A TOUGH ONE, FOLKS. HERE'S A HINT: IT MAY NOT BE INCLUDED IN THE **_**ACTUAL**_** CHAPTER ITSELF.**

* * *

**Moments of extreme**

"Young, dumb, don't see a problem  
Bloodshot, stare like a hoodlum  
Simple as this; I'm in love with the risk  
I know what I've done,  
But tell me what did I miss?  
So please don't save something  
Waste not, save nothing  
Lose the halo, don't need to resist  
A lick of the lips and a grip on your hips  
Sick, sick, sick  
Don't resist  
Sick, sick, sick  
Don't resist  
First thing we succumb to  
Shout, erase, and undo  
Days are unreleased, if there's no release  
Please just let me do whatever fits you  
Make something, make someone  
Beg on a knee, baby baby please  
Pout your bottom lip  
While cracking the whip  
You know what we want,  
It's candy to cum to  
Sick, sick, sick  
Don't resist  
Sick, sick, sick  
Don't resist."  
-Sick, Sick, Sick, Queens of the Stone Age

* * *

"This is my Pretty Woman moment," Sam announced, as she gave a long, content sigh and settled back against Flack's chest.

The marble tub was spacious -big enough to fit two people, including one over six feet and still leave room to spare- and lined at the bottom with waterproof foam padding that was comfortable enough to sit on for hours. The bath water was blissfully warm and the pressure of the whirlpool jets were wonderfully soothing. The lights were dimmed in favour of a dozen lit candles scattered strategically around the bathing area, including the four gardenia scented pillar ones that flicked on the ledge next to them. The shelf was eye level when sitting in the tub, and along with the candles, they'd sat out an open bottle of champagne, two crystal flutes and a plate of fresh strawberries accompanied by a small china bowl of warm chocolate sauce. The LCD tv mounted on the in the tiles at the foot of the tub was tuned into ESPN. Flack had caved when it came to the bath and romantic ambiance. And felt it was only fair that she let him watch the sports highlights in return.

"Your what?" Flack asked, as he reached for his champagne and took a sip. He was buzzed. He'd consumed a staggering amount of wine at dinner, half a dozen tequila shots that Jess had insisted he do with her when both Sam and Mark declined, and now he was working on his fourth glass of champagne. He was completely relaxed now that the disagreements that had taken place earlier had been put behind them. At the moment, all he cared about was spending quiet time with the woman in his life. And it didn't hurt that that woman was totally naked, stretched out between his legs, her back against his chest and her head resting against his shoulder.

"Pretty Woman," Sam said, as she leaned forward to snag herself a strawberry. Taking a bite, she used her free hand to pluck the glass from his hand and helped herself to a mouthful of his champagne. "You know, the movie with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere?"

"Yeah…I know it…one of my sister's favourites…drove the whole family nuts watching it over and over again when it came out on VHS."

"Well he ordered strawberries and champagne from room service the night he picked her up," Sam explained. "Then later in the movie, he took a bubble bath with her. And he was like you. An aversion to baths."

"Baths are too…girlie…that's why."

She rolled her eyes.

"Guys prefer showers, okay? We prefer to get in and get out. You prefer to stay in a tub full of floral scented water for hours on end. And if you've got the candles and your Ipod and a book? Chances are I'm not seeing you or using the bathroom for a long time. Good thing we've got one a half baths. Avoids me having to either piss in a bucket or walk a block to Starbucks to use their john."

"I am not that bad…but yeah…this is definitely my Pretty Woman moment. Romantic bath with a hot man. Except for the fact that I'm not a millionaire and you're not a hooker."

Flack laughed at that. "I think you meant that I'm not a millionaire and you're not a hooker," he corrected.

She frowned and directed an elbow at his stomach.

"I'm just saying," he chuckled, and nuzzled her ear and pecked her cheek. "You have had way too much to drink. Especially with the pills you're taking. So…" he gently extracted his champagne flute from her hand. "…maybe it's time to cut you off."

"I haven't had that much," Sam protested. "A few glasses of wine and a glass and a half of champagne is not a huge amount."

"Never said it was. I just think that it's best to keep your alcohol to a minimum seeing as you're on meds. That's all I'm saying. I'm just worried about you. Don't get your undies in a twist. Well…" he laughed against the side of her neck as his hand slowly glided up the inside of her thigh, his fingertips just brushing against the dark patch of hair between her legs. "…I guess they have to be imaginary panties."

She giggled and reaching under the water, entwined her fingers with his and moved their hands to rest on his thigh. "I know you're worried about me baby," she said. "And you're right. I shouldn't drink anymore."

Flack gave a startled, dramatic gasp.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.

"I would have sworn I just heard you admit that I was right about something. Did I hear that right or…"

"You heard it right," she said. "Smart ass."

"Well do you mind saying it again? Loud enough for the entire world to hear? 'Cause I want this moment to go down in the record books. You admitting I'm right? That will probably never, ever happen again."

"Not in this century," she muttered. "Did you really have to go and ruin my Pretty Woman moment? You couldn't just keep your ego under control for about an hour? Just long enough for me to enjoy this?"

"I'm just teasing you Sammie. You know that. Besides," he pushed a piece of hair off of her shoulder and placed soft kisses along the side of her neck. "We both know I'm right a lot. You just have a hard time admitting it."

She snorted and popped the remains of her strawberry into her mouth. "I'll only start admitting it when you start admitting to all the times when I'm right."

He downed the remains of his champagne and sat the empty glass on the ledge. "Never gonna happen," he declared.

"Well then both of us will remain in a lovely state of denial for the rest of our lives together," she concluded. "Oh look…isn't that just the most awful thing in the world…" she lifted a leg from the water and pointed her toes in the direction of the television. "The Rangers had their asses kicked six to one. Against San Jose. The worst team in the league. In Madison Square Gardens! And look at that!" she gave an excited yelp. "The Devils won three nothing against the Islanders!"

Flack grimaced and shook his head in disgust. "Sammie…" he said with an exasperated sigh. "There's some things we're going to have to deal with before we get married."

"And what things are those?" she asked.

"You and this whole love for the New Jersey Devils. It just…it just can't be possible. Not if you're with a die hard Rangers fan. I mean, you're from Brooklyn. You shouldn't even like a team from New Jersey I can tolerate it right now, but once we get married…I'm sorry but you're going to have to give up the black and red for the red, white and blue, babe."

"I am not converting for anyone," she informed him, and sitting up, leaned forward to grab another strawberry. "I will never, ever be a Rangers fan. Not even for you. So if our whole compatibility as husband and wife is going to be based on what hockey teams we love, then maybe living common law is the best thing for us."

"No…us being husband and wife and you switching teams is what's best for us. You know, to keep the peace. Don't you want to keep the peace? Or are we going to live our whole married life having these crazy ass fights so that we can have even crazier make up sex?" he teased.

"You are so obnoxious," Sam declared, then squealed, her body bucking against his as he pinched one of her nipples. "Hey! That could be classified as abuse!"

"Yeah? And how far do you think you're going to get with that complain when I know how much you enjoy the rough stuff?" he teased, sucking and nipping gently at the tender skin on the side of her neck. "I'm going to leave all these little marks all over you to go with those bruises you have between your thighs from me f.."

She popped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. "I don't need a play by play of this afternoon's events. It's embedded in my memory. And in some parts of my body."

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her ear. Adjusting his position in the tub, he leaned back and wrapped both arms around her and drew her back against him. "So this is your Pretty Woman moment, huh?" he asked, closing his eyes as he rested the back of his head against the tiles.

Sam nodded.

"Well then I guess it's set to become mine, too. 'Cause didn't she give him a blow job?"

"Not in the bathtub."

"I know that. But sometime afterwards. He was sitting in a chair and she knelt down in front of him and started undoing his pants. Then her head went below the camera and…"

"You're imagining things," Sam declared.

"No. I definitely remember that part of the movie. 'Cause the first time Mel and I watched it at home, my mom was in the room being nosy and right when Julia got down and dirty, Mel asked me what the character was doing."

Sam giggled. "What was the wicked witch of Flushing, Queens' reaction to that?"

"Well first she threatened to tan my ass if I dared to answer that question. Then she told Mel that it was something that self respecting, proper ladies never, ever do. Regardless of how much their husbands beg them to."

"Well I never did want to be proper or have self respect anyway," Sam said with a shrug. "And I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe that your mother never indulged your father."

"Whether she has or hasn't is something I prefer not to think about," Flack grimaced. "Especially when I want to keep my dinner inside of my stomach. But like I was saying. In the scene, her head clearly goes out of the view of the camera and then Richard Gere gets that look on his face that us guys get when someone is going down on us."

Sam roared with laughter. "Men have a look for that moment? Are you kidding me? There's a look that you guys have patented for such an occasion? Is it a 'I'm the luckiest sonofabitch in the world and I wish she'd do this more often' look or is it a 'she's okay at it, but I wish she'd practice more?' kind of look?"

Flack considered his options. "Well in your case it's definitely the former. Although…"

"Although?" she tilted her head back to look at him, a frown on her face. "How can there be an although?"

"I was just going to say that while you've become an expert at it thanks to me being such a patient teacher and willing guinea pig…"

She rolled her eyes.

"…and it wouldn't hurt if you did it a little more often."

"Okay…first off…I do it enough. You should be on your knees bowing before me for the amount of times in one week alone that I do it. 'Cause trust me, Don, you're goddamn lucky and if you were to tell your buddies how much I do oblige you, they'd faint from the shock. Because they are not getting that even as a quarter as much as you are. And second? What is it with this thinking that the world would be a much better place if there were more blow jobs?"

"Because it would be. Think about it. Think about how completely relaxed I am afterwards. I'm practically comatose. It doesn't matter how crappy my day was or how pissed off I was when I walked in the door. When you're finished, I am putty in your hands. Right?"

She nodded.

"Well if all the wives and the girlfriends and lover of world leaders gave their men head more often, they would turn into massive pacifists. They'd be all calm and relaxed. No cares in the world. So what does that tell you? Want world peace, babe? Start a worldwide movement encouraging the twice daily practice of giving blowjobs."

"Twice a day?" she arched her eyebrows. "You honestly can't be serious."

"I am. It's a small price to pay for calm in the middle east don't you think?"

"I think that your logic is all sorts of twisted," she said. "But your mind, for the most part, is so fantastically dirty. And trust me, I am very grateful that I get to benefit from it."

He grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "So how about my Pretty Woman moment?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry…I'm not into role playing."

"Come on, Sammie. The way you were doing it earlier? First time I've ever seen you that into it. So I figured, seeing as you like doing it so much…"

"Wait a second. I don't do it 'cause I like it," she informed him. "I do it 'cause you like it when I do it. And I've already contributed to world peace once today."

"How come you get a Pretty Woman moment and I don't?" he asked, as he reached up for a strawberry. "That doesn't seem quite fair," he complained, then took a bite out of the small fruit.

"Because Pretty Woman is a chick flick and I'm a chick," Sam reasoned. "Did I not let you watch Ranger's highlights in the tub? Here we are, completely naked together and you're being allowed to watch ESPN when we could be indulging in some kinkiness. So if you ask me, that makes up for no oral for you."

"Kinkiness, huh?" Flack held the remaining half of the strawberry up to her mouth, tantalizingly skimming it along her lips. "Kinkiness always trumps the hockey highlights. You know that."

"Are you honestly admitting that I come before your beloved Rangers?" she asked.

"Baby, you come before everything," he replied, and kissed and nuzzled the side of her neck. "Well…" he pressed his lips to her shoulder before resting his chin on it. "That is unless the Rangers are _actually _playing."

"You started out so well," she laughed, attempting to capture the strawberry with her mouth, only to be frustrated when he pulled his hand back and held it out of reach. "You had me all buttered up with your sweet talking and then you go and say something like that."

"Oh well…" he said with a chuckle, as he teased her lips once again with the berry as his free hand slowly roamed her thigh. "No big deal, right? Considering we both know it's the dirty talk you like best."

She simply smiled, and wrapping her fingers around his wrist, held his hand still as she drew the strawberry between her lips and into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savouring the sweet flavour before swallowing, and then taking his fingers one by one into her mouth, licked and suck each one clean.

"Okay…is this the start of the kinkiness?" Flack asked hopefully, desire evident in his voice.

"Actually…I need to talk to you about something first. Here…" pushing herself into a sitting position, Sam carefully got onto her knees. Grabbing the bottle of champagne, she filled his glass. "You're going to need this," she said, as she set the bottle down on the ledge ad held out the flute.

"Christ…" he muttered, accepting the drink from her before taking her by the upper arm with his free hand and helping her back down into a sitting position between his legs. Facing him this time. "Can't be good if you're plying me with alcohol," he said. "What are you going to do? Dump me while we're naked in a whirlpool tub in Las Vegas?"

She frowned and snatched the champagne back. "Obviously you don't need this," she told him. "You're already stoned drunk if you're making a stupid ass comment like that."

"Okay…so we ruled out the 'we need to talk', which is code language for 'I don't want to see you anymore'," he concluded, taking the flute back and sipping the expensive champagne. "So you're either pregnant or this is work related."

"A big fucking no on the first. You think I'd be drinking if I was having a baby? Don't be a tool. And it's a somewhat on the work thing."

"Somewhat?"

"It's about Adam calling you so much and how I know what it's about," Sam said.

"Okay…"

"I know that Zack has been stopping by the lab looking for me. Wanting to talk to me. And I know that both you and Adam thought that you were protecting me by not telling me about it. And believe me Donnie, I love you both for that. I know you're both just worried about me. So I'm not pissed that you never said anything to me. But…"

"Always a but," he sighed, and swigged his champagne.

"But you're both taking Zacks's intentions out of context. He's not coming around because…"

"Out of context?" Flack's eyes were cold as they burrowed into her. "Out of fucking context?"

"You're assuming the worst and…"

"I'm assuming the worst?" he fought to control his temper. "I'm assuming the worst when your psychopathic ex-boyfriend, who used to beat you into oblivion and who came to New York City with the sole intention of getting you back, shows up at my desk threatening me and spewing all kinds of bullshit? He showed up at your apartment and hurt you, Sam. He thinks he can scare you and intimate you. And you have the nerve to tell me I'm thinking the worst?"

"Donnie, please just calm down and listen to me…"

"I hired a CI of mine to teach that fucker a lesson! A lesson I could have easily taught him myself but didn't 'cause you didn't want me involved like that! A lesson he obviously didn't learn!"

"Please don't yell at me," she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "Please…I just…please don't yell. Don't be mad at me."

"I am not…" he sighed heavily and struggled to compose himself. "I am not mad at you," he assured her, his voice quiet and less harsh. "I'm sorry. I just see red when you mention that guy."

"I know. And you have every right to. But I need you to listen to me, Don. Can you do that?"

He nodded.

"Zack isn't going to the lab because he wants me to take him back. He's going there because he wants to talk to me. Because he wants to make amends. Because he's met someone and he feels that it's a permanent thing. And he wants to put our past behind him so he can move on with a clear conscience."

"Are you kidding me?" Flack laughed at that. "A clear conscience? He can actually have a clear conscience after the hell he put you through? He wants to make amends? Well how fucking big of him. He's just a a regular martyr, isn't he. You can not honestly tell me you're going to fall for that shit!"

"I think he has a point," Sam admitted.

Flack snorted and shook his head in disbelief. "How gracious of him to move on with his life. Too bad that whoever the girl is, she's going to end up in the same situation you did. Once an abuser, always an abuser. You know that."

"I don't need the cop side of you right now, Don!" she exclaimed. "I'm not talking to you as a colleauge. I am talking to you as my boyfriend. As the man I want to spend the rest of my life with! That is what I need, okay?"

"Fine…" he relented, and gulped down his champagne. "How do you know all of this anyway? How'd you know that…"

"Zack left a message on my cell phone two days ago," she said.

His eyes widened. "And you didn't tell me this because…"

""Because it was a friendly, non threatening message. If it hadn't have been, I would have told you right away. He just wants us to sit down and talk and put things behind us. So he can get on with his life."

"And what? He needs your permission to do that? He wants your blessing? Give me a break, Sam. Call him back and tell him to go fuck himself. Then ask who the poor bitch is that he's with so you can send her a sympathy card."

"It's Kendall," Sam blurted out.

Flack stared at her.

"I don't know exactly how they met or when," she continued. "I just know that they're together. And that according to Zack, he's crazy about her and she's completely unlike anyone he's ever known and she's transformed him completely. She makes him want to be a better man."

"He's full of fucking shit," Flack said angrily. "He's purposefully hooked up with someone you know so he can get close to you. So he can weasel his way back into your life. He's not into Kendall. He's into making your life a living hell."

"You don't know that," Sam gently argued.

"I do know that!" he snapped. "I know tons of guys just like him! I've sat across an interrogation table froim guys like him dozens of times. He's a pathological liar. He's insane, he's manipulative, he's dangerous. And he will suck you right in all over again. He will twist you and turn you until you don't know if you're coming or going. And then you'll…"

"And then I'll what?" she asked. "Then I'll go back to him? I'll fall under his spell and he'll turn me against you? Are you for real, Don? Are you listening to yourself? After everything we've talked about tonight. After we talked about us and marriage and forever. Do you honestly think that will happen? That Zack has that kind of power over me?"

"He did," Flack told her. "At one time he did."

"At one time! Exactly! And I got away from him and I moved on with my life! I moved on with you, Don. And you've taught me that it's okay to be scared and weak and to sometimes have to rely on somebody. That it's okay to lean on you when I need to. Or ask for your help if I need it. And most of all you've taught me how to trust somebody wholly and completely. And you've made me feel safe and secure and I haven't felt like that in a long time. I don't think I've ever felt like that. I've always been this frightened, insecure little girl hiding behind this bad ass, bitchy exterior. And you saw through it and you accepted me. As is."

"I love you, Sammie. Regardless of whatever issues and baggage you bring to the table. And I know that I've said time and time again that I'd have your back no matter what, but I can't have your back in this. I think…no I know…that Zack is playing you so that he can worm his way back into your good graces. So that you'll let your guard down and start feeling comfortable around him again. And then he'll just wait until you're vulnerable and he'll…"

"He'll what? What will he do, Don? What can he possibly to do me? I'm surrounded by cops! Even on my day off I'm surrounded by badges. If I'm not with you I'm with Danny and Lindsay. If I'm not with them I'm with Jess. If I'm not with her I'm with Stella or Hawkes. And Adam, he's…."

"Adam is not a cop," Flack corrected her. "He's a lab rat. What can he possibly do?"

"Adam is my brother. And as my brother you'll not talk about him like that and you'll respect him," she informed him angrily. "I trust him with my life. When everyone else abandoned us., Adam and I always had each other. He's been with me through thick and thin and I would do anything for him. Anything. And you won't talk about him like that. Understand me?"

Flack blinked, taken back by her harsh tone and the vehemence in her eyes. And for once, he found himself speechless.

"Adam deserves better than that. He's an amazingly talented, fantastically intelligent, kind hearted and loving person. I will defend him to anyone. Even you. The same way I've defended you to him over and over again in the past five months. Do you honestly think he likes us being together? That he's okay with the fact his sister is dating someone he works with?"

Flack shook his head.

"He hates it. He hates the entire idea. But you know what? He sucks it up and plays nice with you and tries to be buddy, buddy with you. Out of respect and love for me. And it's out of respect and love for me that you should treat my brother the exact same way.

"Sammie, I was upset, okay? I was upset that you'd kept this whole Zack contacting you thing secret from me. You can't keep something like that back and not expect me to stay calm about it. Especially after the lengths we went to to stop Zack before he could do anything to you. Do you think that I did all of that, took you to Terrence Davis just for shits and giggles? We hired someone to put a beat down on your ex. A convicted felon working for me. That's some serious shit, Sammie. So excuse me for getting a little ticked 'cause you're making light of it."

"It doesn't give you the right to bad mouth my brother just 'cause you're ticked," she responded, and turning sideways and laying her palms on the ledge of the tub, pushed herself up onto her knees and reached for the towel that lay in a heap on the floor.

"I wasn't…" Flack sighed heavily, then bit his lip contemplatively. Getting angry with her and saying nasty things would only stoke the proverbial fire.

The harder and longer and louder he fought with her, the meaner and more irrational she'd become. The argument would spiral quickly out of control and last forever. And after all of the yelling and hurtful, spiteful words that couldn't be recaptured once they left their mouths were said, someone would storm out in an attempt to cool down. That just wasn't the logical, mature way to handle things. And at that moment, being logical and mature was entirely up to him.

* * *

"Look babe," he reached out and capturing her by the forearm, gently forced her to sit back down. "I'm sorry I said that about Adam. It just slipped out, okay? It was a stupid ass thing to say and unfortunately, when I'm pissed, I say a lot of stupid ass shit. But your brother…I know how much he means to you. And how much you mean to him. And I do like him and I do respect him. Mostly 'cause of how he is with you. Because he adores you and would walk to the ends of the earth for you. And 'cause I know he has your best interests at heart. He just wants you to be happy."

"And I am happy and he accepts that. He doesn't have to like it but he accepts it."

"I know…but me and your brother…we're polar opposites, Sammie. And we're trying. We're both trying. Because we both love you and we both know that is being buddies is what you want. He's your brother and a huge part of your life. And because of that there isn't anything I wouldn't do for that guy."

She managed a smile.

"But when it comes to Zack? You can argue with me until you're blue in the face. Nothing is going to change my mind about that sonofabitch and nothing is going to make me happy with the idea of you sitting down with him and having a heart to heart. He's crazy and he's dangerous and I don't trust him. You always tell how much you trust my instincts on the job. Well trust them with this, babe. Zack is playing you. He's full of shit. He's feeding you and most likely Kendall, a total bunch of crap. He's probably got her thinking that he's wildly and crazily in love with her. That he's her knight in shining armour. And you know what's going to happen? He's going to use her to get to you. And she won't even know it until it's too late."

"You don't know that," Sam insisted. "This time it could be the real deal. He could be…"

"Could be what? Telling the truth? Zack doesn't know what telling the truth is. And you're smarter than this, Sammie. You're a fiercely intelligent woman. So don't let someone like him make you look completely stupid. You got out. You escaped. Don't let him suck you right back in. You owe him nothing. And by agreeing to sitting down and talking to him, you're making it look like he did nothing wrong. Like you're the one that has something to feel guilty about. Think about all those women you've seen in your career that couldn't get out of relationships like that. Or who got out only to be dragged back in again. I don't want you to end up like that, Samantha."

"Neither do I," she admitted in a small voice.

"Then trust me about this, babe. He's handing you a line of shit. He's going to try to manipulate you all over again. Don't give him that kind of power. If you want to talk to him that badly, don't do it alone. I'll go with you. And if you don't feel comfortable with me there, take Danny. Take your brother. Take Jess. But don't go and see him alone. Okay?"

She nodded. Then shivered. "The water's freezing," she complained, anxious to change the subject. "Think we could take our nakedness to another room? Have our own moment instead of something from some stupid movie?"

"That depends," he said, and reaching out, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him.

"On what?" she asked, her breasts flattened against his chest and her legs fitting between his as she curled her arms around his neck.

"On whether you still want to have a moment considering I'm being such a tool," he replied.

"Well tool is a little harsh," Sam said, as she played with the chain around his neck. "Now I was thinking more along the lines of bossy," she pressed her lips to his forehead. "Demanding," she pecked his left cheek. "Arrogant," she kissed his right cheek. "Pig headed…" she placed her lips against his chin. "Those were more the words that I was thinking of."

He grinned, and as one hand slid from her hip to the small of her back and down onto her ass, the other travelled up to the back of her head, quickly and easily disposing her of the elastic holding her hair up in its high ponytail. Her tresses tumbled freely down her back and over her shoulders and felt luxurious against his skin. Burying his fingers in her hair, he pulled her into him roughly, his lips capturing hers in an aggressive, demanding kiss.

There was no hesitation on her part. She kissed him eagerly in return, allowing his tongue access to her mouth, her body shuddering against his as his hand gently glided over her ass, then giving a moan as his fingers slipped between her smooth, firm cheeks and one fingertip grazed against the sensitve, tight opening.

"Don't…" she protested at the thought of intrusion. Breaking the kiss, she pulled away from him, a fearful look in her eyes. "I don't…you promised me you'd never do that….put something…._there_."

"I wasn't going to baby. I was just…"

"Just please don't," she pleaded.

He gave her a reassuring smile, then moved his hand back to her hip. "I'm sorry…better?"

She nodded, and sliding her body further up his, entangled her fingers in his short hair and yanked his head towards her for another kiss. She was aggressive and needy. The hold on his hair was nearly painful as her tongue pushed impatiently into his mouth. She was sure of what she wanted and knew exactly how to get it. And to Flack, that confidence and take control attitude was a massive turn on. Without breaking the kiss, she shifted her position in the tub, maneuvering herself until she was straddling his thighs. Their tongues mated frantically as his hand roamed her body. Slowly and teasingly travelling along the entire length of he spine and up to the base of her neck and back down again. Gliding softly over her hip and across his side and over her stomach. He felt her shiver as his fingers drifted over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

She arched against him in anticipation as a finger slipped in between her folds and grazed against her clit. Then whimpered in disappointment as his hand retreated and instead slipped up her torso to lightly cup her left breast. She moaned, pulling out of the kiss as his thumb brushed across her nipple. It was painfully erect and begging for attention as he rolled it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Her fingers were applying pressure to his head, directing him downward. As he blazed a trail of kisses over her shoulder and along her collarbone and then down over the top of her breast, his eyes remained riveted on her face, enjoying watching her reaction to his ministrations. Her eyes were tightly closed as she bit her lip in anticipation. Goosebumps pricked her pale, smooth flesh. While the water was barely luke warm and a definite chill hung over the bathroom, their body heat was indescribable.

Holding her breast in his hand, he circled the nipple with the tip of his tongue. Once. Twice. Three times. Spurred on by her ragged breathing and the feel of her body quivering against him. She was on a hair trigger and it wouldn't take much to bring her to completion. And he briefly wondered, as his tongue and lips and teeth continued to lavish attention on her entire breast but stopping shy of taking the nipple into his mouth and option to retreat the moment he got too close, if it was the alcohol she'd consumed that was responsible for her body's response or it was a genuine reaction to him.

He hoped it was the latter.

As he continued to work on her breast, he combed his fingers through her hair while his free hand slipped up her thigh and disappeared between her legs. She gave a long, drawn out sigh and her head fell back as he rubbed her aching clitoris in a firm, rapid circle before pushing two fingers inside of her. She was warm and tight, and still sensitive from their earlier love making and their moment in the elevator. She whimpered from the slight pain that coursed through her, and grabbed his hand and held it in place when he attempted to remove his fingers in favour of finding another way to get her off.

"I'm fine," she assured him, pressing kisses along his jaw. "I'm fine…don't stop…please don't stop…"

"I don't want to hurt you and if you're…"

"I'm okay…" she insisted, then bore down on his fingers at the same time she scraped her teeth along his jugular vein. "I said I was okay…I don't want you to stop…you don't want to stop…do you?"

He shook his head, and applied pressure to her clit once again as he commenced moving his fingers in and out of her. Slow and gentle at first, then harder and faster. Deeper. She groaned loudly and bit down on his ear lobe before her forehead dropped to his shoulder and her nails dug into his scalp. The water splashed around them, the sounds of their ragged breathing filled the bathroom. She removed on hand from his hair and dragged her nails down his chest before it disappeared beneath the water and found his cock. Her hand closed tightly around it, working him with painfully slow strokes as he fingered her at the same pace.

"Feel good, baby?" he whispered against her ear. "Tell me how good it feels."

"So good…." she managed, her voice quaking. "So good…"

"You like it when I do this to you?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Tell me exactly what you like Sammie. Tell me what you need me to do to get you off. I wanna hear you tell me what you want me to do. Tell me what you need."

"I need…" she moaned loudly as one of his fingers brushed against her g-spot. "I need you to…."

"Need me to what?" he asked patiently, gritting his teeth in an effort to hold back his own need and his own desire. Her hand working him so easily and quickly towards completion. There was no way in hell that he was going to let that happen. That he was going to let himself get off before he had a chance to do it for her first. Squeezing his eyes shut, he struggled to calm himself. To mentally talk himself down.

"Tell me what you need," he repeated, fighting vainly to control his breathing. "This is about you right now. Tell me what you need me to do."

"I…I can't…I can't tell you…you already know…"

"I want to hear you say it," Flack told her. "I want to hear the words come out of your mouth. Do you need it like this?" he slowed the pace of his fingers.

She whimpered and shook her head.

"Or do you need it like this?" he asked, and removing them completely, adding a third finger to the mix before pushing roughly into her.

She cried out against his shoulder.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, using his free hand to push her hair off of her shoulder, his lips feasting on the side of her neck. "Maybe I like hearing you tell me what you like. Maybe it turns me on to hear you talk like that. Maybe it turns you on to hear yourself talk like that. No reason to be so shy, babe. There's nothing you can so or do that would surprise me."

"Oh God…" she breathed, her eyes closed, her forehead pressed against his shoulder. "Oh God…"

"Just let it happen…" he encouraged, stroking her hair softly as continued to gasp and shudder against him. "Don't hold it back…just let it happen…"

"I need…I want you….inside of me…not like this…just not like this…"

"It's going to have to be like this. We don't have any protection and even if we did, we couldn't…"

She shook her head vigorously. "I don't care…inside of me…please…not like this…"

"Sammie…we gotta get out of here then. Because we…"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said. "I'm yours and your mine and if it happens it happens. If I get…does it matter now? After everything we've talked about, does it really matter anymore? If it does happen? Will it be such a horrible thing?"

"But we agreed that…"

"We would keep it, right? Either way?"

"Of course we would. But you…"

She kissed him to silence him. "Just this one time…" she assured him, as she kissed and licked and nibbled at his ear. "Just this once and then we'll go back to what we were doing before. Just this one time."

The rational side of Flack's brain told him that this was not a good idea. She wasn't in her right frame of mind and if she had have been, she would have been the one insisting they haul ass on out of there so they could use protection. The rational side always told him that she'd regret this in the morning. She'd realize what they'd done and be horrified with herself. And that he'd be horrified for every agreeing to it in the first place.

Then there was a small, irrational side that told him that while they weren't in the best place in their lives at the moment, a baby was not a horrific thing. It was a human life that they would have created together. Two people that loved each other wholly and completely despite the sometimes unhealthy, dysfunctional nature of their relationship. Two people that would walk through hell for each other. And who would love their child with every ounce of being inside of them.

He groaned loudly as her hand continued working it's magic. Truth be told, that wasn't the way he wanted to go out, either. He would have much rather preferred the sensation of being inside of her, of feeling her come around him then having to rely on mutual masturbation to get each other off.

_Fuck it, _he thought. _Fuck the rational side. _

"Move your hand…" he instructed. "If this is what you really want…"

She nodded.

"Move your hand," he repeated.

She obliged, then winced at the feel of his fingers biting into her hips as he switched her position.

"All you got to do is put your legs around my waist, okay? That's all I need you to do, babe. Alright?"

She nodded again, and shivered as she felt the tip of his cock pressing against her opening. Circling his waist with her legs, she gave a long, loud moan as he pushed inside of her with one strong, quick thrust. His eyes closed, his fingers dug into her soft flesh at the sensation that coursed through his body. She was hot and tight and welcoming, and her hips moved in time with his. They wasted no time. No slow, tender movements. All urgent, needy and brisk thrusts that brought them closer and closer to the edge with each passing second. There were no whispered words of love or encouragment. They both kept their eyes closed. Her head was tilted back, exposing her slender neck and he suckled at the hallow of her throat.

"I'm not going to last long," he warned her, as he trailed kisses along her collarbone.

She didn't respond. At least not verbally. She instead grabbed a hold of one of his hand and moved it between them. He rubbed her clit vigorously, matching the movements of his hips as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside of her. She laid her hand over his, encouraging faster and harder stimulation. He bent his head to suck at one of her nipples, and when he drew it into his mouth and suckled at it firmly, she lost complete control. Crying out his name as her orgasm thundered through her. The power of it reducing her to a whimpering, panting heap as she collapsed onto him. Her hips buck as she rode out the last waves of ecstasy, the contractions of her inner muscles conspiring against him and causing him to tumble over the edge himself. He moaned loudly, saying her name against her shoulder as he came deep inside of her.

* * *

For several long minutes neither of them moved. Their bodies continued to shudder against each other. Their hearts pounded into their chests. Sweat, despite the chill in the room, beaded on the foreheads and trickled down their backs.

Eventually Sam pulled away first, her legs releasing the grip on his waist. She raised her head from his shoulder and she smiled dreamily at him.

"You okay?" Flack asked.

She nodded, and taking his face in her hands, kissed him lovingly. "Are you?" she inquired.

"Would I have this goofy ass grin on my face if I wasn't?" he chuckled.

She laughed as well, and gave him a longer kiss.

"We definitely need to get out of this tub now," he commented. "I wouldn't exactly say this is the most hygienic water now…"

"Ewww…" she giggled, and slowly climbed off of him. "Swimmers in the bathwater," she grimaced, as she pushed herself across the tub. "Pleasant."

He grinned, and turning sideways, leaned over the tub and grabbing a towel, tossed it in her direction. "Let's get you to bed," he said.

"Hmmm…this could very well be my Top Gun moment," she mused.

He arched an eyebrow. "Do you have movie moments for everything?"

"It was my favourite part of the movie," she told him, as he stood up and climbed out of the tub. Licking her lip as she eyed him approvingly as he reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

"And what part was that?" Flack asked, as he reached for her hand and helped her to her feet. Taking the towel from her, he draped it around her shoulders and began to gently dry her off.

"The part where Kelly McGillis says, 'Maverick, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever'. Did you see that movie? You must have seen Top Gun."

"One of my favourites. Made me want to be a fighter pilot when I grew up. You remember what his response was to that?"

She nodded, then found herself pulled into his arms and engulfed in a passionate kiss. "Yeah…" she sighed happily, after the kiss had ended. "That was pretty much his reaction."

"They didn't include a kinky part," Flack said "But you just know they got down and dirty back at her place. It was inevitable."

"Let me guess, on top of being a fighter pilot, you also had wet dreams imaging what he did do to her afterwards," Sam teased.

He just grinned in response. "Wanna have your Top Gun moment, Sammie?"

She nodded energetically.

"Go on and say it. I know you're dying to. And honestly, I'm dying to hear it."

Giving a devilish smile, she reached out to run a finger tip along his stomach. "Detective Flack, you big stud…" she drawled, as she played with the towel. "Take me to bed or lose me forever."

He smirked, then elicited a hysterical giggle from her as he scooped her up effortlessly and carried her from the bathroom.

"You don't have to tell me twice," he said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Your support, well wishes and kind words definitely keep me going! So thanks to all of you! Even the lurkers!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Laurzz**

**Afrozenheart412**

**muchmadness**

**Forest Angel**

**Madison Bellows**

**xsamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	67. In the morning hours

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.**

**A/N: SLIGHT SMUT AHEAD. JUST GIVING A FAIR WARNING.**

**WELCOME TO TWO NEW RL BABIES! AUSTIN NOAH (CONGRATS ON BEING A NEW AUNTIE MICHELLE) AND JAYDEN MICHAEL! BOTH BORN YESTERDAY!**

**I WANT TO DEDICATE THE SECOND HALF OF THIS CHAPTER TO MY AMAZING FRIEND DORI. SHE'LL KNOW WHY WHEN SHE READS IT….**

**AND CONGRATS TO MADISON BELLOWS AND AFROZENHEART412. THE TIE IN TO YOU ONLY DIE ONCE WAS THE SONG SICK, SICK, SICK BY QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE! COOKIES TO BOTH OF YOU!**

* * *

**In the morning hours**

"If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late  
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?  
Would you live each moment like your last?  
Leave old pictures in the past?  
Donate every dime you have?  
If today was your last day

Against the grain should be a way of life  
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight  
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try  
So live like you'll never live it twice  
Don't take the free ride in your own life."  
-If Today Was Your Last Day, Nickelback

* * *

Flack woke to sunlight flooding the hotel room and the sound of Sam's incessant chattering. Flat on his back in the middle of the rumpled bed, he cracked an eye open and swore loudly when he found himself nearly blinded by the sun's harsh rays as they cascaded through the massive windows just a mere ten feet away. The curtains had been completely drawn back and the sliding door cracked open, allowing a refreshing breeze to tumble into the room. Groaning in protest at the light's assault on his senses, he closed his eyes one again and yawned noisily. Running a hand over his weary, unshaven face and through his messy hair, he placed both hands behind his head and allowed his body to relax as it was bathed in warmth and he breathed in the fresh air that filled the room.

The Las Vegas strip was quiet save for the odd honking of a horn as cars trickled by. You definitely didn't experience many morning like that in New York City. Especially in their hectic lower Manhattan neighbourhood. By six in the morning, the traffic was already flowing at a steady pace and pedestrians were already out on the sidewalks. Walking their dogs, going for a jog, heading out to grab a paper from the box on the corner of the bodega down the street. Their conversations floated on the air as garbage and recycling trucks began to make their rounds. The crashing and banging on metal cans and the profanity that flowed from the workers' mouths were nearly unbearable. And to add insult to injury, the upstairs neighbour - a bank teller at First National in mid-town- showered at exactly quarter to seven every morning, Monday to Friday. For a half an hour. The building was old and the pipes shuddered and wailed in protest the entire time the water was running. Once the shower was turned off, the radio was soon flicked on in the bedroom and half an hour later, the sound of high heels clomping on the hardwood floors began. Back and forth, back and forth. Over and over again.

So this -the refreshing breeze that tickled your bare skin, the absence of traffic and no noise coming from the room above- as far as Flack was concerned, was nothing short of heaven.

"Well I don't think Danny actually meant it the way it sounded," Sam's voice, quiet and sympathetic, cut into his dozy state. "I mean, I seriously don't think he meant to call you fat or anything…did those words actually come out of his mouth or…"

Flack opened his eyes and looked over to where his girlfriend sat on top of the comforter, her back towards him, her right knee pressed against his left thigh. She always desired some form of physical contact with him. Whether it be their knees touching under the table as they sat next to each other during one of Mac's team meetings, or their arms brushing against one another while they walked down the street while on the clock. She craved the closeness and needed to affirm her presence and wanted the reassurance and security being close to him provided her with. In private, she loved to cuddle and hold hands and was the most relaxed when his arms were wrapped securely around her. She was incredibly affectionate. Sometimes to a fault. And he was attempting to learn to more affectionate with her and that affection extended far beyond sexual intimacy.

Sam needed that affection. That tender, loving and attentive side that Flack knew he possessed, but had never felt comfortable enough to show anyone before. He personally thought he was doing remarkably well. It was a struggle to bear that much of himself to someone, but he was genuinely trying his hardest. And she was patient and understanding and didn't pressure him for too much too soon.

_Not to mention she's so incredibly hot,_ he thought with a grin. That morning, she was clad in a pair of royal blue satin pyjama pants and a matching halter style top that showed off the creamy, smooth skin of her arms, shoulders and back. Her hair was pulled back and twisted and turned and held together by a large clip. While he loved seeing that slender neck on full display, she was impossibly sexy when her hair was done. And a completely turn on to feel the silkiness of those tresses fisted in his hands or gliding over his body. Reaching out, he trailed his fingertips lightly along her shoulder blade and then done her spine. Stopping at the hem of the top that sat an inch below the middle of her back.

She shivered at the feathery touch, then glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled softly. "Good morning," she mouthed, as she listened to the caller on the other end of her cell phone. Her personal cell that was. A metallic pink, flip phone with a Hello Kitty charm that she'd attached to the antenna.

"Good morning," he said, returning her smile with a sleepy one of his own and giving her a wink.

It was a hell of a good morning. Made even more so by the amazing night that they had shared together. Sleep had finally claimed them shortly before four in the morning. Light hearted teasing, slow, lazy kisses and quiet pillow talk interspersed with sleepy giggles had quickly given way to exhaustion. And they'd fallen asleep in a mess of wrinkled sheets and sweaty, tangled limbs. He had felt her, hours later, moving alongside of him and had heard the rustle of sheets and felt her slip out of bed. He was pretty sure that he'd asked her what was wrong, and that she'd complained about being unable to sleep naked and that she needed to put some pyjamas on. He faintly recalled the feel of her hair falling on his face and his bare chest as she leaned over the bed to kiss him. Anything that happened afterwards was a total blank.

"Well you see, bumpkin…" Sam said into the phone. "…I think you're just taking what Danny said way too personally. All he said was, 'do you really need that fifth donut?"…I doubt that he was taking a swipe at your weight…I think he was trying to prevent you from making yourself sick. I mean five honey crullers? Don can't even stomach that many at once."

Flack cleared his throat noisily, then when Sam looked back at him, held up both hands and showed six fingers.

She grimaced. "Okay, so obviously I underestimated his appetite once again," she laughed. "Because he's informing me he can eat half a dozen in one sitting...Well there's a huge difference between you and him, Linds. For one, you're all of five foot three and a hundred pounds soaking wet. He's a living, breathing, six foot two, two hundred pound garbage disposal."

Frowning, Flack rolled over onto his side and pushing himself down the bed, wrapped an arm around her waist and with his free hand, lifted the bottom of her top and pressed warm, soft kisses along the small of her back.

"Trust me, Linds…" Sam continued. "Danny was _not_ calling you fat. He was merely concerned with preventing you from barfing your guts out…I am sure of it…I think you're being way too sensitive and that your hormones are in overdrive…."

"That makes two of us," Flack chuckled, and began to trace the outline of her tattoo with the tip of his tongue.

Sam gave a small squeak and her back arched, the sensation sending chills through her entire body. "Just hang on for a second." she said into the phone. Reaching behind her, she laid her hand on her boyfriend's forehead and pushed him away from her. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"No," he laughed, and slipped his hand between her legs.

"Don…knock it off…" she ordered, and grabbed a hold of his hand to prevent it from going any further.

"Fine…" he muttered, then directed their hands to the front of his boxers. "Is that better?" he asked.

"You're a douche bag," she declared.

"Come on…you're multi-talented," he said with a wicked grin. "You can talk to Lindsay and do a little something-something for me at the same time."

Sam rolled her eyes gave a loud, exasperated sigh and grabbed a hold of his hand. "If you hear Don begging for help it's 'cause I'm killing him," she told Lindsay. Yanking her hand out from under his and then sitting the cell phone down on the bed, pushed herself up onto her knees. Turning around to face her boyfriend, she placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him down onto his back and climbed astride him, a knee on either side of him as she settled herself down on his stomach.

"Kinky…" he said with a smirk. "You gonna hang up or are you gonna let Monroe listen?"

"Be good," Sam warned him and picked her phone back up. "Are you there, bumpkin?" she asked. "Yeah…he's being a total pig. But what else is new? He thinks I was put on this earth to serve him. To just put out wherever and whenever. It's not enough that he corrupted me half a dozen times last night. He's got to pounce first thing in the morning, too."

"First thing in the morning is my best time," Flack declared. "And we never get to take advantage of that back home 'cause we're too busy sleeping past the alarm and having to rush around to get ready for work. We've got no time to have sex. So hang up and tell Monroe you'll see her in four days. What part of vacation does she not understand?"

"Lindsay says to tell you that if you're that bad off, to go into the bathroom and take care of it yourself," Sam told him.

"Yeah…tell her you're nicer to me then she is to Danny and I don't have to relegate myself to that. You actually put out. And before she says anything, it only takes one time to make a baby. So I guess he got one lucky shot in."

"Don't worry, I'll punish him later for being so mean and grumpy," Sam assured Lindsay, then winked at Flack. "His favourite form of punishment. The kind that involves handcuffs."

He grinned broadly.

"Well I'm not pregnant so Don and I can have wild and crazy single people sex," Sam laughed. "We can torture and punishment each other all we want."

"And we do," he said with a laugh, and ran his hands along her thighs and up onto her sides.

"Lindsay wants you to know that the baby kicked for the first time last night," Sam told him.

"Cool…but I'm a guy and that kind of thing? Well I don't need a play by play on what the anti-Christ is up to."

Sam glared at him and grabbed a handful of chest hair.

"Ow! Okay! Okay! I'll be a good boy!" he exclaimed, wincing. "No more smart ass comments! I'll be good! I'll keep my mouth shut from here on out."

She sighed and let go of his hair.

"Well…unless…" he toyed with the drawstring on her pyjama bottoms. "…I'm just opening it 'cause I'm enjoying my before breakfast treat."

"You're a pig!" Sam declared. "Do you honestly mind? I'm trying to have a conversation here!"

"And I'm trying to get lucky! You talk to Lindsay all the time. You work with her day in and day out. And on your days off you're either hanging out together or talking on the damn phone or through email. You'll be back in New York City in four days. Which means going back to work won't be far behind and then the chances for sex will be few and far between. So excuse me if all I want to do in Vegas is fuck the…"

Sam clamped her hand over his mouth. "Sorry, Linds…he's getting a little carried away here…he's never had so much sex in his life and his brain cells are fried because of it…what is it they say? A guy loses something like fifteen million brain cells each time he comes? You know what that means? Don will be completely comatose in a couple of days. It's not like he started out with that many cells to begin with."

He frowned and pried her hand off of his mouth. Then catching her completely off guard, quickly sat up, grabbed her by the hips and tossed her down onto her back. "Hang up," he demanded, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he covered her body with his, holding his weight on one hand as the fingers of the other made short work of the bow on the drawstring of her pants.

"I am trying to…"

"Hang up," he repeated, cutting off her weak protest. "Tell Linds unless she wants to hear me doing unmentionable, dirty things to you, tell her you've got to go and you'll call her back later."

"She was just…"

"I don't care…tell her you're hanging up or she's going to find out first hand what kind of porn superstar noises come out of your mouth."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't," she said.

"You sure about that?" Flack asked, and sitting back on his heels, grabbed a hold of the waist of her bottoms and yanked them down past her ass and hips. "You want to take that chance?" he inquired, and pulled the pants down her legs and clear off of her.

"Don't screw around," Sam said in response, turned on at the thought of him willing to do something to her while she was on the phone. Voyeurism had never been her thing, but there was something so sexually thrilling about the idea of him going down on her while someone else listened. "You wouldn't do something like that," she told him.

He grinned and ran his hand from her ankle, up her leg and around to her inner thigh. "Hang up," he ordered.

"Linds, I gotta go….apparently Don's more twisted and perverted then I thought."

"You've got three seconds, Sammie," he warned, as he walked his middle and forefinger along her thigh, slowly zeroing in on the ultimate prize. "Three seconds to hang up or I'm going to do it whether or not you're on the phone or not. One…" his fingers gently combed through the soft, short hair between her. "Two…" a finger tip graced over her clit, a grin of immense stultification curving his lips as he realized she was already wet. "Th…"

"I gotta go!" Sam cried into the phone and snapping it closed, tossed it aside. "What the hell is…"

"Three…" he finished and slipped two fingers inside of her.

She gave a whimper, the sensation of the abrupt intrusion coursing through her body.

"I told you I wasn't screwing around," Flack said with a chuckle, as he moved his fingers in and out of her slowly. "You always seriously underestimate me, Sammie. You should know by now not to do that. That if I'm promising or threatening to do something like this to you, I mean it. I'd never joke about something like that. I gotta admit though, the thought of her listening while I do it? Kinda turned me on."

"Me too," Sam admitted. "So you know what that means? We're both sick and twisted pervs."

"Maybe…" he gave a shrug as he continued his ministrations, his thumb joining the assault on her by circling her clit slowly. "Or maybe it just means we've got a healthy, immensely satisfying sex life. There's worse things we could be into."

She nodded in agreement, her breathing speeding up as her hips rose and fell to match the thrusting of his fingers.

"You like that, huh?" he asked, his voice hoarse as he fought to keep control. "I know what else you like, baby. What drives you absolutely insane. So you just lie there and relax and let me take care of you, okay?"

"Okay…" she squeaked out, then pouted in disappointment as he removed his fingers.

"I'll always take care of mine," he assured her, his hands applying gentle pressure to her knees as pushed her legs apart. "You ever need something, you just ask alright? Don't be shy. You just tell me exactly what you need and I'll do it for you. Alright?"

She nodded.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he encouraged, his lips blazing a trail along the inside of her thigh. "Tell me what you want from me."

"I want you to…" her words were abruptly cut off as she gasped at the sensation of his teeth scraping along her skin.

"Tell me," he insisted. "I want to hear you tell me."

"I want…" she whimpered. "I want you to…"

His lips hovered over the Hello Kitty branding that marred her skin. His eyes never diverting from her face as he waited patiently for her to continue speaking.

"I want to feel your mouth on me…" she finally managed. "Your lips and your tongue…that's what I want."

"Good girl," he whispered, then licked his way around the branding before position between her splayed thighs. One single long, slow lick had her arching her body off of the bed and her hands fisting in his hair. Three firmer, quicker ones had her screaming his name as a fast, yet powerful orgasm rocked her entire body.

He gently lapped up her juices before drawing away from her as she lay gasping and quivering. Her eyes closed as her hands released their hold on his hair. He pressed tender kisses along her thigh and all the way up her body. Passing over her fluttering stomach and along the space between her breasts. Her chest was heaving; he could hear her heart pounding in her chest as he kissed his way across her collarbone and up her neck and over her chin to her lips.

"Do you taste that baby?" he asked, as he pulled out of a long and passionate kiss. "Do you see how amazing you taste? You always ask me why I love doing that so much to you. There's two reasons. 'Cause I love making you come and I love the way you taste. Do you see realize how incredible you taste? How insanely sexy you are?"

She managed a weak nod, her eyes still closed as she raised her head for another kiss.

"You're so beautiful, Sammie," he whispered, pushing her hair away from her face and pressing his lips to her forehead. ""You're so beautiful and I love you so much."

She gave a dreamy smile. "I love you, too," she said.

He kissed her once more and allowed his hand to slowly travel the length of her body before climbing off the bed.

Her eyes snapped open. "Where are you…."

"I'm not going anywhere," Flack assured her, and quickly shed himself of his boxers.

Tossing them aside, he snagged the box of condoms off the nightstand and pulled out two. Just in case. He wasn't going to make the same mistake he did the night before. And he only hoped that the lapse of judgement wouldn't come back to haunt them. They weren't ready for a baby. He knew that. And he knew he didn't want a baby. Not at that point in his life. It was purely selfish on his part. He wanted her all to himself. He didn't want to have to share her with someone that would be completely and utterly dependant on her.

"What are you….?"

He held the condoms up in response, then climbed back onto the bed. "We gotta be careful, Sammie," he said, as he laid down on his side beside her. "Last night? In the tub? That can't happen again, okay? We're not ready for a kid. You know that. So we need to make sure that we don't get ourselves into that situation ever again."

She nodded in agreement.

"I just don't want us to…"

Laying a hand on the back of his neck, Sam pulled him into his and captured his mouth in a sizzling kiss. "I heard you the first time," she said, her hand slipping down his chest. "So how about we implement a no talk and all action rule? Starting….right now."

"I think I can do that," he said, shuddering at the feel of her lips and tongue teasing his ear.

"I have faith in you," she whispered, then took his ear lobe into her mouth. "Don't let me down."

He smiled. He had no intention of doing that to her.

Ever.

* * *

Adam yawned noisily, and popping the ear phones of his Ipod into his ears, pressed play on the mini player tucked into the breast pocket of his beige, chocolate brown and burgundy plaid shirt. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall of the elevator as it began its slow descent from the thirty-fifth floor to the lobby. It had been a hell of a long shift. Things had started out smoothly. There'd been no new cases brought to him in the first seven and a half hours of his scheduled eight hours, and just as he was gearing up to go home on time for once, he'd seen Mac, Stella and Danny hauling ass towards the elevators, slipping their weapons into their holsters and pulled on Kevlar vests as they went. A shooting at the New Rochelle Mall - a disgruntled former employee had walked into the UPS store and shot the place up- had unfortunately guaranteed Adam another twelve hours of work.

Normally he loved the extra hours. It meant more green in the bank and less time spent alone in his apartment. He had, up until he began spending every spare moment with Paisley, actually missed having his sister live with him. He had put on a brave face when she'd told him that she was moving into her own place after nearly six months of taking up his bed while he rode the couch. A couch that was tattered and worn but he would have gladly slept on for the rest of his life if it meant having his older sister living with him. It was nice to have someone to come home to. To have someone to sit and talk with and lament about his shitty day as opposed to drowning his sorrows in beer, pizza and a few rounds of Guitar Hero. Someone to run errands with and hang out with on his days off. They had spent so many years apart when they pursued their schooling in different states and eventually took up careers thousands of miles away from each other, that he was determined to make up on all the time they'd been apart. Their horrific childhoods and the torment their father had rained down onto them had formed an incredible, unbreakable bond. One that miles couldn't wear down, but only made stronger.

It was a bond that would always exist. No matter what occurred in their lives. Or who occurred in their lives. They were siblings and best friends first. And no one would ever come between them.

The elevator finally came to a stop and Adam opened his eyes and stole a glance at the illuminated numbers above the door.

At last, he thought, and pushing himself away from the wall, gave another loud yawn and raked his hand through his unruly hair as the doors opened and he stepped out into the main lobby. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy cargo pants and nodded greetings towards the lab techs who were having their purses and knapsacks checked by security before walking through the metal detectors. He was exhausted and anxious to get home. Paisley had a day off from school and their plan was to do nothing all day. Save for staying in bed, buried under the covers.

And not sleeping either.

That thought made Adam chuckle out loud as he used his shoulder to push his way through the revolving doors. He had never imagined he'd ever be as happy as he was now. After he and Kendall had broken up, he'd been heartbroken and left with little to no self confidence. He had honestly believed that he was in love with her. That she was the best thing that could ever happen to him and that he wanted to spend forever with her. He had spent hours imaging what it would be like to be married to her, to have children with her and to grow old and grey beside her. He'd window shopped at a dozen different jewellery stores, attempting each time to gather enough courage to actually step through the door and pick out a ring. And just when he'd pulled his head out of his ass and talked himself into taking the leap, she'd shattered his life. He simply wasn't good enough for her. She had grown tired of him and trying to change him into the person she wanted him to be. She didn't want the socially awkward science nerd with wrinkled frat boy clothes and baby fat still clinging to him despite the fact he was closing in on thirty.

After Kendall, Adam had given up on the thought of ever being happy again. Of finding someone that would accept him for who he was. Who would love him despite all of his eccentric ways and his OCD. Who'd look past the dishevelled hair and the unshaven face and the extra pounds and realize that he was a really great guy. That the Trekkie and Second Lifer in him was also capable of being a loving, gentle and attentive boyfriend.

"She'll come along Peanut," Sam had assured him on many occasions. When he'd bitched and moaned to her yet again over how lonely and miserable he was. "When you least expect it, it will happen. You'll meet some amazing, beautiful and intelligent woman that will sweep you off of your feet. Who will love you with every ounce of her being. Just stop looking so hard and just let it happen. Because the moment you stop searching…well that's when it will happen. Trust me."

It had happened for Sam. She had come to New York City in an attempt to flee a horrible relationship and had had no intention of getting involved with anyone. She had sworn up and down that she wanted to be alone. That she wanted to experience the single life and not be saddled down to anyone. She didn't want to feel suffocated and controlled. She didn't want to have answer to someone. She longed to come and go as she pleased. To stay out as late as she wanted without having someone monitor her every move. She wanted friends that weren't 'picked out' for her. Most of all, she wanted to be able to engage in innocent conversations with men and not have to worry about another Zack laying a beating on her because he thought she was a tease and constantly leading the guys on.

Adam had been relieved when Sam had finally gotten the courage to get the hell out of Phoenix and out of Zack's life for good. He'd been unable to help her from thousands of miles away and he'd felt completely useless during the tearful phone calls she'd made to him from the hospital emergency room each time Zack 'got upset' and decided he had the right to punish her for something stupid. And he was angry each and every time she defended the piece of shit and went back to him. All the begging and the pleading in the world couldn't keep her away from him. It couldn't stop her from thinking she deserved the beatings and the name calling. She honestly believed that Zack was as good as it got and that she couldn't do better. He had convinced her that she was disgusting and unlovable.

Following her move to New York City, it had taken her months to come out of the nearly impenetrable shell that she had built up around herself. It had both saddened and sickened Adam that his sister, once vibrant and bubbly and outgoing, no longer seemed like his sister. She was meek and mild. Extremely introverted and skittish if a male even so as much made a sudden move or raised their voice around her. She wore clothing that was meant for women twice her age because it was what Zack had wanted. He had wanted her completely covered up. He had convinced her that it was because she was repulsive to look at, when in reality it was because he didn't want other men looking at her. He was threatened by the attention a beautiful, vivacious young woman like her received. He had taken her and transformed her into a scared little girl all over again.

Stella and Angell had been the ones to step up and take her under their wings. And before long, through nights out with the girls and chats over lunch hours and time spent together working cases, they had succeeded in helping her shed the external damage that Zack had done to her. She came out of her shell and became the Sammie that Adam remembered. She laughed and smiled more, she went out on dates and club hopped on her weekends off. She dressed like a woman her age -and much to Adam's dismay, like a woman much younger sometimes- and did everything she had ever wanted. To the extreme in some cases. She got tattoos and various parts of her body pierced. She 'sexed' herself up at places like Victoria Secret and Fredrick's of Hollywood. She attracted men and while accepting several dinner invitations, had never gotten serious about anyone.

Not even Adam had known the real reason behind that. He had had no clue that she had been into Flack. The homicide detective had been off the market and Sam had quietly stayed in the background the entire time. So it had surprised Adam to find out that Flack and his sister were an item. And had been keeping it a secret for quite sometime. While he didn't approve of the pairing -it was nothing personal against Flack. He just didn't like his sister with anyone- he knew that Sam was happy. And in love. He also knew, that Flack was equally as crazy about her. It was written all over the guy's face when she so as much walked into the room and he smiled at her.

But he also knew, that Flack's devotion to his sister crossed the line sometimes. That he had an overwhelming desire to protect her. From everything and everyone. He was determined to be the exact opposite of Zack. And that determination often had Sam complaining to her younger brother that while she loved Flack and couldn't imagine her life without him, she often felt suffocated by him. While he would never hurt her, he could be controlling. A control driven from his desire to be her protector.

It was definitely something they'd have to work on together. And Adam, now that he'd relegated himself to the fact that Flack was most likely going to be his brother in law and the father of his future nieces and nephews one day, knew that his sister was in good hands. That she and Flack could overcoming anything if they just put their heads together and just got down to it.

For once, Adam wasn't worried about his sister anymore. And it was a huge weight off of his shoulders. To know that someone loved her that much and would do anything for her.

* * *

He stopped to buy a cup of coffee from the street vendor outside of the lab, and had just taken a sip of the steaming brew and had taken a few steps in the direction of his subway station, when bile and anger rose in his throat at the sight of the familiar black Ford pick up truck pulling up to the curb several feet away. He stood, his eyes narrowed and his free hand clenched in a tight fist as he watched Kendall lean across the front seat and accept a long, sizzling kiss from Zack. Adam couldn't stomach the thought of them together. Not because he still had feelings for his ex, but because he knew what Zack was like. He was sneaky and manipulative and extremely dangerous. And he couldn't bear the thought of any woman going through what his sister had gone through at the hands of the rotten sonofabitch. He genuinely cared about Kendall as a human being. And the thought of her falling victim to Zack…

He just couldn't sit back and let that happen.

Adam watched as Kendall climbed out of the truck and closed the door behind her. She gave her boyfriend one of her million dollar smiles before tapping lightly on the window with her knuckles and giving a small finger wave in farewell. Kendall looked…happy. It was clear, to even the casual observer on the street, that from her dazzling smile to the sparkle in her eyes, she was crazy about the man in her life.

_Crazy to even be with him,_ Adam thought, waiting until the truck pulled away from the curb and passed by him before making his move.

"Kendall!" he called out and jogged down the sidewalk towards her. "Wait up!"

She paused, the palm of her hand just grazing against the revolving doors. Since she'd been with Zack, the bitterness and animosity she'd shown towards both Adam and Sam had trickled to a complete stop. Long gone was the gossiping to other lab techs, the vicious stares in the locker room and labs and the cutting remarks. Kendall had made a startling transformation. She offered to help with analyzing evidence, she carried on casual and friendly conversations, and she'd shocked Sam a number of times with invitations for a night out on the town after work or a day off on the town. So far, Sam hadn't accepted. She was still pretty sore about all of the nastiness that had gone down, particularly the bullshit that had been directed at Adam. But he was pretty sure, in a few weeks time, the two women would be on their way towards a solid friendship.

"Hey Adam," she greeted him cheerfully. "You coming or going?"

"Going," he told her. "I just pulled a double and a half. Mac caught this multiple shooting down at the New Rochelle Mall…"

"I heard about that on the news this morning. Zack was saying that the US Marshal Service has an interest in the shooter. Apparently he's an ex con with a couple of federal charges pending against him."

"That's what they say…you got a minute, Kendall?" Adam's eyes and voice were hopeful. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Adam, I really don't have time right now. I need to…"

"Make time," he demanded, in a tone harsher then he'd intended it to be.

Kendall blinked in surprise.

"It's really, really important," Adam added in a softer, more reserved voice.

She gave a nod and stepped away from the door. Motioning for him to follow her, she lead the way to a park bench several yards down the sidewalk. Flipping her shimmering blond hair over her shoulders, she smoothed down the back of her powder blue trench coat before taking a seat.

"So what is this about?" she asked.

"About you," Adam replied, pulling the strap of his messenger style bag over his head and dropping it on the ground before sitting down beside her.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I thought that you were dating someone," she said.

"I am. Happily dating someone actually. In fact, we're practically living together. I haven't been this happy in…well in forever. She's completely transformed my entire life and I…" Adam paused and regarded her in amusement. "Why?" he asked. "Did you…you didn't think that when I said I wanted to talk about you that I meant I wanted to talk about you as in me and you. Because there hasn't been a me and you in a long time and I don't want there to be a me and you. I mean, a six or eight months ago sure…maybe…you know when I was walking around all depressed and mopey and unable to get on with my life. But there isn't a part of now that wants a me and you. I'm disgustingly happy and crazy about my girl and I…"

Kendall's eyes widened.

"You know what?" Adam gave a chuckle and sipped his coffee. "I'll shut up now."

She gave a light laugh and reached out to tousle his hair affectionately. "I always did find that erratic rambling so boyishly charming," she said.

He smiled. "You did?"

Kendall nodded. Then turned serious. "So what is this about then? You said that you wanted to talk about me and if this is about me as in me and you and it isn't about you and Patty…"

"Paisley," Adam interrupted. "Her name is Paisley."

"Paisley," Kendall corrected herself. "If it's not about all of that…"

"It's about Zack," Adam told her. "About _you _and Zack, actually."

"What about him?" she asked.

"You know that Zack's my sister's ex, right? That she lived with him back in Phoenix. That she was engaged to marry him and that…"

"Took off the night before the wedding and emptied the bank account and fled to New York City," Kendall finished. "I know all about that Adam. Everyone knows all about that. She was barely here two days and that story was already floating around. Not to mention when we were dating you talked about it all the time. When she was still in Arizona you talked about how you wished she get away. That he was mean and abusive. Controlling. And that you thought she could do better."

"She can do better," Adam said. "And she has done better. A million times better. And so can you Kendall."

"Look…" she laid a hand on his thigh. "I appreciate you being concerned about my personal life, but really Adam, it's none of your business."

"I'm not concerned about your personal life," Adam told her. "I'm concerned about your life in general. I know what Zack is like. I told you all about him. And that's why I can't understand, when you know what he did to my sister and what he put her through, why you'd want to be with an asshole like him."

"There's two sides to every story," Kendall reminded him, and stood up. "I've got to go. If I'm late for my shift Mac will…"

"There's not two sides to this story!" Adam informed her angrily, getting to his feet as well. "I know that Zack has probably filled your head with all kinds of bullshit about the way things were between him and Sammie. I'm sure he made himself out to be the knight in shining armour and her out to be the psychotic bitch. But none of that is true, Kendall. He's the psychotic one. You don't know what she went through. And you…"

"You don't exactly know either, Adam," Kendall argued gently. "I'm not going to stand here and argue with you about what your sister may or may not have gone through…"

"She did go through it!" he snapped. "She was tormented and abused! He beat her senseless, Kendall! If he didn't like what she made for supper he used to toss the food on the floor and make her get on her hands and knees and eat it! He used to control who she talked to, what she wore, what she put in her mouth. He used to make her wait on him hand and foot and kiss her ass. And if she dared even stand up for herself, he kicked the shit out of her."

Kendall shook her head. "Adam, you were thousands of miles away. You…"

"I was the one my sister would call from the emergency room! He used to drop her off at the front doors and make her go in alone to get looked after. He'd take off and leave her there! And he was the one who did it to her! So don't shake your goddamn head when I'm telling you about all of this!"

"I don't need to stand here and listen to this," Kendall huffed, and abruptly turned on her heel and walked away.

"You do need to stand here and listen to this!" Adam yelled, and chasing after her, grabbed a hold of her wrist and roughly turned her around to face him. "You have to listen to me Kendall! I know what Zack is like and I don't want to see you end up like my sister! I don't want…" he took a deep breath and composed himself. "I've seen the doctors reports," he said. "I've read about the broken ribs and the fractured wrist and the busted nose. The chunks of hair ripped out of her head and the split lips and black eyes. The punctured ear drum. I've read it all Kendall. Sammie didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve being beaten. She didn't deserve him cheating on her with random women. And you don't deserve that either!"

"People change, Adam," she told him. "I've changed. You've changed. Sam's changed. We've all changed. And so has Zack. He's sweet and charming and…"

"And loving and attentive and just downright amazing," Adam finished. "I've heard this all before. My sister said those exact same words when she first hooked up with him too. He's manipulative, Kendall. He's sneaky and conniving and he's a liar. This is what he does. He turns on the charm to suck you in. And before you know it, you're in too deep and things go so wrong and you can't get yourself out. I know what he's like. How he works. A leopard doesn't change his spots. Zack is the same Zack he's always been and you're falling for it. And I can't just sit by and watch that happen."

"Adam…" Kendall was quickly losing patience. "What happened between Zack and your sister…that happened way before me and he's explained the way she can get some time and…"

"And what? And you think she deserved what he did to her?" Adam stared at his ex, horrified.

"I think you love your sister so much that you're only willing to listen to her side. That you're reading too much into things."

"I do love my sister. I would do anything for my sister. But I'm not reading too much into anything. I know what he did to her and what he'd still be doing to her if she never got away. And I know that you're going to end up in the same boat that she did. And I'm worried that you're not going to be able to get yourself back out. Or that no one will care enough to help you."

"Zack and I are doing just fine," she assured him, and pushing her Balenciaga bag up further onto her shoulder, nodded in the direction of the crime lab. "I've really got to go, Adam."

"You've got to listen to me, Kendall," he pleaded, following hot on her heels as she walked briskly towards the building. "I don't want to see anything happening to you! I know that Zack seems wonderful right now. That he seems like the perfect guy and that's he telling you that he loves you and you're convinced that he's the greatest thing in the world. But trust me, this is what he does. This is how he sucks you in."

"I appreciate your concern, Adam," Kendall told him. "But I don't want to hear anymore about this. Zack's changed. He's turned over a new leaf. He's the one that's extending the olive branch to your sister."

"He's only doing that to manipulate her! He's only doing that go get back into her life."

"He doesn't need to get back into her life. She's moved on and so has he. He's doing it to be the peacemaker. Because he feels that they need to both make amends and…"

"Sammie didn't do anything wrong!" Adam snapped, startling both Kendall and himself. "It was him! All him! And he's the one that should be on his fucking hands and knees begging for forgiveness!"

She sighed heavily. "We're done here," she told him. "This is over."

Adam shook his head and watched as his ex girlfriend disappeared through the front doors of the crime lab.

_This is far from over,_ he thought.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of your support and I am so pleased that you're all enjoying this story as much as you are! And lurkers…I'm glad you're enjoying it too! **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Madison Bellows**

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**Wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	68. Becoming Mr Don Ross

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY. LIKE DUH….LOL**

**MORE ADAM LOVE COMING UP FOR ALL OF YOU PEANUT LOVERS!**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO AFROZENHEART412 AND HER REVIEW TWO CHAPTERS BACK FOR THE TITLE! **

* * *

**Becoming Mr Don Ross**

"Like a cloud full of rain shouldn't hang in the sky  
Ice shouldn't burn or a bumble bee fly  
If you feel so happy, then why do you cry?  
Oh, nothin' 'bout love makes sense  
Like an ocean liner shouldn't float on the sea  
A pearl in an oyster or a circus of fleas  
Someone so perfect can't be fallin' for me  
Oh nothin' 'bout love makes sense

Nothin' 'bout love is less than confusin'  
You can win when you're losin'  
Stand when you're fallin'  
I can't figure it out  
Nothin' 'bout love can make an equation  
Nothin' short of amazin'  
Wish I could explain it  
But I didn't know how

The way that we dance  
The reason we dream  
That big Italian tower  
Oh, how does it lean?  
Somethin' so strong shouldn't make me this weak  
Oh, nothin' 'bout love makes sense

Like the lights of Las Vegas glowin' out of the sand  
A jumbo shrimp or a baby grand  
How you touch my heart when you hold my hand  
Oh, nothin' 'bout love makes sense."  
-Nothing 'Bout Love Makes Sense, LeAnn Rimes

* * *

_This is definitely my idea of a vacation, _Flack thought, as he lay stretched across the impossibly comfortable suede sofa in the living room of the hotel suite, clad in a ratty, faded NYPD academy t-shirt and a pair of Adidas athletic shorts, the remote control for the television balancing on his stomach and an open bottle of beer sitting on the floor within reach. He was in no rush to get showered and dressed. It was shortly before noon and he had no plans to even step foot outside of the room until later in the afternoon. Las Vegas never closed, and with three days and night left to hit the casinos and indulge his girlfriend by taking her to the hot clubs she was dying to hit up, he was making the most of his quiet time. Even if that time consisted of nothing more than hanging out and being a lazy ass.

After a massive breakfast delivered by room service that he and Sam had devoured while sitting in the middle of their rumbled, well used bed, she'd hit the shower to get ready to her day out with Jess, and he'd busied himself with gathering up the dirty dishes and placing them on the room service cart that he'd then rolled out into the hallway. And then, when the buzzing of the hair dryer sounded in the bathroom, he'd hurriedly grabbed the business card he'd been given yesterday out of his dirty jeans and got on the phone to begin the first stage of his covert operation. While they had talked about, and decided on, getting engaged, he didn't want her knowing when and where it was going to happen. It was extremely important that the moment was a complete surprise.

And that it was perfect.

His attention was diverted from the ball game playing on tv as Sam stepped around the entertainment unit that served as a divider between the living area and the sleeping quarters. She looked years younger with no makeup gracing her features, and was fresh and vibrant in a spaghetti strapped sundress that skimmed her the top of her knees and bore lime green, vibrant yellow and white diagonal stripes. Lime green ballet flats and a small white leather purse completed her ensemble, and she carried a large white plastic barrette in one hand and a pair of yellow hoop earrings in the other.

She cast a glance at the television and groaned. "Baseball?" she asked, and walking over to the couch, plopped down on the edge. "Isn't it too early for baseball? I thought that didn't start until April."

"It doesn't," Flack told her. "This is the grapefruit league."

She arched an eyebrow and stared at him, awaiting clarification.

"Spring training," he explained, reaching out to softly rub the small of her back. "In Florida. ESPN shows the games. Mets are winning three one in the bottom of the second against the Cubs."

"Hmmm…" she dropped the earrings on the coffee table and pushing her hair away from her face and gathering it at the nape of her neck, secured it with the barrette. "Well if it's in Florida shouldn't it be called the orange league?" she asked.

"What?" Flack stared at her, perplexed.

"You just said it's the grapefruit league," she told him.

"That's what it's called, babe."

"Isn't Florida known for producing oranges? It's the sunshine state right? If they're known for oranges then shouldn't it be called the orange league as opposed to the grapefruit league?"

"You're kidding right?" he chuckled. "Are we actually having this conversation?"

"I just think calling it the grapefruit league is stupid," she said with a shrug. "Actually, naming it after any kind of fruit is just plain stupid. Why'd they ever do that? Who would name it after produce?"

"I don't know, Sammie…" he sighed exasperatedly. "They just call it that, okay? I don't know why and I don't care to know why. That's what it's been called for decades. It's just a name."

"Well it's stupid," she declared. "Naming something after a piece of fruit. What period did you say it was in?"

He bit his bottom lip and ran a hand over his face. "Innings, babe. They're called innings. Periods are in hockey."

"Innings, periods, whatever…"

"Are you sure you went to Dartmouth?" Flack teased. "Are you sure that that's a real diploma back home? That you have a masters in a legit program? That you didn't earn it in something like underwater door slamming or basket weaving as opposed to…"

"Very funny," she grumbled, and leaning over him, kissed him softly. "So I'm baseball illiterate," she said with a sigh.

"Well what you lack in sporting knowledge you make up for in unbelievable hotness," he chided, then laughed as she pinched his side playfully.

"So are you telling me that I'm not only a Rangers widow but I'm also a Mets widow?" she asked in mock horror.

He nodded.

"I guess that means it's a good thing I'm not above looking for 'outside help' when you're otherwise detained," she said, and gave him a wink.

"Outside help? What's that suppose to mean? Like a boyfriend or something?"

"Or something," she laughed. "Give me a break, Donnie. You seriously think I'm going to get myself a boy toy on the side because of your hockey and baseball obsessions? I mean outside help as in paying a visit to that Hidden Treasures store on Lafayette."

"Isn't that a sex store?" he asked curiously, his eyes riveted on the television.

"Uh…yeah…hence the words outside help…" she wiggled her eyebrows as she leaned over him once again and dropped a kiss on his chin.

He grinned, his hand resting on the small of her back as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and nuzzled his ear before laying her head on his shoulder. "You are one dirty little girl, Sammie. What would mommy and daddy ever say if they knew all about your penchant for handcuffs and using food as a sexual prop? Not to mention all of them naughty little undies you like to wear so much."

"Oh they know all about me being slightly twisted," she said. "I wonder what your mommy and your daddy would say if they knew how much you let me use and abuse you for my own personal gratification?"

"Well my mom, who I swear thinks the only time people should have sex is for procreation, would probably tell me I'm going to hell in a hand basket and that I should get on my knees and repent. And my old man…well he'd slap me on the back and congratulate me and then buy me a beer and ask me to spill all the tricks of my trade."

Sam laughed and kissed him once more before sitting up. "There is something so disturbing about the thought of you and your father sitting in a bar talking about sex," she declared, and reaching for her earrings, slipped one, then the other into her ears and secured them tightly with their butterfly backs.

"Well he has to live vicariously through someone. He's got three kids. That's three times in the past thirty one years that we know for sure of that's he's actually gotten himself some."

"You're slightly delusional if you think your parents have only had sex three times. And your mom…well we both know about her extra curricular activities so she's not as innocent and prudish as she lets on. Who knows? Maybe deep down, underneath the frigid, nasty bitch personality of hers, she's actually a total wild child between the sheets."

Flack grimaced. "Sammie…I'd like to keep my breakfast down, okay? Don't say things like that about my mother. I'll have nightmares for a month now."

"I am just saying…" she said, and picking up her purse, unzipped it and pulled out a tube of strawberry flavoured lip gloss. "So…" she uncapped the gloss and glided it over her lips. "Out of sheer curiosity, baby…"

Flack stared at her expectantly.

"You're not actually going to spend our entire vacation lying on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, drinking beer and watching sports, are you?" she inquired.

"And if I am?" he asked.

"You could have stayed home to do that," she said. "We're in Las Vegas. There's tons of things to see and do here. Outside of the room."

"I thought we were having an amazing time inside," he chuckled. "I don't exactly hear you complaining or protesting at the time."

"We can just spend our entire vacation looked in our room having sex," she said.

"Why not? It's our favourite past time. And we're good at it…" he winked at her and stroked the small of her back. "Really, really good at it. It's our vacation and our money. We can do whatever we want with it. And if we want to stay in the room the entire time and do nothing but f…"

"I feel whorish, okay?" she interrupted angrily. "I feel like it's the only thing that you're interested in. That the only value I have in your life is what you can get out of me sexually. And don't get me wrong…I love sex. I love every aspect of it. But I just…I hate feeling that that is the only thing that you're genuinely interested in sometimes."

"Samantha, you're an insanely beautiful and sexy woman. Don't you think if I didn't want to have sex with you that would be the more serious problem? What's wrong with us being in this sort of honeymoon stage?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. I just…when we have it that much I start to feel…"

"Whorish. I heard you the first time. What the hell makes you feel like that? 'Cause we enjoy sex together? 'Cause we have it more then the average couple? That makes you feel whorish? You're having sex on a regular basis with ONE person. Not a whole shit load of people. It shouldn't make you feel whorish. It should make you feel…wanted."

"And it does," she said. "You make me feel wanted. And loved. And safe and secure and a whole bunch of other feelings that no one has ever made me feel. But at the same time I feel like there's nothing more to me and you then that. And I don't want to feel that way. I want to know that there's more to us, as a couple, then just sex. I want us to do things together. Go on dates and stuff like that. I want us to sit and talk for hours and just enjoy each other's company. Without us always ending up in bed. I don't think that's too much to ask."

"I wouldn't have brought you to Las Vegas and spent this kind of money on you…on us…if there wasn't more to our relationship than sex, Sammie. Maybe I just like being alone with you. Maybe I'm just a selfish bastard that way. And maybe to me, in my piggish mind, being alone equals sex. I don't know. But I'm not going to apologize for being insanely attracted to you and for wanting you as much as I do. I am sorry that you feel that way sometimes. And if you want to take a step back from that side of our relationship…"

"I don't want to take a step back from anything," she argued. "I just want us to…I want us to balance every aspect of us. And lately it hasn't seemed like we were doing that. How often do we actually go out, Donnie? I'm not talking about this trip. I'm talking about when we're home. How often to do we do things as a couple?"

"I don't know…" he shrugged.

"Don't you find that a little disturbing that you don't know?"

"We work a lot, Sammie. Both of us. We work long and crazy and punishing hours. We live together but there's times we're lucky if we see each other for fifteen minutes during an entire day. If we're not working the same shifts, we're not seeing each other at all. I'm coming when you're going. There isn't a lot of time for us to do things. And when we do find the time…"

"We end up spending an entire day in bed," she finished.

"And there's something wrong with that? There's something wrong with us wanting each other? What the hell…" he took a deep breath and shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. "What the hell is this about, babe? Why do you pick fights like this? What goes through your head that you just come out with stuff like this? I don't know how many times you expect me to tell you I love you. That I want to spend my life with you. I'm not Danny. Who is constantly reassuring Lindsay about how he feels because of her own insecurities. No one should have to say it over and over again. The first ten times should be enough."

"This isn't about me not knowing that you love me," Sam told him. "I know you love me. That isn't what's in question here, Don."

"You just said…"

"I just said that I want to feel valued. I want to feel that we have more in common then just a mutual interest in getting each other off. I want us to do things together. Couple things. I want to go to movies with you and actually watch the movie. I want to walk through Central Park hand in hand. I want us to go to dinner and flirt over dessert. I want us to one night just lie in each other's arms and just enjoy each other's presence. I want to feel you kiss me and touch me outside of sex. I just want us to be…I don't know…I just want us to be more than what we are."

"And what are we Sam? In your eyes what are we? Fuck buddies?"

"Don't turn this into something ugly," she said. "You know that I don't see us that way."

"What more do you want from me?" Flack asked. "What more do you want me to say? How many times do I have to pledge my undying love and devotion to you?"

"It's not about saying it!" she cried. "It's about showing it!"

He nodded slowly as her words sank in.

"I love you and you love me. We tell each other all of the time. And we know we're both sincere about it. But sometimes…sometimes wouldn't it be nice to not have to say it? To just be able to feel it? Don't you ever think that way, Donnie? Don't you ever wish I'd show it more? That you could tell how much I love you without me having to say the actual words?"

"I've never thought about it," he admitted.

"We're both so good at saying it but not so good at showing it," she said. "It goes both ways with us. So I'm not saying it's just you, okay? I'm trying to not be so clingy and possessive and you're trying to be more affectionate and attentive. Maybe we're inadvertently working against each other."

"Maybe…who knew that being in this kind of relationship would be this goddamn confusing."

"This kind of relationship?" she asked with a grin.

"Yeah…this kind of relationship. The kind where you love someone so much you can't think straight. Where it's all consuming. Where all you do is worry about is what your life would be like without them that you stop appreciating what your life is like with them. All I know is that I want forever with you. I want you as my wife and a couple of kids. The house in the suburbs and the mini van and the…"

"The mini van?" she laughed. "That's taking things a little too far."

"I do love you, Sammie. And maybe I do suck at showing it. But I'm not afraid to say it and that has to count for something."

"It does…" she said, and pressed a kiss to his forehead as she combed her fingers through his hair. "And I'm sorry if it seems like I don't appreciate you or I don't…"

He laid a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her into him for a long, tender kiss. "Let's just both admit we've got some things we need to work on and leave it at that."

Smiling, she gave a nod and pecked the end of his nose. "You just want me to shut up so you can get back to your orange league baseball," she teased, running a hand softly over his face, clearing shimmering lip gloss off his lips with her thumb before sitting up.

He rolled his eyes, and picking up his bottle of beer, took a large swig. "You're going to be the death of me, Sammie. Or at least be the one solely responsible for sending me into an institution."

"I keep you on your toes," she said, rubbing his stomach affectionately. "Think how dull and boring your life would be without me in it."

He couldn't argue with her on that point.

"I need to go," she told him, as she consulted the watch on her right wrist. "Jess is meeting me downstairs in ten minutes."

"You've got the keys to the rental car?"

She nodded. "Be a good boy, okay? I don't want to catch word of you throwing wild parties in here while I'm gone. And if I dare find any strange thongs or g-strings under the bed or any nipple tassels lying about…"

"I promise you I will clear away any evidence that the strippers were here," he teased. "You be good, too. No maxing out the credit cards."

"Ruin all my fun," she pouted. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Seven o'clock at the East Chapel for the rehearsal," he confirmed. "I'll be there. And who knows, maybe I'll have a licence and wedding bands of our own and we can talk the minister into making it a two for one event."

"That wouldn't be such a bad thing," she said. "Would it?"

"To go back to New York City married?" he asked.

Sam nodded.

"It would shock a hell of a lot of people. But would it be a bad thing? No. Absolutely not."

She smiled and kissed him a final time. "How about we put some bling on this first…" she held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. "…and then we'll worry about what comes after that."

"What's that old nursery rhyme?" Flack asked, his eyes sparkling playfully as she stood up. "First comes love, the comes marriage, then comes someone pushing a baby carriage?"

"Bite your goddamn tongue!" she scolded as she hurried for the door.

"Hey!" he yelled, just as he heard her snap open the dead bolt.

She poked her head out into the foyer.

"I love you, Sammie. Don't ever doubt that, okay?"

She smiled. "I love you, too," she said, and pressing a kiss to the tips of her index and middle finger, wiggled them at him. "I'll see you later."

"Have fun, babe," he called to her, and then laughed heartily as she began to sing on her way out the door. A song that was clearly meant to drill a message into his head.

"If you liked it than you should have put a ring on it, if you liked it you should have put a ring on it. Don't be mad once you see that he want it, if you liked it you should have put a ring on it."

Flack grinned as the door clicked close behind her, leaving him in the silence of their hotel suite. Reaching into the pocket of his shorts, he pulled out the business card and flipped it over. His eyes falling on the appointment time for three thirty that afternoon.

_Three more hours,_ he thought. _Until I take the first step on the greatest adventure of my entire life._

* * *

"This is the last place I expected to be on my holidays," Jess declared, looking out the front passenger window of the rental sedan as Sam pulled into the public lot behind the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

Three hours into their afternoon out and she was completely exhausted. A disgusting amount of bags from various boutiques on the Strip and the outlet stores they'd spent the majority of their time scouring at the massive shopping centre just on the outskirts of town littered the back seat and the floor. Her feet throbbed and she'd long ago kicked off her strappy black heels in favour of a pair of two dollar neon pink flip flops she's snagged out of a bin at the 7-11 Sam and her had stopped at to grab snacks. She cursed Mark for her inability to function properly. He was insistent on keeping her well into the wee hours of the morning, surprising her again and again with his seemingly endless supply of energy and a sex drive that could rival any horny teenage boy.

And why did he have to be so goddamn hot and irresistible?

"It's just going to be a short visit," Sam assured her, as she found a parking spot near the back of the lot. "Just long enough to pop in and say hi."

"Remind me who we're going to see again?" Jess asked. "Which one of your many boyfriends?"

"His name is Nick," Sam replied as she killed the ignition. "Nick Stokes. And he's not my boyfriend. Never has been and never will be. We met at a forensics conference in Denver a few years ago and we've been keeping in contact ever since. Emails and what not."

"Is he hot?" Jess asked curiously.

"Extremely," Sam replied with a giggle.

"And you're honestly expecting me to believe that you and this Nick Stokes never…"

"Never," Sam insisted, and unclasped her seat belt. "Not that I don't find him insanely attractive or that I've never entertained the thought of there being something…it just never happened."

"Was there a possibility of it happening? Did you two ever…"

"Nothing ever happened between us. Other then an innocent kiss on the cheek at the airport when it came time to head home. Nick's just a very dear friend. Now there was this other guy that worked with him…"

"Now this sounds like it has the promise of something scandalous," the other woman said, rubbing her hands together excitedly.

"His name was Warrick. Warrick Brown. He was Nick's best friend. He was at the conference too. And we may or may not have gotten completely shit faced and we may or may not have made out in his hotel room just a little bit."

Jess' eyes widened.

"He backed out before anything too extreme could happen," Sam told her. "He said that while he was genuinely interested in me and attracted to me and that he was sorry that the guy I was with was a complete ass, he wasn't the type of guy to help me cheat. Said that when I got out of the situation I was in, to look him up in Vegas."

"And did you?"

"No. I never got the chance to. And when I finally did get up the balls to leave Zack and come to New York City and when I did start seriously considering getting in touch with Warrick…it was too late. He was murdered. Two years ago now."

"Jesus…" Jess breathed. "What happened?"

"He got mixed up in some crazy shit. Framed for a murder he didn't commit. And when the evidence did clear him, the sonofabitch who was really responsible killed him so that Warrick would never find out the truth. Apparently it was the Undersheriff."

"What?" Jess asked in disbelief. "But why…for what…how…?"

"I don't know. I don't know the ins and outs of it all. I just know the version of events that I was given. But I do know that he'd been married for a short time and went through a nasty ass divorce and then found out shortly before he died that his ex's baby was his. It's just…" Sam sighed heavily. "It's just a shame things ended the way they did. Or that he even went through such a rough patch. Warrick was a really, really nice guy."

"And God knows there's not enough of them around these days," Jess mused, as she unclipped her belt and then reached up to flip down the visor above her head. "I think you and I managed to snag the last two decent ones," she said, as she fluffed her luxurious dark locks and wiped wayward lipstick from the corners of her mouth.

Sam smiled and nodded in agreement. "There's something I actually need to ask you. About you and Donnie. And this is going to seem like it's coming way out of left field and that it's a really, really strange time to be even asking something like this…but it's been bugging my ass for the longest time and the way he was this morning and when we were…you know…I just really need to ask it."

"Okay…what do you mean by 'the way he was this morning'?" Jess asked, pushing the visor back up.

"Well it wasn't just this morning. It's all the time. And I was wondering if he's just like that with me or if he was like that with you…if it's just something he does 'cause it legitimately turns him on or if he does it 'cause…"

"Flack's a talker," Jess confirmed. "That's what you're talking about right? About his penchant for talking dirty while doing the deed?"

Sam nodded.

"And how he just loves to hear you tell him what you want him to do? Yeah…he was like that with me, too. Each and every time we slept together. From the very first time to the very last time. And he can be very…what's the word…determined. He'll persist and persist until you indulge him."

"I was starting to think that it was just me. That he was just doing it with me 'cause I'm not exactly the most experienced girl in the world."

"Well, maybe he does it more with you because of that. But he mostly does it because it turns him on to talk like that. And it turns him on even more to hear _you_ talk like that."

"We haven't gotten that far yet," Sam said. "Not that I don't want to. Because it totally does something for me when he does it to me. And I've never, ever had a guy do that before. But when it comes time for me to talk like that? I just can't do it. I seriously don't know what to say. And I'm worried that whatever I do say will sound stupid and he'll laugh his ass off."

"Trust me, Sammie. Whatever you want to say? Say it. 'Cause it is going to be completely hot to him. My best advice? Lots of compliments about the size and the feel of his equipment is and detailed descriptions about what you want him to do with it."

"God…" Sam laid her elbows on the steering wheel and put her face in her hands. "I can't believe we're actually sitting here talking about this. Comparing notes practically!"

"Guys do it all the time. We're allowed to indulge in the proverbial locker talk too," Jess reasoned. "And I can just imagine that Flack's ears are just burning up right at this moment."

Sam giggled. "He'd throttle me if he knew I was talking about this kind of thing with you. Or die of embarrassment."

"Well…I guess it's a good thing that what he doesn't know, won't kill him," Jess declared.

* * *

_This is definitely where I didn't expect to be on my vacation, _Flack thought, as he paused alongside of the front entrance of the exclusive jewellery store on the promenade level of the Bellagio. He was nervous. Far beyond then he ever imagined he'd be. Once he stepped through those doors, he was less then ten feet away from dropping a ridiculous amount of money on a piece of jewellery. A piece of jewellery that signified the rest of his life and had him absolutely terrified at the thought of making a complete ass out of himself when it came time to, as Sam liked to put it, bust out his game.

The truth was, he had no game -horrific or otherwise- when it came to something so serious. There were no words that could possibly do what he was feeling justice. There was nothing that he could say that would truly express the depth of love that he felt for her. That could properly convey the way that she made him feel. He had tried -in vain- after she left to sit down with a pen and a pad of paper and write down exactly what he wanted to say to her. It was a moment that neither of them would forget. One he wanted to be perfect. And he was terrified of letting her down. Of not living up to that fantasy moment that she most likely had in her mind.

He'd been unable to come up with even the simplest sentence. For over and hour he'd sat on the couch, jotting two or three words down at a time and then scratching them out in frustration. Eventually he'd just given up and cracked open another beer. His heart was telling him to just go with the flow. To not think about it so much. That the proper words would just stream out of him when the time came to speak them.

To make matters worse, the one person he'd wanted to talk to about his decision to pop the question, had yet to return any of the six messages that he'd left on their voice mail. The one person that he trusted with the news and who he knew would be the best sounding board possible -not to mention completely honest about whether or not he was making a major fuck up- was seemingly missing in action.

_Now or never, _Flack thought, and taking a deep breath, released it slowly before reaching out for the handle on the jewellery store's front door. _Now or never…you're going to walk in there and drop a few g's on a ring you're going to give to the woman you're going to spend the rest of your life with. This is some serious shit. Don't be such a goddamn pussy and just…_

The shrill ring of his cell phone cut into his thoughts and Flack hurriedly unclipped it from the waist band of his jeans.

_Thank Christ,_ he thought, and pressing talk, put the phone to his ear.

"About goddamn time Adam," he said in way of greeting.

"Sorry…" the lab tech quickly apologised. "I worked a double and a half and then I went home and Paisley was already there waiting for me 'cause she's got her own key now and it had been two days since we'd seen each other and when she goes even twelve hours without getting herself any she's a complete basket case. So you can just imagine what she was like the second I got in the door. A total tigress just pouncing on the big cat. I didn't even get the door locked before she was…"

Flack grimaced. "Adam…buddy…please spare me the x rated details, okay? The thought of you and Paisley doing the nasty? Just…just don't, alright?"

"Well I am just trying to get the point across that you are not the only one getting laid a lot lately. The social awkward lab rat is officially in the saddle. He's sowing his wild oats and taming that wild little filly. Know what I mean?"

"Adam…" Flack sighed heavily and shook his head. "Jesus Christ…"

"Get what I'm saying?" the younger man gave a chuckle. "See? How does it feel to hear stuff like that? How does it feel to know the details about someone's sex life? How you feel? It's a million times worse for me when I have to hear about you corrupting my sister!"

"I've learned my lesson." Flack assured him. "I'll spare you the details from now on if you'll just…if you'll just stop. Okay?"

"Deal," Adam agreed.

"But for the record I feel the need to add that it's your sister that does all the corrupting in this relationship."

"I always knew that sweet, angelic, girl next door thing she puts on was nothing but a bunch of crap…oh who the hell am I kidding? My sister's a raging bitch at best. Always has been, always will be. I really have to apologize for not warning you ahead of time for the suffering you're no doubt going through."

Flack laughed. "Trust me, Adam…Sam's probably the one ray of sunshine in my life."

"Well in that case, you must be living in the darkest, most desolate recesses of hell," Adam said. Then suddenly grew quiet. "She's not there, is she? Listening to this? 'Cause I quite value certain parts of my body in their proper locales."

"You're safe," Flack assured him. "She's out with Jess for the day. And I promise you that I won't breathe a word about any of this."

"Thank God," Adam breathed a sigh of relief. "'Cause between you and me? My sister? She terrifies me."

"You and me both, buddy. You and me both."

"So what's up?" the lab tech asked. "You were the last person I expected to be hearing from. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah…everything's fine. Everything's great actually. I just needed someone to talk to."

"And you chose me?" Adam sounded shocked at the mere thought.

"You were the best person to turn to," Flack reasoned. "It's about your sister."

"Okay…something bad or something good? She's not in any trouble is she? Like she's not going through some maniac stage that you can't handle on your own is she? She's not down and out and threatening to hurt herself is she?"

"What? No. Nothing like that. She's…"

"She's not pregnant, is she?" Horror registered in Adam's voice.

"Hell no. She's fine. Sammie is fine. We're having a great time here. She's relaxed and happy and she's great. It's just…I don't know how to say this. I don't even know exactly why I'm calling you to be honest."

"Has to be some reason," Adam concluded.

"There is. There is a reason. A huge one, actually. I just…I don't know exactly how to tell you about it."

"Spitting it out is usually the number one option I go for," the lab tech said. "So just take a deep breath and open your mouth and say exactly what it is you need to say. I mean, it can't be that bad, right? It can't be anything horrific or…"

"I'm going to ask your sister to marry me," Flack blurted out.

Silence emanated from the other end of the phone.

"Adam?" Flack asked nervously. "Are you…?"

"Yeah…yeah…I'm here…but I think there's something wrong with my phone. I would have sworn you just said you were going to ask my sister to marry you."

"That is exactly what I said," Flack confirmed.

Again silence.

"Adam…buddy…don't do this to me…say something…anything…"

"You want to marry my sister?" the lab tech sounded dumbfounded.

"I do."

"Are you sure? Like seriously, are you sure? 'Cause I know what my sister is like and this isn't something you should be taking too lightly. I love Sammie and I'd do anything for her and you know that, but I lived with her for more than half of my life and I know what she can be like and I don't know if even you can deal with that. I mean, I'm not underestimating or second guessing your manliness or anything like that and I'm definitely not saying that you shouldn't do it, but…."

"I love your sister," Flack said. "More than I ever thought I could ever love another human being. And I want to marry her. I want her to be my wife. The mother of my children. And I wanted to call you and…I don't know why I called you. To get your blessing maybe? Old fashioned, I know. And definitely out of character for me…"

"Totally OOC," Adam agreed.

"OOC? What…"

"Out of character. They use it a lot in fan fiction."

"In what?" Flack asked.

"Fan fiction. All kinds of websites devoted to the stuff. Where people write stories based on their favourite television shows, movies. Create these completely different worlds for them, integrate their own OCs."

"Their what?"

"OCs. Original characters. They make a character up and introduce them into the fold so to speak."

"And you know this because…"

"Because I read a lot of the stuff. Star Trek and Star Wars mostly. If you want I could send the links to some of my favourites to you in an email and…"

"It's okay," Flack told him. "Trust me, it's okay. I just…this is serious Adam. I'm talking about your sister and you're talking about fan fiction for Christsakes. I want to marry, Sammie. I'm going to ask her to marry me. And I called you because…well I guess I called you to really apologize for the shitty way I've treated you over the years and to let you know that I'm a good guy. That I'm a damn good guy and I'm going to treat your sister right. And if I ever fuck up you've got my permission to kick my ass. I just want to marry her, Adam. I love her and I…"

"Where are you right now?" Adam asked.

"What does it matter where I am? I'm…"

"Just tell me where you are," the lab tech insisted.

"I'm in front of the jewellery store in the Bellagio shitting my pants. Why?"

"'Cause I'm probably the person that knows my sister best. And you don't want to be dropping crazy money on something she doesn't like. You want to make sure you pick something that she's going to love, right?"

"Of course I do. But…"

"White or tri-colour gold," Adam told him. "She's a big fan of solitaire stones. Either brilliant or cushion cut. She doesn't have a problem with princess either, but whatever you do, do not buy her marquise, pear or anything shaped like a heart. Okay?"

Flack grinned. "Gotcha…so I guess this means that you're okay with this? That you're on board with the whole thing?" he asked.

"What it means is that I know you'll make my sister happy and love her to the ends of the earth," Adam replied. "And I also know that she loves you and that you came into her life when she needed someone the most. And that kind of happiness…I can't stand in her way of having that."

"Thanks Adam. You know I'll treat her right. You know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for her."

"I know…and you know that I will definitely hand you your ass if you ever hurt her. No one fucks with my sister."

"I hear you loud and clear. Look, I better get in there. Get this done. Sooner I do it, the sooner it's over."

"You'll do fine," Adam said. "Just follow your heart, Don. Speak from it. You do that and it's all gravy, baby."

"Now whose being totally OOC?" Flack teased.

"We all have our moments," the younger man laughed. "Thanks for calling. It means a lot. That you respect my sister and me that much. And good luck."

"Thanks," Flack said, and went to disconnect the call.

"Hey, Don!" the lab tech called to him.

"Yeah?"

"Welcome to the family," Adam said. "It's going to be one hell of a wild ass ride."

Flack smiled.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers! Please R and R folks! I love hearing from you guys!**

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**Delko's Girl 88**


	69. Angels Among Us

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY. 'CAUSE IF I DID, I'D BE STINKING RICH AND FINDING ANOTHER HOBBY. LIKE COUNTING MY MONEY. AND BOSSING AROUND MY MAID AND MY BUTLER AND MY…YOU GET THE PICTURE.**

**THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER! JUST TO SHAKE THINGS UP A LITTLE**

**AND PLEASE GO AND CAST YOUR NOMINATIONS FOR THE 2009 CSI:NY FAN FICTION AWARDS!**

* * *

**Angels among us**

"Well I never once  
Backed down from a punch  
Well I'd take it square on the chin  
Well I found out fast  
A bully's just that  
You've got to stand up to him  
So I didn't cry when I got a black eye  
As bad as it hurt, I just grinned  
But when tough little boys grow up to be dads  
They turn into big babies again.

Scared me to death  
When you took your first steps  
And I'd fall every time you fell down  
Your first day of school, I cried like a fool  
And I followed your school bus to town

Well I didn't cry, when Old Yeller died  
At least not in front of my friends  
But when tough little boys grow up to be dads  
They turn into big babies again

Well I'm a grown man  
And as strong as I am  
Sometimes its hard to believe  
That one little girl, with little blonde curls  
Could totally terrify me  
If you were to ask  
My wife would just laugh  
She'd say "I know all about men  
How when tough little boys grow up to be dads  
They turn into big babies again."  
-Tough Little Boys, Gary Allen

* * *

"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head. The stars in the bright sky look down where they lay, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay."

Flack paused at the top landing as Kellan's soft, angelic voice drifted up the stairs from the living room. Where she'd been briefly left 'in charge' of her baby brother as he lay on a blanket that was spread out in the middle of the room, a perimeter of pillows and sofa cushions created around him and various stuffed animals and dolls from Kellan's room 'standing guard'. While Kallison seemed to be keeping her distance from her magically appearing brother for the time being either out of disinterest or fright, Kellan refused to leave Hunter's side.

She was curious about everything and anything. She asked a million and one questions and expected answers to each and every one. She followed her parents around whenever they carried the baby somewhere. She excitedly helped with every aspect of her brother's care, and then stood watching protectively over their shoulders as they fed the baby, burped the baby, changed and dressed the baby. She asked every five minutes if she could hold him. Or if he needed his bum cleaned or needed a change of clothes. If he was lonely and wanted someone to play with him or read him a story. And she constantly touched him. Marvelling at his head full of dark hair and his silky smooth skin and his impossibly tiny feet and hands. She gushed about his little pink lips and his cute little nose and his teeny-weeny ears and told him over and over again that she loved him and he was everything she ever wanted in a little brother.

And now that voice…that innocent, angelic voice attached to an even more innocent and angelic face, singing so quietly and slightly off key, entertaining her baby brother with a song she'd been taught in Sunday school and had preformed at a church pageant with a large group of children. That voice was enough to bring tears to Flack's eyes and cause a lump of emotion to form in his throat.

He'd always considered himself a hard ass. Years on the job and the horrors he'd seen and the sickening tales he'd heard had toughened him emotionally. A younger Flack had been able to pride himself in the fact that he'd managed to be both hard core when it came to the perps, and sensitive when it came to the victims and their families. He'd always been the one, out of the entire team save for the females, that seemed better equipped to handle emotional breakdowns. To be the proverbial shoulder to cry on.

But time had taken it's toll on his emotions and he had, as much as he hated to admit it, become just like his father. Closed off and distant. He no longer shed tears or felt his nerves about to combust after a particularly rough case. While he'd always feel bad that an innocent life had been snuffed out, especially under such cruel and horrendous circumstances, he no longer dwelled on the things he couldn't change. He no longer beat himself up over the fact that a perp caught a lighter sentence then what he deserved. If case after case went unsolved. He didn't blame himself for not being able to get the bad guy. A team was only as good as its weakest link, and he wasn't the sole person to shit on if something went wrong and an entire case ended up down the crapper.

He slept well at night and wasn't haunted by the dead he'd seen. He had a clear conscience, work wise. He didn't bring his job home with him and take out his shitty days on his wife and kids. He left the murderers and the rapists and the general scum of society on the front porch before he walked in the door. He smiled and laughed and hugged and kissed Sammie and the girls when they greeted him after work. And the moment that that badge and cell phone was dropped on the nightstand and his weapon secured in a lock box kept far, far away from tiny, prying eyes and fingers, he ceased to be Detective Don Flack and slipped into the role of husband and father and provider. He helped with the house work and made dinner. He did loads of laundry and tended to whatever repairs needed to be done. He made sure the bills were paid and helped with the grocery shopping. Either doing it himself, or as was most common, staying home with the girls while Sammie did it and then helping her inside with the bags once she got home.

And to his daughters he wasn't the tough guy that locked up bad guys or scared confessions out of perps. He was the guy that put together doll houses or fixed broken toys. Who wasn't above getting down on the floor in the basement and playing Barbies with them or being a guest at countless tea parties. He was the one that they went to when they wanted something after mommy said no. Because they knew that deep down, he was a softie that couldn't resist their huge blue eyes and the way they pouted their tiny lips. It was his side of the bed they went to when they wanted breakfast. It was his name they called out in the middle of the night if a nightmare had seen them wetting the bed.

But when push came to shove, when there were skinned knees from falling off a bike or there were cuts and bites and bruises from a vicious scrap between them, it was mommy they went to for comfort. Mommy who was the best at kissing the ouchies away. It hurt too much when daddy put the medicine on a cut or pulled off a band-aid. But when mommy did it, it never stung. And it was her kisses and her hugs and the way she made hot chocolate and her cookies that made all the pain go away the quickest.

"Jesus loves me when I'm good," Kellan's voice continued, as she moved on to another song. "When I do things I should. Jesus loves me when I'm bad, though it makes Him very sad."

Flack smirked, and thanked whatever power that lurked above that his kids weren't following in his spiteful, bitter ways when it came to faith and spirituality. That was their mother's doing. While she described herself as a lapsed Catholic, it was her persistent nature that saw their daughters going to church to every Sunday, either with them -Flack spent the entire time grumbling and tugging at his tie and rolling his eyes at every word the priest said- or with their grandparents. Who insisted they go to a Catholic school.

"They don't need to be like you in every way," Sam had angrily informed him once, when he'd protested about the idea of sending them to a school where they'd have to wear a uniform every day. Uniforms were expensive he'd argued, even though she saw right through that line of bullshit. "You've seen a lot, Donnie. A lot of bad things and I don't blame you for doubting things. I'm not going to argue with you and beg and plead with you to change your way of thinking. But our girls are innocent. And they think the world is beautiful and good. And I don't want you ruining that for them. They're just babies still."

Behind him, the bedroom door clicked open and Sam poked her head out. She was clad in her bathrobe and had a towel wrapped around her wet hair. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Flack asked, casting a glance at her over his shoulder.

"I heard you coming down the hall and then you just stopped. You didn't come in the room or go down the stairs so I…"

He grinned and turning around, walked to the bedroom door and bent down to place a kiss on her lips. "You've got some super-sonic hearing or something, woman."

"I just thought maybe…"

"Everything's fine," he assured her, and kissed her a final time before heading back towards the stairs. "You need to get a handle on your whole mother hen paranoia. Lawyer will be here in half an hour. You better…"

"Haul ass," she finished, and rolled her eyes. "Yeah…yeah…yeah…" she grumbled, and disappeared into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

* * *

Flack smirked and journeyed down the stairs. "What are you doing, sweetie cheeks?" he asked his daughter, who was sitting next to Hunter, gently combing her fingers through his hair.

"I'm singing to baby Hunter," Kellan replied. "He likes my singing, daddy. And he likes it when I suck on his toes."

Flack grimaced as his daughter peeled off one of her brother's socks and proceeded to pop his toes into her mouth.

"See?" Kellan giggled as a loud gurgle emanated from the baby. "See daddy?"

"I see…"

"And he pooped his pants, too!" she exclaimed. Then plugged her nose with one hand and made a fanning motion in front of her face with the other. "Stinky! Boys are stinky!"

"Your diapers were no better when you were a baby," Flack informed her, as he stepped over a pillow and joined his daughter and son in their 'play' area.

His knees cracked noisily as he crouched down alongside of Kellan, and then tears filled his eyes and bile rose in his throat as the smell of a ripe diaper hit him. He coughed, then gagged. I wasn't good at this five years ago and I'm not good at this now, he thought, then considered sending Kellan upstairs to get her mother. It wasn't the sight of shit that bothered him. He could look at it all day long. Just like he could look at bodies in full decomp and corpses that were missing various parts or badly charred from fires. But smells…his stomach was weak when it came to smells.

And human shit was one of those smells that turned him into a complete wimp.

"Go and get me a clean diaper and the wipes, would you Kellan?" he asked his daughter, swallowing noisily and trying his best not to breathe through his nose.

"Okay daddy!" she chirped and jumped to her feet and scampered off excitedly. Returning within seconds with a clean diaper and a container of Huggies wipes. "Want me to do it, daddy?" she asked, as she dropped the items beside him.

"You don't know how to change a diaper," he replied, as he snapped open the buttons on Hunter's sleeper.

"You can teach me!" she cried, clapping her hands together.

"Get your mom to teach you," Flack said, then held his breath as he peeled off the tabs on the baby's diaper. He physically retched as he lifted his son's legs and yanked the offended nappy out from underneath them. The smell was just…too much…just too much.

Kellan, fully aware of her father's discomfort, opened the wipes and pulled several out. "Here!" she exclaimed, and slapped them into his hand. "Don't be a wimp, daddy!"

He let out his breath. "I am not a wimp," he informed her and wiped Hunter's bum. "I just…daddy' stomach just can't handle that kind of thing, okay? Wanna do me a favour? Wanna help me out?"

She nodded.

"Get that diaper out of my face, would ya?"

"Okay!" she agreed, and jumping to her feet, picked up the dirty diaper, folded the tabs in neatly and then raced out of the living room and down the hall towards the kitchen.

"You're foul, kid," Flack said to his son, as he lifted the baby's legs once again and slipping the fresh diaper underneath him, tightly secured it. "I thought your sisters were capable of stinking up the whole house when they were babies," he continued, as his big hands worked at doing the sleeper back up. "And trust me…double the trouble? They had a lot of shitty diapers to tend to. But you….you are the smelliest of the whole lot."

"That's 'cause he's his father's son," Sam quipped, as she caught his words as she descended the stairs. She walked behind him on her way towards the kitchen, then abruptly paused, back tracked and stood behind him. "Beautiful just like you," she declared, bending down to lay her hands on Flack's shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "And I mean beautiful in a masculine way, so don't be going and getting your undies in a twist."

He smirked.

She pecked the corner of his lips, tousled his hair affectionately and then stood up and walked away. "Hope you remembered to take the garbage out and let Wiener out for a pee and a poop!" she called, as she disappeared from the room.

"Yes, dear!" he shouted back. "I remembered! You've only been nagging at me do all of it for the last two hours straight!"

"I keep you on your toes, Donald!" she responded.

_Yeah…right, _he thought. Then looking down at his precious son, smiled softly.

"See what I put up with?" he asked Hunter. "All the bitching and the moaning and the nagging? Makes you wonder why I stick around, huh? Well let me fill you in on my dirty little secret. Let me tell you what keeps me coming back for more."

"Don!" Sam yelled. "Don't be saying dirty things to him already!"

"I wasn't going to, Sammie. Now mind your own and let me have a moment with my boy, okay?" he shook his head and turning back to the baby, ran a hand over Hunter's hair. "Love, buddy. Love conquers all. And the way I love her…your mommy? It's the only thing that keeps me going some days. And one day, you'll find some girl that hopefully makes you half as happy as your mom has made me."

"That's very sweet, baby," Sam said, as she hovered in the doorway.

"But let me give you a piece of advice," Flack quickly added. "For your own sanity? Stay away from the Brooklyn girls."

Sam snorted.

Flack chuckled and looked over at her. "To the stars and beyond, Sammie," he said, and gave her a wink.

She smiled brightly and blew him a kiss and went back into the kitchen.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Flack grinned down at his son.

"That's the first thing you need to learn," he said. "How to ass kiss with the best of them."

* * *

Flack glanced out of the corner of his eye as a profanity laced tirade spewed from his wife's mouth and was quickly followed by a cell phone being tossed angrily onto the dashboard. What had started out as a relatively friendly call -as friendly as it could be when the person on the other end was most possibly the most vicious, cold hearted bitch Flack had ever encountered in his entire life- consisting of small talk about the holidays and the weather in Florida and all of the fun that was being had at Disney World, had quickly took a sharp, nasty turn when talked turned to Adam and his marital issues. Sam had done her best to avoid getting involved. Her loyalties lied, and always would, with Adam and out of respect for her two friends -one deceased and the other lying in the hospital- the last thing she wanted to be doing under the circumstances was fighting with her mother over something that had little to no bearing on what was happening at the moment.

She had placed the call to her parents hotel room two hours ago following the thankfully pleasant meeting with Jordan's attorney. There'd been a custodial agreement to sign and a savings account in Hunter's name to take control over. Jordan had began putting cash into the thing since she the day she'd found out she was pregnant. And not just pocket change either. A hundred bucks here, a couple hundred there. Regular deposits made twice a week that had, in her death, added up to quite a fair chunk of change for her son. In addition, she'd left a will that had clearly indicated that if anything happened to her before Hunter's eighteenth birthday, his biological father was to be given full custody. And she'd left a sizeable amount of cash, intended to go towards their child's basic care, in Flack's name.

The last matter of business, other then giving them advice on how to handle both the legal name change and Sam's desire to adopt the baby, was procuring Hunter's belongings that still remained sealed up in Jordan's apartment. Once the crime scene was cleaned up, the lawyer said, a court appointed officer would accompany them into Jordan's apartment to gather up Hunter's things. Any belongings they didn't want, they were responsible for finding a way to dispose of.

The signing of the papers and the frank discussions had taken place at the kitchen table while Adam played with the girls in the basement. The whole process had taken under an hour and had left both Sam and Flack with a sense of finality. That their years of wallowing in their own self pity over not being able to have another child, that the tough times that had nearly shattered them beyond repair, had actually been somewhat worth it. Had they'd not suffered through the worst of times, they would have never been given the chance to take Hunter into their lives and love him and care for him. And it was somewhat of a comfort to know that the hurt and the pain along the rocky path they had travelled, hadn't been in vain. That their mistakes and their tears and their anger had actually brought them closer together and made their family stronger.

After the lawyer had left, Flack had called the real estate agent and requested that the house be taking off the market, then had left a message on Sinclair's voice mail asking to have his resignation withdrawn and to still be kept on the NYPD payroll. So far, Sinclair hadn't called back, but Flack imagined that the Chief was either pissed off that he'd wasted his time on what turned out to be a bogus resignation, or relieved that he was actually sticking around.

He suspected that it was a bit of both.

And wished it had have been the Chief calling as opposed to his wicked witch of a mother in law.

The whole purpose of Sam's initial call to her parents had been to tell them what had happened regarding Danny and Hawkes, and to politely ask if one of them could come back early from Florida and stay with them. Help them out with the kids while they spent time with Lindsay at the hospital and assisted Mari with funeral arrangements. Adam was perfectly capable of taking care of Kellan, Kallison and Amanda. But his patience was stretched to its breaking point when a new baby was tossed into the mix. Especially when he was trying to deal with his own anguish over his marriage falling apart and one of his colleagues being killed. It had been a perfectly acceptable request on Sam's part. And she'd been calm and polite about it.

Too bad the response hadn't been calm and polite as well. Flack had been able to tell, by the rolling of her eyes and the heavy sighing and then the frowning that whatever was being said over the phone, that Sam was not a happy camper. And the profanity and the tossing of the cell phone, which had hit the windshield with such force the battery fell out and the body of the phone slid off the dash and onto the floor, had just confirmed what Flack had already known at the beginning of the phone call. Hell, what had known since the day Lynne Ross had shown up unexpectedly at her daughter's door eight years ago.

That his mother in law was the biggest bitch on the face of the earth.

"I take it she said no," Flack commented calmly, as he turned his eyes back onto the snow covered road.

Adam had agreed to stay with the twins and Amanda while they headed into the city to pay Danny a visit and to run errands at the Babies R Us in Times Square, but he'd been extremely nervous about taking care of three rambunctious kids and a barely month old baby. Which was why Hunter was currently bundled up in his car seat in the back. Fast asleep.

"She didn't just say no. She told me I was a selfish, ungrateful, mean spirited little bitch who gets off on making everyone else's lives miserable. And she told me that I had a hell of a lot of nerve calling there and ruining their vacation by bitching and moaning about my problems."

Flack smirked and shook his head.

"I told you that you should have thought twice about marrying me. That you should have given your head a shake when you decided to propose knowing what kind of mother in law you'd have to live with for the rest of your life."

"What can I say? I get off on torturing myself," he joked.

"You must," Sam snorted. "Think of all of the years of pain and suffering you would have been able to avoid if you'd just decided to not marry me after all. If you'd just stayed away completely the first time we broke up instead of being so damn persistant that we get back together, you would have been able to keep your sanity in tact. Instead you willingly wanted to get mixed back up with me and my crazy assed family. "

"You're talking a whole lot of shit," Flack said. "You're just pissed off at your mother and trying to cause a fight with me to make yourself feel better. I know the methods to your madness, Sammie. I've spent the last eight years figuring them out. Your mom's a fucking bitch and I've accepted that. And the less I have to deal with her, the better."

"So you know what this means, then? We're going to have to ask your parents for help."

"And that's a bad thing?" Flack asked. "I mean, I know my mom and you despise each other but…"

"They don't know about Hunter. They have no clue that they had another grandchild out there. And what are we going to do? Just call them and ask them to baby sit this kid they've never met before? That they didn't even know existed?"

"Pretty much," he said. "Your parents don't know about Hunter either. Were you just going to let them show up at the house if they came back and drop him in their arms and say, 'here, meet your grandson'?"

She sighed heavily.

"You were going to have to drop a huge bomb on them, too. And something tells me that your folks? That they wouldn't be as accepting as mine will be."

"Your mother accepting? Since when?"

"Okay…so maybe my mother will have a massive freak out…"

Sam nodded in agreement. "This is all just too much…" she whispered, and propping her elbow on the ledge of the passenger's window, put her hand over her eyes. "All of this…I just can't take all of this right now…it's just all so much and I just can't…"

Dropping a hand from the wheel, Flack reached out and combed his fingers through her hair before settling his hand on the back of her neck. "Just calm down, baby…" he said, voice calm and soothing. "Don't get worked up over her. You've got enough on your plate without dealing with her shit too. Just take it easy, okay?"

"All my life she's been like this. All my life I've been useless and unworthy of her. The biggest mistake she's ever made."

"She's a crazy bitch who sat around while your father molested you and knocked Adam and you around. She's the fucking useless one. You know what the huge mistake is, Sammie? And I don't condone guys smacking around women and you know that. But the huge mistake is that your father didn't take his shit out on her and rid the world of her bat shit insanity. That was the huge mistake. He did all of that shit to you and Adam when he could have just cut right to the fucking chase and got rid of her."

Sam couldn't help but let out a small, dry laugh.

"It's fucking true. And it makes me sound like some evil, wife beating bastard. But for nearly forty one years she's caused you nothing but sheer hell. She stood around and let your dad turn you into some stand in with when you were five years old. She turned a blind eye to the fact that he was bashing you and Adam around. From the time you were a little kid she's told you that you're a worthless piece of shit and that she made a mistake ever having you. That you don't deserve to be happy and that you don't deserve to be loved. Well you know what? She's a fucking nut job. She needs to be committed. Or you need to just wash your goddamn hands of her for good and tell her to piss off and get out of your life."

"Donnie…" she sighed heavily. "I can't do that. We've been arguing about this for years and I can't just shove my mother out of my life."

"Why the hell not? Give me one reason why you can't tell her to take a hike."

"Because she's Kellan and Kallison's grandmother and…"

"And what? She's their grandmother. So? Does she do grandmother things with them? Does she act like a grandmother? She can't even be bothered to send them birthday and Christmas cards and she only lives in Manhattan. She couldn't even call them on Christmas morning. Does that seem like something a normal grandmother would do?"

Sam shook her head.

"She treats them like shit, Sammie. She's treated them like that since they were born. She's always tripping over herself to do nice things for Adam's kids but when it comes to ours?" he shook his head. "Our kids are the black sheep in your family just like you were years ago. So why the hell would you want someone like her around the girls? Around Hunter? Or Dawson. Or whatever the hell it is we're calling him. You actually think she's going to just accept him as a grand kid? That she's just going to fawn all over him and welcome her into her life?"

She shook her head once again.

"That bitch doesn't deserve Kellan and Kallison calling her grandma. What she deserves is a swift kick in the ass and a hand delivered, personal invitation to fuck off."

"Don…please…don't start, okay?"

"What am I starting? Your mother starts it all 'cause of the way she treats you. I'm not going to just sit back and let her abuse you like that. She's emotionally abusive. She's been that way all of your life. And I'm not going to just sit back and let her treat you like that."

"She's my mother," Sam reminded him.

"And you're my wife. And no one treats my wife like that. You think just because she's your mother that it gives her permission to be the way she is? Just because she's your mom doesn't mean she has the right to be like that with you. She doesn't even deserve to be called a mother. And if you think that I'm going to let that go down, that I'm going to let her treat my wife and the mother of my kids like that…"

"Would you please…"

"Please what? Please don't feel the need to stick up for you? To protect you? To love you enough to not let her shit all over you? I've been dealing with her for years. Willingly. You won't tell her to fuck off? Then give me your phone and I'll call her and do it."

"You don't need to…"

"No. I don't," he said, as he eased his foot down onto the break and coasted to a stop at a red light. "But unlike you, I'm not scared to stand up to her. Seven and a half years ago, Tavern on the Green ring a bell? My father getting that polite yet sarcastic, mean way about him? Melanie getting shit faced and calling your mother a stupid ass bitch? You running off to the bathroom in tears and then me and Adam in the ladies room trying to coax you out of a stall? Or about how me and your mom having the mother of all screaming matches in the parking lot? Does this all sound vaguely familiar to you?"

Sam laughed and wiped tears off of her cheeks with the sleeve of her winter jacket. "How could I forget? That night was a complete disaster. An engagement slash 'get to know the future in laws' dinner? It was World War Three. I was expecting you to either bail on me right there or wait until the next day to tell me the next day you never wanted to see me again 'cause you didn't need all the drama."

"I didn't do either. Did I?"

She didn't respond. Instead she sniffled noisily and chewed at her bottom lip pensively.

"Did I?" he repeated, reaching out to lay a hand on the back of her head. "Did I bail on you, Sammie? Did I break up with you?"

She shook her head.

"The one and only time we broke up was your doing, remember? Because you said you needed space and time to 'figure yourself out'. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell that was really all about and it's been seven years. But I'm here, aren't I? I'm here and I'm still dealing with all the craziness. I may have gone slightly astray a couple of times, but here I am. And I'm not going anywhere. I've got my shit together and no one or nothing is going to take me away again. I told you years ago that you were stuck with me for the long haul. I warned you, didn't I?"

She gave a small smile and nodded.

"Just don't get worked up over that bitch, okay? There's more important things to worry about. We just lost a really good friend of ours. Danny's in the hospital. We're suddenly parents to an infant all over again. That's a lot to deal with all at once, babe. Don't take on anything else."

"I can't believe I'm even acting like this," Sam said.

"Like what?"

"Like this whiny, spoiled little bitch. I mean, we all know I am just like that naturally. That's just who I am. But at a time like this? What is wrong with me?"

"Sammie, you're not a whiny, spoiled little bitch. That's your mother talking. Not you."

"I'm just sitting here whining about my shit when Danny's in the hospital and Mari's dealing with losing her husband and…"

"And you're dealing with your own grief in your way," Flack interjected. "And on top of all that grief, you're getting shit on left, right and center. Just try and calm down, babe. Shove all that other crap aside and focus on what's more important. Your mom wants to be a bitch, let her. Ignore her and concentrate on other things. You don't need her crap."

Sam sniffled noisily, and scooping her purse up from its resting place at her feet, unzipped it and rummaged through it until she found a package of tissues. "What is wrong with the world when you suddenly become the sensible and logical one?" she asked, as she used a Kleenex to wipe her eyes.

"I've always been the sensible and logical one," Flack said. "Remember my whole theory on how the higher the education, the lower the common sense? Well I love you honey, but…"

"Don't even finish that sentence," she laughed and reached out to playfully flick his ear lobe with her thumb and forefinger.

He chuckled as well, and leaning across the seat, kissed her softly. "I do love you though, Sammie," he said, and pressed his lips to her forehead. "You and the millions of tons of baggage you came with."

She smiled, and laying her hand on the side of his face, covered his lips with hers in a slow, soft kiss.

* * *

"I still remember what you said to me a long, long time," she said, as she trailed her thumb along his bottom lip. "When I was so worried about my past and scared of all of the ghosts in it. I was freaked out 'cause I kept wondering when you'd take off 'cause you didn't want to deal with all my drama. And you told me that you were a big, strong guy and that you would help me carry all of the weight. I'll never forget that. I think it was possibly the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"Oh I don't know about that," he said, pecking the tip of her nose before turning back to the road as the light turned green. "I still think my greatest most romantic moment was the night I proposed. I mean, I quoted a poem. What more could you possibly want?"

"You read verses of How Do I Love Thee off of a piece of paper," she teased, her eyes sparkling playfully. And happily.

It never seemed to amaze her, that despite all of the nasty arguments and mean spirited words that often passed between them in fits of anger, that her husband still remained the one person that could cheer her up at the darkest of moments. It was his uncanny ability to crack a joke or toss out a sarcastic yet humorous comment at the most unexpected times. The way he'd reach out and run a hand over her hair or gently caress her face. Or he'd press a kiss to her forehead. That tenderness and affection -something that even years later he still struggled with- achieving far more than any well thought out, rehearsed words.

And then there was that smile. That genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his blue eyes sparkle. A smile he'd passed down to his daughters. And maybe, just maybe, his son.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I spent an hour surfing the 'net looking for something that was perfect for the way I felt about you and would get across what I wanted to say," Flack defended himself. "I've never been good with words so I thought seeking a little assistance wouldn't hurt. And then there's the great pains I went to just to hide the ring and keep the entire thing a secret. That was hands down my best moment."

"Yeah…" she agreed, smiling in recollection of that night, almost eight years ago, when on their last night in Vegas, he'd proposed to her in front of the Bellagio fountains.

She'd been in a 'down' mood that night. Their first vacation together was quickly coming to an end and soon they'd be heading back to the hustle and bustle of New York City and the stresses and demands of real life. Flack would return to unpredictability of work in three days and she'd continue with her psychiatric appointments and her sabbatical. Gone would be staying up until the wee hours of the morning and then sleeping well past noon hour. Of eating room service and hitting the casinos and the bars and hanging out by the pool and having an afternoon at the spa. In the morning they'd wake up excruciatingly early, pack the last of their things and head downstairs to check out. By ten they'd be on a plane heading home, and if all went smoothly and according to schedule, they'd be walking though their front door no later than three in the afternoon.

And she still had nothing on her finger. Since their talk -and agreement- about getting engaged, she'd been waiting on pins and needles for the moment he'd propose. She was so excited and so anxious that she couldn't think of anything else other then when he'd do it, what he'd say, what the ring would look like. And each and every time she'd thought he was about to finally get the show on the road, her hopes were dashed. She had relegated herself to the fact that he'd either changed his mind or didn't have the heart to tell her, or he'd decided to wait until they got home to do it.

She had hoped it was the latter.

It had been his idea to take a late night walk around the hotel grounds. They'd been sipping wine while lounging on the couch with the lights dimmed and the stereo on, and Flack had drained his glass and setting it on the coffee table, dropped a kiss on the top of her head as she lay back against his chest and then suggested they head out and grab some fresh air. That it would make her feel better. And when she'd mentioned that they should call Mark and Jess and invite them along, he'd been quick to insist they go alone. Then added that Mark and Jess were too busy playing newlyweds to care about going for a walk.

It hadn't taken long to find out just why he'd been so insisted. No sooner had they stopped to marvel at the beauty of the fountains -Sam with her hands on the railing in front of her and Flack standing behind her with both arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on the top of her head. She had just leaned the back of her head against his chest and closed her eyes, relishing the cool night breeze and the feel of his arms around her, when she'd felt him remove one of his arms and heard the rustle of fabric as he reached into the pocket of his jeans, followed by the crinkling of paper.

She'd cracked an eye open and was about to ask what he was doing when she felt him reach around her body again and place something in the palm of her hand. When she had looked down, she'd gasped in surprise, tears immediately springing to her eyes as she saw that little velvet box, it's lid open and the diamond ring sparkling up at her.

And then he'd recited the poem. Reducing her to a blubbering mess. It hadn't matter that he didn't get down on one knee. What had mattered most was the thoughtfulness he'd put into the moment. Their moment.

It had been the most magical night of her life.

And now, eight years later, she regarded her husband with the utmost love and adoration in her eyes. Sure, they'd had their share of rough times. When things were bad, they'd been horrifically bad. But they'd travelled every road and climbed every mountain and there wasn't part of her that wouldn't do it all again. Despite his past issues and mistakes, he was a loving, attentive man and a phenomenal father. And her life had been truly blessed by having him in it.

"I love you," she announced, breaking the silence that had descended on the vehicle.

He stole a glance at her, a smile playing at his lips.

"You know…just in case I don't tell you enough," she added, and reached out to lightly rub the back of his neck.

"Always nice to hear it," he said with a grin.

"It is…" she agreed, then issued a long sigh and stared out her window.

Silence once again fell between the occupants of the SUV. The only sounds gently assailing their ears the consistent swish of the windshield wipers working overtime to combat the rapidly falling snow, the hum of the vents on the dashboards and the sides of the doors as heat pumped into the vehicle, and Sam's soft sniffling.

As he drove, Flack caught a glimpse of his wife as she lay her head against the cold window beside her and closed her eyes. Leaving one hand on the wheel, he reached out with the other and ran it tenderly over her hair. Her eyes flickered open and her head turned towards him. A soft smile curving her lips as he trailed a finger tip along her cheek.

"I love you too baby," he told her.

Her smile broadened and brightened, and laying her hand over his, she pressed a kiss to his palm before entwining her fingers with his and then settling their joined hands on her thigh.

It _was_ nice to hear it.

* * *

**A huge, huge thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! Even to all of those who are just lurking! I truly appreciate each and every one of you for all of your love and support. Now R and R and nominate me! LOL**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

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**muchmadness**

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**Soccer-bitch**


	70. Say goodbye to yesterday

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK. AND BABY DAWSON!**

**A/N: CHECK OUT THE 2009 CSI:NY FAN FICTION AWARDS AND CAST YOUR NOMINATIONS!!! LET YOUR FAVS LET YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEIR SHTICK!**

**THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER**

* * *

**Say goodbye to yesterday**

"Some are like water, some are like the heat  
Some are a melody and some are the beat  
Sooner or later they all will be gone  
Why don't they stay young?  
It's so hard to get old without a cause  
I don't want to perish like a fading horse  
Youth's like diamonds in the sun,  
And diamonds are forever

So many adventures given up today,  
So many songs we forgot to play.  
So many dreams swinging out of the blue  
Oh let it come true.

Forever young, I want to be forever young.  
Do you really want to live forever, Forever, and ever?  
Forever young, I want to be forever young.  
Do you really want to live forever, Forever young?."  
-Forever Young, Alphaville

* * *

"I ever tell you how much I hate hospitals?" Flack asked his wife, as they stepped onto the elevator at the second level of the underground parking level of St. Vincent's Medical Center.

"You mean other then how at every OB appointment I had while I was pregnant you complained endlessly about the smell of the place making you nauseous?" Sam teased, as she pressed the button for the fifth floor. "Or how you whined incessantly about the crappy food and the uncomfortable sleeping conditions and the lack of hot water in the room's shower while I was in after having the girls and my hysterectomy? Or how you moaned about going bat shit insane as you call it while staying with Kellan every time she was admitted for something? If you don't mean any of that, then no. You've never told me."

"I swear to you, Sammie…" Flack shook his head as he sat Dawson's baby carrier on the floor of the elevator between them. It was Dawson now. They'd made the collective decision on the last leg of their journey to the hospital to refer to _their _son by the new name they'd chosen for him. And to encourage their friends and family to do the same. "If any of _my _kids grow up to a massive smart ass like you…"

"What?" she asked with a laugh, as she unzipped her winter jacket. "What are you going to do about it? Are you going to rant and rave at me and blame me for being such a horrible influence on your spawn? Are you going to hire a priest to exorcise all the evil out of them? Send them away to strict boarding schools? Boot camps?"

"Actually…" Flack leaned back against the rear wall of the elevator and grinned at her. "I was thinking more along the lines of putting you over my knee and spanking you. But I keep forgetting how that won't solve a thing. You know, considering you enjoy that kind of thing so much."

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "You've really got to start watching your mouth around the girls. They repeat everything you say, Don. And one day, they're going to be saying the crudest things at the most inopportune times."

"You mean like how they told their grandfather that their mom likes having her ass smacked?"

Sam sighed exasperatedly.

"For either years we've done so well," he said. "Keeping all of your dirty little secrets under wraps. Holding up that whole girl next door, sweet, innocent, apple pie image. And now? Now everyone is starting to find out what you're really like. A kinky, perverted sex kitten. But I guess considering your age I gotta start calling you a cougar now," he reached out and ran a hand over her hair. "Older woman, younger man…"

"You just think you're so humorous don't you," she grumbled, and reached out to pull down the zipper on his coat.

"I know I'm humorous. Just like I know you like it when I…"

"Please do not finish that sentence…just…please."

"I am just having fun with you, babe," he said, and leaning sideways, careful to mind the baby between them, pressed a kiss to her temple. "Keeps my mind off of the whole being at the hospital thing. Seems like we've spent way too much time at hospitals since we met."

"Well I guess you should have thought about your aversion to hospitals when you decided to kick things off by getting yourself stabbed in the stomach by a perp," she told him.

"How was I to know the crazy bitch would lunge for those scissors?" he asked.

"You're paid to anticipate stuff like that," Sam reminded him. "You're trained to expect the worst. And honestly, as a friend of Mel's, you really shouldn't have underestimated her or expected less."

"Yeah…" he agreed. "I gotta admit that I definitely wasn't on my game that day. But all's well that ends well, right? No harm, no foul. Only spent three days in the hospital. Got to have a week off of work, doing nothing more than lounging on the couch and having the most impossibly hot nurse looking after me," he winked at her. "Too bad you wouldn't go and buy one of them naughty nurse outfits like I begged and pleaded you to do."

"You were recuperating from being stabbed in the gut with a pair of scissors," Sam reminded him. "I wasn't taking the chance of making your recovery longer by having you bust your stitches by indulging in some crazy assed fantasy of yours. And is that seriously all you think about?"

He stared at her pointedly. "Eight years with me and you still feel the need to ask me that?"

"What was I ever thinking?" she asked with a dramatic gasp. "Let's just be thankful it wasn't a lot worse then it was."

He nodded in agreement. "I still remember how frantic you were that day. Running into the observation area they had me in the emergency room"

"I was worried about you. I didn't know how serious it was. And you can blame Danny for that. Calling me and telling me that you'd been seriously injured. You know what goes through someone's mind when you hear 'seriously injured'? I was thinking you were on death's door and I get there and you're snapping on the nurses and you've got a piece of rusty scissors sticking out of your stomach. Did you honestly think I wouldn't worry?"

"I knew you'd worry. I just didn't expect you to be bawling like a baby."

"I was relieved. Thanks to Danny I thought you were close to death. I show up and you're the same arrogant, sarcastic prick you always are. I was crying from relief."

"Sure you were…" he nudged her playfully with his elbow. "Admit it, Sammie. You were terrified. For a moment, after you got that call from Danny, you were terrified that I was gonna kick the bucket. And you knew you'd go insane if that happened."

"You are such an…"

"Arrogant bastard," he finished for her. "I know…you've been reminding me of that fact nearly every day since we first met. But obviously you don't mind it that much. Something sure keeps you around. Keeps you coming back for more. So I can't be _that_ bad."

"You are an insufferable bastard at best," Sam declared, a smile tugging at both corners of her mouth.

Flack grinned and pressed another kiss to her temple as the elevator shuddered to a stop at the fifth floor. Reaching down and across his body, he picked up the baby carrier with his left hand and laid his right on the small of his wife's back as the door slid open and they stepped off the elevator and onto gleaming, tiled flooring.

"This way…" he said, nodding to his left and gently steering her in the desired direction. "Step down unit is down the end of the hall, across from the ICU. Danny's in a private room. Doesn't have to worry about listening to a roommate snore all night and doesn't have to share all the hot nurses."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Hey, it was the only part of being in the hospital after the bombing I enjoyed. After I finally became more lucid and got my bearings, the nurses were the distraction from the horrific pain. I wanted to forget about the fact that it felt like someone was sitting on my chest and that they were trying to ripe my insides out through my ass. And all I had to do to stop the suffering for a little bit was to hit that call button and in less then a minute I'd have some company."

"I so do not want to hear this," Sam huffed.

"Yeah…" Flack sighed wistfully. "All the agony was made so much better by having some hot, young nurse giving me a sponge path and fluffing my pillows and…"

His wife glared up at him.

"I meant fluffing my pillows literally, hon. Don't be twisting that around. Never at any time did I encourage the nurses to do anything inappropriate in the line of duty."

"And did they _willingly_ do anything inappropriate?" she asked curiously.

Flack grinned.

"Oh for shit sakes, Don. Of all the nurses in the whole hospital you just had to get the horny, young ones who just couldn't help themselves from…fluffing your pillows?" she made air quotes around the last three words.

"What can I say?" he asked with a shrug. "Everyone loves a hero."

Sam snorted and shook her head.

"I am just kidding baby," he chuckled. "Just kidding. Not once did any nurse, candy stripper or anyone else make it into my hospital bed. Now my bed at my old apartment…"

"Jesus Christ! Am I married to the biggest man-whore on earth or something?"

"Hey…can I help it if they had a thing for a hero cop with dashing good looks, a killer smile and beautiful blue eyes? I'm telling you, baby, day I was released? They were lined up to give me their phone numbers."

"And how many of those numbers did you call?" she inquired.

"A couple."

Sam stared at him.

"A couple," Flack insisted. "That's it. And you wanna know why I stopped at a couple?"

"I'm almost scared to know," she sighed.

"Because they thought I was a tool for refusing to take my shirt off when they wanted to get down to business. They made me feel like a complete loser for not wanting them to see what the scars looked like. I was embarrassed of them. I didn't want someone staring at me like I'm some kind of freak 'cause I looked like Doctor Frankenstein took a butcher knife to me. You would have thought that being nurses and seeing me having to piss and shit in a bag for a few months and being the ones to clean the wounds that they'd be a little more…compassionate, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Hell no. All 'cause I didn't want to take my shirt off they wanted nothing to do with me. They laughed in my face. Bailed on me. After that I just decided to be miserable and alone. Who needed someone making fun of them 'cause some psycho blew them up in a building and fucked their body up? So as for you being married to a man-whore? Maybe before the bombing, but definitely not after. You were the first person I ever took my shirt off in front of. Remember how paranoid I was about that? And how all of the things that you said? And did?"

She remembered that night very well. Although they hadn't had actual sex that night and wouldn't for nearly three months, she still could vivid recall how self-conscious and nervous he'd been when she'd attempted to peel his wife beater off of him. It was a side of him she wasn't used to, and it had taken her aback. She was familiar with the often cocky, more often then not conceited Don Flack. And there before her, a slight flush to his cheeks -both from an intense make out session and embarrassment- he seemed like a wounded and dejected little boy. He had quickly, and gently, explained that he didn't take his shirt off. For anyone. And it took him a long time to gain the trust in someone to let them see the scars that marred his body. She'd listened patiently and understandingly as he talked about the months in the hospital, of the excruciating pain of rehab. Of wishing he'd have died when the agony began too intense to bear.

And she'd still remembered the wary look in his eyes, the slight tremble to his body when, after he'd finished talking, she'd gently lifted that undershirt and he'd allowed her to pull it clean off. How he'd anxiously stood there and held his breath as she laid her hands on his hips and placed tender kisses along the scar on the left side of his abdomen. And how she'd assured him that scars didn't make him any less a man, and that she had many a scar too. Only you couldn't _see _hers.

And even after eight years together, that night still remained in her memory as the most tender, affectionate, loving moment they'd ever experienced together.

"You were the first woman I'd been with since the bombing that I actually took my shirt off in front of," he admitted.

Sam frowned. "But you were with Jess for…"

"For nearly a year," he finished. "Yeah…I know. And for nearly a year she never saw me in the shower, never bitched and moaned at me to take my shirt off to have sex. I avoided any other situations where I'd have to take my shirt off in front of her. And she was all right with it. She never shit all over me 'cause of it. She just accepted that that was the way I was. And then there was you. A persistent little shit."

"There was no way you were leaving your shirt on or your socks," she told him. "So you were either going to let me see your hideous feet and make my own decision about your body or you weren't getting even foreplay from me. I think you made a good choice, Donnie. But you and Jess…I just always assumed…."

"That things were 'normal' between me and her? Like how things have always been between us?"

"I guess…I don't know if normal is the right word mind you….nothing we do is ever normal…twisted and disturbed maybe…"

"Who wants normal?" he laughed. "How boring would that be, Sammie? If we were normal? If we were normal we'd be like…I don't know….like Danny and Lindsay…." he shuddered at the thought.

"It would be slightly less nerve wracking if it was normal," she informed him, giving a polite smile to the young nurse behind the step down unit's front desk as they stepped up to sign in. "And I wouldn't need to be on so many meds if my husband wasn't such a tool all the time."

"You'd think after eight years you'd get a new insult," Flack teased, as he set the baby carrier down on the floor and grabbed the clipboard and pen offered to him by the nurse.

"That's a horrible insult," Sam said, as curled an arm around his waist and leaned her head against his arm as he signed their names in the visitors log and wrote down what patient they were there to see. "At least it's a horrible insult to all the power tools I'm comparing you to."

The nurse, a pretty red head in a pale yellow scrub set, couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Yeah…she's a real laugh riot," Flack said, as he finished scrawling their names and handed the clipboard back to the young woman. "It's not so damn funny when you've been living with her and her mouth for the last eight years."

"That's the first time you've ever complained about my mouth. Especially when it's been so good to you, " Sam said, and flashing him a devilish smile, turned and bounced off down the corridor towards Danny's room. "

Flack smirked and shook his head as he watched her go. "You're lucky I love you, woman!" he called.

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a wink before continuing on her way. Swaying her hips just a little bit more as she went.

_But not nearly as lucky as I am that you love me, _he thought, and picking up the baby carrier, followed dutifully behind her.

* * *

"Lindsay…" Danny spoke through gritted teeth, both from aggravation and from the pain shooting through his body as he struggled to get himself up into a sitting position in his hospital bed. "I told you this already. I don't want to be here. I don't need to fucking be here. I'm fine and I just want to get the hell out of here."

"And I've told you already that you do need to be here and that you are not fine," his wife countered, as she laid both hands on his shoulders and physically forced him back down into a lying position. "You're recovering from a collapsed lung and a massive concussion! You have a hairline fracture in your skull! You know what the doctor said! About how we need to be worried about stress causing swelling on the brain."

"The only thing that is causing me stress is being in here!" Danny argued. "I'll heal faster and better if I'm at home! With my kids! Being here, surrounded by sick people is not doing me any good! I need to be home, in my own bed where it's nice and comfortable with my wife and my kids fawning all over me! That's where I need to be!"

"You need to be where there's nurses and doctors to look after you!" Lindsay informed him angrily. "Don't be such a goddamn stubborn ass!"

"Hire a homecare nurse, then!" her husband spat. "Hire someone to come in the home every day! Hire them to live with us to keep an eye on me! I don't give a shit! I don't want to be here and I don't need to be here! Now just get off my ass and…"

"You want me off your ass, Danny! You think you're some big tough guy? You don't need to be here? You don't want me worrying about you? Fine. Just fine. Then you sit your ass up in the bed right now and you try and stand on your own two feet! And then I'll laugh and say I told you so when you fall on your ass!"

"Why are you being such a bitch to me?" he yelled. "Why you nagging at me like this? Why are you constantly riding my ass?!"

"Oh I don't know!" she spat. "Maybe because I'm worried about you! Maybe because I love you! Maybe because I want you healthy! Maybe because I want you strong enough to get out of here and come home to me and the kids! 'Cause we like having you around!"

"Then you tell that goddamn doctor next time he's here that I don't need to be here!" Danny yelled, and slammed his fists down onto the bed. "You tell him that I need to be home! I need to be with my wife and my kids! I need to help take care of Mari!"

"You can't even take care of yourself, Danny! How the hell are you going to take care of someone else! Mari's got a lot of people around here right now. She's got a lot of people that love her and that are supporting her. That are helping her with the kids and with making arrangements. She'd want you to take care of yourself. Hawkes would…"

"Hawkes would what?" Danny hissed. "He'd what? What would he what, Linds? He'd want me to not worry about his wife and his kids?"

"He'd want you to worry about yourself so that you can take care of your own wife and kids!" she cried. "I know you're torn about him dying and…"

"You don't know how I feel," he whispered savagely. "No one knows how I feel!"

"I know you feel guilty! I know you feel guilty that you lived and Hawkes died! I know that you feel guilty that he took that bullet pulling you out of the way! I know you've got some kind of survivor's complex over the whole thing! And I also know that you've wished at least once, that is was you and not him that died!"

"Hawkes didn't deserve to die," Danny said, his eyes closed, shaking his head from side to side as if the motion would rid him of the images and sounds swirling around in his brain. "Hawkes didn't deserve that…he didn't deserve to go out like that…Mari doesn't deserve to be burying her husband…his kids don't deserve to be saying bye to their dad…"

"And you don't deserve to be dead either!" Lindsay struggled to control the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. "And I don't deserve to bury my husband and my kids…our kids…don't deserve to be saying goodbye to you! Goddamn you, Danny! Think about us for a change! You're still so fucking selfish! Nine years! Nine years we've been together! Almost ten! An entire decade and you still can't think about anyone but yourself! It's always how Danny feels and what Danny wants! Fucking snap out of it!"

"You don't understand…"

"I understand you're a self centered, arrogant prick at the best of times!" she snapped. "And I understand that you loved Hawkes! We all loved Hawkes! But for once I want you to love me and your kids more than you love everyone else! More than you love yourself!"

"Oh that's rich…" he snorted. "Takes one to know one, right Linds? All this coming from the Queen of self righteousness! The Supreme Drama Queen!"

"You know what, Danny? I know you're hurting. Physically and emotionally. I know this is hard on you. I know you hate being here and you hate that Hawkes is dead. I know it's the pain and your own grief that's making you a total bastard! And you can be as mean and nasty as you want to! I love you and I am your wife and as your wife I am taking fucking charge! You are not going anywhere! You are staying here until you get better! Under-fucking-stand me, Daniel!"

A loud knock on the door interrupted Danny before an off handed, rude reply could escape from his lips.

* * *

"Thank the freaking Lord!" Danny exclaimed, grimacing in pain as he struggled to sit up as Flack cautiously poked his head into the room. "Someone who has an ounce of common sense!"

"Is it safe to come in?" Flack asked. "Nothing's going to be tossed across the room or anything? 'Cause we could hear the two of you all the way down the hall and Florence Nightingale down at the desk is about thirty seconds away from calling security."

"Let her," Danny grumbled. "What are the rent a cops doing to do?"

"They'll call the real cops. And that would be me. So both of you shut the fuck up before I 'cuff both of your asses and haul you down to Central Booking."

"Don't be coming in here if you've come to bitch!" Danny informed his best friend. "If you've come to get on my ass about how badly things screwed up last night…"

"Messer, do not make me beat the living shit out of you. I'm here 'cause you're my best friend and you came _this close_," Flack held his hand up, his thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. "…to having your lights put out. Permanently. So shut your gate and just be thankful Sammie and I give enough shit about you to be here."

"In other words, quit acting like a whiny little bitch," Sam chirped, her cheerfulness a less than adequate disguise for her concern and her grief for Hawkes as she slipped past her husband and walked across the room. Standing at the side of the bed, she embraced Danny lightly with both arms and kissed his cheek affectionately. "How are you feeling?" she asked, pulling away from him and running a gentle hand over his unshaven cheek.

"I'm fine…I'm perfectly fine…and I keep telling Lindsay that and she keeps insisting that I'm not! That I need to be here!"

"You do need to be here," Sam informed him, then grimaced as she glanced at the back of her friend's head. Where a chunk of hair had been shaved off and a nasty, jagged line of stitches held his scalp together.

"They couldn't shave your whole damn head?" Flack asked, as he set the baby carrier on the floor and shrugging out of his jacket, tossed it on the end of Danny's bed. "Or are you going to go home and give yourself some nasty ass Mohawk when you get out of here?"

"Bald," Danny replied. "Totally freaking bald."

Lindsay rolled her eyes and accepted a tight, warm hug from Flack and kisses to both her cheeks. "I'm doing okay," she whispered, fighting tears as he stroked her back soothingly. His actions speaking louder than any words. "It's hard but I'm doing okay…"

The detective nodded and kissed her cheek once again. Then stepped aside as Sam took his place and the two women hugged tightly and abruptly began sobbing into each other's shoulders. He reached out and ran a hand over his wife's hair and down to her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before turning away from her and her best friend. Giving them some space as he picked up the baby carrier and headed towards the bed, his eyebrows raised as Danny watched the two women across the room.

"On and off," Flack told him. "Sam's fine one minute and a mess the next."

Danny nodded understandingly. "Hawkes got a bum rap, man," he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion. "He didn't deserve to go out like that."

"No one deserves to go out like that," Flack said. "Think about it this way. He went out a hero. He saved your life. You're still here. You're still going to able to kiss and hug your wife and kids and tell them you love them at the end of the day. You're still here, Dan-o. And if I ever hear you say that you wish it was you, I will seriously cause you a world of hurt. I will wait until you're out of here and all healed up, and I will take you somewhere nice and secluded where no one can hear you scream while I torture you. Got it?"

Danny nodded.

"You're still here, Mess. You got a wife and kids to worry about. To take care. And for you to say that you wish it was you that died? Think about what that would do to them. You'd think that being married and being a daddy for this long would have taught you that it ceased being just about us a long time ago. We stopped being able to worry about just us years ago. We have people that love us and depend on us. So quit being a selfish prick and count your lucky stars and all your blessings and shut the fuck up about it."

"I know…I know…I'm a selfish bastard," Danny mumbled.

"Yeah…you are," Flack agreed, then grinned. "But seeing as I feel just a little bit sorry for you, I brought you a little present."

"What would that be? You've already given me a kick in the ass. Give me time to extract you foot from my rectum, alright? Before you hand me anymore gifts."

"This gift can't hurt you," his best friend assured him. "But it can make you sick to your stomach under certain given circumstances."

"Stop keeping me in suspense here. And while you're at it, tell my wife that I don't need to be here. Tell her, Flack. Tell her I don't need to be here."

"Lindsay…" Flack sighed heavily and fixed serious blue eyes on her as she re-joined them at Danny's bedside.

She looked at him, her face streaked with tears, her hair an absolute mess and her nerves completely tattered.

"Danny _needs_ to be here," Flack told her.

A soft smile cut through her gloom.

"You're an asshole," Danny informed his best friend. "Remind me to cut you out of my will."

"Like I'd lose much. Who'd want a pool table stained with biological trace _anyway_?" Flack teased. "Here…" he sat the baby carrier down on Danny's thighs. "You and Linds are babysitting while Sam and I find a place to tarnish with our own biologicals."

"You fucking wish," Danny snorted, as Lindsay busied herself with hurriedly unbuckling the baby from his car seat. "I'm here to recuperate. Not to put up with some whiny little…"

"Hey!" Sam made to cuff him upside the head. "Don't make me crack you open for some more stitches, lame brain!"

"I ain't your brother, Brooklyn!" Danny exclaimed, as he recoiled and covered his injured head with his hand. "Don't you be going all Gibbs-style on me. And now look what you've done," he nodded in the direction of his wife, who had their 'nephew' out of his car seat and cradled lovingly in her arms, rocking back and forth as she smiled tenderly done at him. "Now she's not going to give him back."

"You guys already have a tiny at home," Sam reminded him, as she took a seat on the edge of Danny's bed. "This is our tiny. You can't have him."

"Don't worry, Danny," Lindsay said, as she pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead. "We'll be seeing a lot of him when he's picking Makenna up for dates."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "You bite your goddamn tongue, Montana! No way in hell is my baby girl datin' a Flack!"

"I say the same thing about my girls and your son every day," Flack informed his best friend. "And I heard that Dan-Dan's already been puttin' the move on Kallie."

"I'll have you know that my son was seduced by your daughter," Danny corrected. "Grabbin' him and kissin' him and making him hold hands on the playground."

"Guess the seducing unsuspecting men thing runs in the family," Flack joked, winking playfully at Sam. "Hook, line and sinker, Mess. Any female with Ross in her just has that affect on you."

"In that case, you keep your daughters away from my son and your son away from my baby girl," Danny said. "Although I gotta give you some kind of credit, the kid is damn cute. And he must get it from you 'cause we all know is real mother wasn't some raving beauty."

"Danny!" Lindsay gasped. "That's an awful thing to say! Jordan was a very attractive woman."

"On what planet?" he asked. "Come on…what was so beautiful and sophisticated and intelligent about her? That's all anyone says when they talk about her. Ask me, someone can't be too intelligent or have too much class if they're going after a married man."

"It takes two," Lindsay spat. "And why are you starting this right now? Sam and Flack came to visit your sorry ass and you sit there insulting them?"

"I wasn't insulting them. I was insulting Jordan. And I'm sure Sam's said a hell of a lot worse about her."

Sam just smiled. She wasn't admitting to anything.

"But the kid is damn cute," Danny said, looking up at Flack. "You seem to have a knack of making some nice looking babies there, Flack. Must be the lovely blue eyes and the pale, creamy skin. Just make sure that poor Hunter doesn't take after you in the personality department, a'right?"

"Oh don't worry," Sam laughed. "I'm already on top of that so it doesn't happen. And it's Dawson. His name. We're changing his name."

"New family, new name," Flack reasoned, as he saw the curious looks on Danny and Lindsay's faces. "We just thought it would be a good thing to do. New start and all of that."

"You guys don't have to defend yourselves to us," Danny assured him. "You two make your own decisions and we'll back 'em up. Simple as that."

"Means a lot, Mess," Flack said sincerely, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"What you do gotta defend is the choice in flowers," the CSI said, casting a grimace in the direction of the arrangement of white roses and pale pink carnations, encased in a simple glass vase and surrounded by other flowers that had been delivered during the day. There were also two mylar balloons, one Patrick from Sponge Bob Square Pants and the other of Elmo.

"Sam picked them out," Flack told him quickly. "I had nothing to do with it."

"I didn't pick anything out. I called the hospital florist and said I needed something simple for a friend of mine. And that's just what they sent."

"Best part was that dirty little love letter you tucked in with it," Danny teased Sam, tousling her hair affectionately.

"You wish!" she snorted. "I don't even write Donnie love letters anymore. That moment passed the moment he'd decided to impregnate me with not one, but two of his demon children. That was the last time I ever wrote him any type of love letter or sent him some sweet little email during a shift."

"Don't forget about the perverted text messages and IM's," Flack said, as he plopped down into the chair next to Danny's bed. "Second that diamond went on your finger all the fun, kinky stuff stopped."

"Like your sex life has ever been boring!" she laughed. "Puh-leeze."

"Is that around the same time you two stopped making use of the CSI garage and the janitors closets?" Danny asked.

"I think you're confusing us with you and Lindsay," Sam teased.

"Sam and I were the ones in locker room in the precinct and the ones making use of that old leather couch you two used to have your office," Flack chuckled. "And never mind the time me and her took my squad down the foot of the Brooklyn bridge and we…"

"Do you mind?" Sam asked, glaring at him over her shoulder. "I hardly think this is the time to talk about this stuff."

"It's always time to talk about this stuff," Danny declared. "Trust me…it feels good to just talk about stuff instead of talking about what happened last night and thinking about H…" his voice broke and he cleared his throat noisily and looked up at the ceiling, tears sparkling in his eyes.

Sam twisted sideways, and giving him a gentle smile, rubbed one of his forearms gently. "It's okay, Danny," she whispered. "We're all feeling like this. Trust me."

Flack nodded in agreement.

"Important thing for you to do right now is try and relax and get as much rest as you can," Sam continued. "So that you can go home to your beautiful, loving wife and your amazing kids as soon as possible. You aren't doing them any good being in here. So you need to get out of here and home where you belong."

Danny sniffled noisily and nodded. "Anyone hear anything about funeral arrangements or anything like that?" he asked.

"Body's still at the ME's office," Flack replied, giving a heavy sigh as he stretched his legs out and placing his hands behind his head, closed his eyes. "I stopped by there last night. Talked to Mac for a bit. When I talked to him this morning, Mari hadn't arranged for a funeral home to pick the body up. She's probably trying to get around to it. I can't imagine that it's an easy thing to do."

"I wouldn't want to do it," Lindsay admitted quietly, emotion weighing heavy in her voice as she attempted to keep a smile on her face for the sake of the baby.

"Me either," Sam sighed and sniffled noisily. Smiling over her shoulder at Danny as she felt him softly and affectionately rub her shoulder.

"Is it going to be a department funeral you think?" Lindsay asked no one in particular.

"Doubt it," Flack replied. "Hawkes wasn't a sworn member of the department. Therefore he's not entitled to the whole departmental burial and what not."

"That's fucking bullshit," Danny snarled.

"Ripe, fucking bullshit," Flack agreed, as he ran his hands over his face and opened his eyes. "But it's the rules, Dan-o. You're not a sworn officer, you're not getting a department funeral. Simple as. I don't like the rules, but that's what they are. I know Mac's planning on going to the commissioner about it."

"Maybe it we sign a petition or something," Lindsay suggested. "Write a letter of outrage and get as many signatures _from _sworn officers objecting to Hawkes being treated that way."

"Won't do any good," Flack told her. "The union will pitch a fit that we're organizing a 'protest' without their permission or their involvement."

Danny snorted in disgust.

"I don't make the rules," Flack defended himself. "I just have to uphold them if I want a job and I want to be able to pay my mortgage and put a roof over my wife and kids' heads and food on the table. I'm not saying I agree with it. Hawkes getting a raw deal like that makes me fucking sick to my stomach. But no amount of begging and pleading on Mac's part to the commish and no petition, no matter how signatures are on it, is going to get the brass to change their mind."

"Fucking obnoxious," Sam declared. Then looked over at her shoulder at her husband. "Not you, baby," she quickly added. "Brass. They're fucking obnoxious and you know it."

"What do you want me to do about it, Sammie?" he asked. "I can't force them to change the rules for Hawkes. No matter how bad I want to. It's just the way things are, babe. The NYPD is old boys school. You know that. And getting them to change the rules and their way of thinking…it's just not going to happen."

"They might change their mind if the public gets involved," Sam said casually.

"How do you mean?" Lindsay asked.

"If the press finds out what's going on, they'll go ape shit with it," her best friend replied. "Imagine the public outrage when every newspaper and every radio and television station reports that while Doctor Sheldon Hawkes died doing the NYPD's bidding, the department can't even bend a little and give him a hero's burial?"

"The public will go ballistic," Danny said, nodding his head slowly. He liked the idea.

"Reed Garrett still has some heavy duty ties to the Times," Sam told them all. "And we talk on a constant basis with both him and Natalie. And I know for a fact that when Mac tells him what happened, they'll both be here for the funeral. So if I could get a hold of Reed and put a bug in his ear about what's going on…."

"You're a shit disturber," Flack said, a grin on his face. "That's my girl."

"It's just not fair," Sam sighed. "What happened to Hawkes…after all of the years of service he put in, both in the lab and the ME's office, it's just not fair that he'd be treated like that. And Mari and the kids deserve so much better. He died doing the same job all of us do. And if it was one of us? You can be damn sure he'd pull out all the stops to get us what we deserve."

Danny nodded in agreement. "Do what you got to do, Brooklyn," he said. "I got your back no matter what."

"Me too," Flack spoke up. "Not like there's ever a doubt about that mind you."

All eyes turned to Lindsay.

"I guess it's all for one and one for all," she concluded. "Whatever it takes, Sammie. Let me know if I can do anything."

"We gotta make this right," Danny declared. Determination in his voice and eyes. "For Hawkes."

"For Hawkes," the others said in unison.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! Please R and R folks! And go and cast some nominations! Preferably in my direction! LOL. **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Soccer-bitch**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**wolfeylady **

**Forest Angel**

**xSamiliciousx**


	71. It's been a while

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY. I ONLY OWN WHO AND WHAT YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE.**

**VOTING IS NOW UNDERWAY FOR THE 2009 CSI:NY FAN FICTION AWARDS! SEEING AS I'M NOT GOOD AT GROVELLING, PLEASE HEAD ON OVER AND VOTE FOR YOUR FAVOURITES! AND FEEL FREE TO PASS SOME OF THE LOVE MY WAY! LOL**

**A/N: AS REQUESTED BY MY DEAR FRIEND RACHEL, THIS IS ANOTHER FUTURE CHAPTER**

* * *

**It's been awhile**

"People don't know about the things I say and do they don't understand  
about the shit that I've been through,  
it's been so long since I've been home  
I've been gone, I've been gone for way too long  
Maybe I forgot all the things I miss  
Oh somehow I know there's more to life than this.

I said it too many times and I still stand firm  
you get what you put in and people get what they deserve.  
Still I ain't seen mine  
No I ain't seen mine  
I've been giving just ain't been gettin'  
I've been walking down that line  
So I think I'll keep walking with my head held high  
I'll keep moving on  
and only God knows why."  
-Only God Knows Why, Kid Rock

* * *

"Mommeee," three year old Courtney Garrett whined miserably, as she fought against the restraints of her car seat in her parents' rented sedan. "I'm too hot!…I'm sweating!…My boots are too heavy!…This scarf is scratchy!…Why do I gotta wear all this stuff?!"

"Because it's freezing cold out, stupid," her eight year old brother Stanton informed her, his intense dark eyes never leaving the Nintendo DS clasped tightly in his hands as he sat buckled in beside her.

"I am not stupid!" Courtney angrily declared, and swinging her legs forwards, brought them forcibly back down, the back of her pink winter boots colliding hard with the immaculate beige fabric of the car's back seat. "I am just too hot!" she screamed, her shrill voice rattling the windows and nearly shattering every last nerve of the other occupants of the car.

The DS toppled from Stanton's grasp as he brought his hands up to cover his ears, glaring ferociously at his little sister as she continued to assail him and their parents with her shrieking.

"That's enough!" Natalie Garrett bellowed as she wheeled around in the front passenger's seat and fixed stern eyes on her daughter. "There is no need for that!" she continued, as Courtney's mouth instantly snapped shut and the little girl's eyes welled with tears, clearly frightened by her mother's outburst. "The two of you have done nothing but carry on since we left the airport!"

"But mom…" Stanton attempted to defend himself.

"Both of you," she insisted. "I want complete and utter silence starting right now and lasting until we get to Aunt Sam and Uncle Don's house. Give me and your father a little peace and quiet. Stan, no name calling and Courtney, no more whining. You have to wear a hat and mitts and a scarf and boots and everything else because it's cold here. It's winter. See all the snow on the ground? You can't go around in all of that snow in the same clothes you wear back home. So please, child…no more. Okay?"

"Fine!" Courtney huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, a dramatic pout on her face.

Natalie sighed heavily, and turning back around in her seat, rested her elbow on the ledge of her window and put her hand to her forehead. "Isn't this the exact reason why we never travel with the kids?" she asked her husband. "Why people always come to our place?"

"It is," Reed answered, his eyes riveted on the snow covered road. "But we couldn't exactly get Hawkes' funeral moved to San Francisco, could we."

Natalie frowned and stared at him. "Was that meat to be as sarcastic as it sounded?" she asked. "I was just making conversation, Reed. I wasn't insinuating that his body and his visitation and his funeral be brought to us. I was…"

"Just making conversation," he finished. "I heard you the first time. And no…it wasn't meant to be sarcastic. I was merely just making a statement. Explaining why we're back in New York City after three years. In the dead o winter. With two hellions in tow. I always thought when and if we ever came back here…"

"It would be under far better circumstances," Natalie finished.

He nodded slowly, then gave a soft smile as his felt laid a gentle, comforting hand on his knee.

There'd be no question on whether or not he'd attend Hawkes' visitation and yet to be scheduled funeral. The moment Reed had gotten off the phone with Mac -less than twenty four hours ago- he'd immediately began making plans to head to New York City. He'd stay with his adoptive folks and spend time visiting with them and Mac and Kelli and seeing old friends while waiting things to be finalized for the services. He had originally planned on flying out the moment that Mac had called to give him dates and times, but a lengthy email from Samantha Flack, expression her disgust over the department's refusal to give Hawkes a 'proper' burial, and her request for help with the situation, had him both leaving San Francisco sooner then he'd first thought, and furiously composing both a letter of outrage to the NYPD, and another to the editor of the Times, who was a close personal friend. Reed had been guaranteed that his letter would run on the front page in two days -the morning after arriving in New York- and would be the perfect accompaniment to a piece focusing on Hawkes' history within the NYPD and the legacy he'd left behind with his friends, colleagues and most importantly, his family.

It had been Natalie's idea that she and the children accompany him. Although she barely knew Hawkes -save for a few brief encounters at the lab when she was there to visit Sam and Lindsay Monroe- she wanted to be there to support her friends. And Mac, who she considered not just an in law, but a second father as well. There was more than enough room for the four of them to stay with Mac and Kelli, and the older couple were thrilled at the prospect of having them there. Even in the midst of such a trying, emotional time. The invitation had also been extended to stay with the Flacks, but their house, by the sound of it, was going to filed to capacity with friends of theirs coming from Detroit and camping out in the basement with their own two kids.

Natalie had felt a strong bond begin to form with Sam and Lindsay the second the two CSIs sat across from her in that interrogation over eight years ago, quietly and intently listening to her tell them about the night she'd been date raped by Jesse Carver, and an second, unknown male. It had been the most painful, trying moment of her life. Coming clean about what had happened to her. But Lindsay and Sam had been so compassionate and understanding. So patient. She hadn't seen pity or disgust in their eyes. Only empathy. After the tale had been finished and the proper questions asked and answers supplied Lindsay had stayed in the interrogation room, holding Natalie's hand in silent support across the table, while Samantha disappeared from the room and returned several minutes later, her eyes red, her face streaked with the tell tale sign of tears, with a glass of water for Natalie.

It was their care and tenderness that had firmly cemented them a special place in the younger woman's heart.

After her father had murdered Jesse aka Hank Bedford and had been both stripped of his badge and sent to prison, Natalie had steered clear of the lab. Keeping her dark secret -the fact she'd gotten pregnant, as proved by a private DNA test, by Bedford- away from everyone except for her parents and her older brother. When she'd finally been ready to 'come out' after lengthy counselling sessions, her first stop had been to the crime lab to pay a visit Sam and Lindsay a visit. To thank them for how they'd handled her during such a fragile time, and to show off of her then months old son, Stanton. Named after her grandfather. The most honourable and brave man that Natalie had ever known.

Everyone had been surprised by the realization that Natalie, at just the tender age of eighteen, had became a mommy to a baby conceived from such a horrendous, unforgivable act. She had seen the shock written all over Sam and Lindsay's faces. And after several minutes of stunned, awkward silence, it had been Sam who'd broken the tension. Giving a bright smile, she'd leaned down and peered into the buggy and began praising the gurgling infant on how adorable and precious he was. Then she'd snapped open the restraints and scooped the baby up.

And promptly handed him to Lindsay.

"She needs the practice," Sam had declared, patting Lindsay's rounded stomach.

* * *

Natalie smiled at the memory. And at the thought of seeing the two women and their families again. It had been three years since, while she was pregnant with Courtney, she and Reed had left for San Francisco after he'd been offered the job as the editor at the Gazette. Thee years since she'd seen Kellan and Kallison in person. Three years since she'd last heard that flirtatious banter and good natured teasing between Sam and Flack. She'd never witnessed a couple that much in love. Who could express the depth of their feelings through simple touches and secret smiles and longing looks passed across a room. It had shocked Natalie when Sam had gotten a hold of her eight months ago to tell her that she and Flack had separated. That divorce was looking like the only viable option. That he'd cheated on her, and had been, for nearly a year.

Thankfully, the state of the Flacks marriage had not come to that. They had somehow managed to pull each other back from the brink and get their acts together. Sam had eventually, after begging and pleading on her husband's behalf, packed her girls up and went back home. With a strict warning that if he ever fucked up again in any which way, shape or form, she was taking her daughters and leaving both him and the city and he'd never, ever find them again. While she couldn't legally do that without facing criminal charges, Flack had been so unnerved by her threat that he'd vowed to never mess up again.

So far, so good. Judging by Sam's emails and frequent long distance calls and the family photos she'd sent over the Christmas holidays, the Flacks were doing quite well. Even if Sam had been fired and was taking a position at the New Jersey crime lab and the family had decided to move out of state. If anyone was a life long New Yorker it was Don Flack. Natalie couldn't imagine him being able to exist anywhere else.

"Mommy?" Courtney's tiny voice piped up from the back, snapping her out of her reverie.

"What, baby girl?" Natalie asked.

"Why does Auntie Sammie and Uncle Duckie live somewhere so cold?" the little girl asked. "Why does Auntie Sammie and Uncle Duckie live so far from us? With lots of snow?"

Both Natalie and Reed grinned at their child's use of her pet name for Flack. Uncle Donnie had just been over used and Uncle Don or Uncle Donald were just too old and proper sounding. And Reed didn't want his kids referring to anyone, especially those considered family, by their last names. So Courtney had thought long and hard about what she was going to call her Uncle way far away in a place that she referred to as Qweens. She had been watching the Disney Channel one morning when inspiration hit and sent her scrambling off the couch and up the stairs and into the kitchen where her mother was preparing breakfast.

"I gotta call Uncle Duckie and tell him his new name!" Courtney had demanded.

"Uncle who?" Natalie had asked, perplexed.

"Uncle Duckie in Qweens!" her daughter had informed her.

It was then that Natalie had put two and two together. Courtney was associating her Uncle Donald with an other Donald. A very famous one.

Donald Duck.

Uncle Duckie had been born. Much to Flack's dismay.

And everyone else's great amusement.

"Because Auntie Sammie and Uncle Duckie love living here," Natalie explained to her daughter. "They were both born here and Uncle Duckie has lived here all of his life. They don't want to live anywhere else."

"But it's sooooo cold!" Courtney cried and gave a dramatic shiver. "I don't think the cold. Or the snow. Or having to wear a hat and mitts and boots and a scratchy scarf. When can I take all of this stuff off, daddy? Are we almost there? Are we almost at Uncle Duckie's house? You think Auntie Sammie will have cookies and hot chocolate? Do you think that…"

"Whoa…whoa…slow down," Reed laughed. "We're almost there, kiddo. When we get there, then and only then can you take all of that stuff off. Right now, you just need to sit there nice and quiet and give mommy and daddy a chance to preserve their sanity. Can you do that for me? Be quiet for about…I don't know…ten minutes?"

"Okay, daddy!" Courtney chirped, then clamped her mouth tightly shut and turned her attention to the scenery passing by her window.

Natalie gave her husband a tender, loving smile and reached out to comb her fingers through his hair. Reed had come into her life at a time when she'd needed someone the most. She had been dealing with her new role as a single mother and struggling to bond and fall in love with a baby that had been created by a man that was sick, twisted and ultimately evil. Every time she looked at her son, the only person she could see was Hank Bedford. All she could think about was what had happened to her, and in turn that made her feel dirty and victimized all over again.

It had been her father, locked up for killing her rapist, who'd convinced her to have the baby. She'd gone to visit him, in tears over finding out that she was pregnant and had expected him, after he got over his initial shock, to back up her wishes of wanting an abortion. Instead, with his own tears filling his eyes, he'd asked her to reconsider. To not punish an innocent baby, his grandchild, for the sins of its father.

Now that grandchild was a happy, healthy, well adjusted, phenomenally intelligent, insanely adorable eight year old who loved video games and science fiction movies and drawing. And his gentle, calm, studious demeanour could only be accredited to one person. The amazing man she loved more than life itself. Who, after a chance meeting at the lab followed by several innocent coffee dates, had taught her how to trust again. Who had treated her like a princess and as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world even when she had felt like anything but. Who'd been patient and understanding when she hadn't been ready for intimacy. Who had held her tightly in his arms several months later, after she had willingly given herself to him, and stroked her hair and whispered words of comfort while she sobbed into his chest.

It was at that moment that Natalie Gerrard had fallen hopelessly in love with Reed Garrett. Seven and a half years later, with a graduate degree in English literature that he'd encouraged her to pursue to her name, they were disgustingly happy and crazy about each other. Married for five years, two incredible kids and great careers.

Life was perfect.

Or at least it had seemed that way until Mac had delivered the horrible news of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes' death.

"Daddy?" Courtney piped up from the back seat.

Natalie and Reed grinned at each other. The silent game never last for long in their family.

"What, doll face?" he asked, casting a glance at her through the rear view mirror.

"Is this where Santa Claus lives? Is that why there's so much snow? Does Auntie Sammie and Uncle Duckie know Santa?"

"Santa Claus lives a little further north," Reed told her.

"Oh…like in Manhattan? Where grandma lives?"

"A little farther, sweetie," Natalie responded.

"Buffalo?" Courtney tried again.

"No…the North Pole stupid!" Stanton huffed. "Everyone knows that Santa lives in the North Pole!"

"Enough of the name calling!" Natalie scolded him. "Don't you make me get your father to stop this car. Don't make me force you out and let you walk all the way to Uncle Donnie and Aunt Sam's house."

The eight year old rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to his video games.

"Days like this is where I seriously question my sanity," Natalie sighed. "And ask why in the world I wanted to have more than one kid."

"Because you met me," Reed reasoned. "Because you met me and fell madly in love with me and just had to show me how much by gracing my life with a child."

Natalie stared long and hard at her husband, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she tried hard to figure out if he was serious or not.

Reed's lips trembled as a grin played on them.

"You are such a smart a…" she caught herself before the profanity could slip out. "You're too much sometimes, you know that right? Where'd the old Reed go? The sweet, tender, attentive Reed that used to buy me flowers from the vendors in Central Park? Who used to write me these adorable emails and leave love letters tucked under my apartment door? Where'd he go, huh?"

"He's now the mature, responsible man who loves you and his children to the ends of the earth," he replied.

She laughed brightly and tousled his hair. "Damn good answer," she said.

* * *

"I thought the house was up for sale," Reed commented, as he led the way up the Flacks' front walk -which had been thankfully well shovelled and sprinkled with salt- Courtney on his hip, her tiny arms circling his neck. The Christmas lights along the railing and the edge of the windows and in the tiny patch of bushes twinkled brightly and a wreath still hung on the door. A shovel was propped up against the red bricks alongside of the front door. The living room lights burned brightly.

"Last time I talked to Sam it was," Natalie said as she and Stanton followed behind, a frown on her face as she observed the absence of For Sale sign on the small front lawn. "You spoke to her last night. Did she say anything? About it selling already?"

"Not a word," Reed told her, then paused at the foot of the stairs and motioned for her and Stanton to go ahead of him. "But I think that was the last thing on her mind."

Natalie gave a solemn nod and guided her son up the steps. She would have been lying had she said she wasn't disgustingly excited about seeing her friends again. She had missed them every day for the last three years. She missed Flack's sarcastic comments and his boyish, dimply smile. She missed Sam's musical laugh and the way she bore the brunt of her husband's good natured teasing and then consistently gave just as good back. And she missed those adorable twin girls with their coal black hair and their big blue eyes and the faces of angels. It was so good to be there and they hadn't even knocked on the front door yet. And she felt tears of anticipation welling in her eyes.

Reed climbed the steps and reached out to lay a finger on the door bell. The light, musical chime sounding throughout the house. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in a bid to ward off the cold, listening as footsteps grew louder and louder as they approached the door. There was a flash of light as the door leading from the living room into the breeze opened, and moments later a shadow appeared behind the frosted glass on the front door and they heard the tell tale sound of a dead bolt snapping open.

The door swung open, and instead of Sam or Flack, there stood Jessica Angell-Powell. Her luscious brown locks long gone in favour of a pixie cut that enhanced her features and brought attention to her soulful brown eyes. Clad in a simple pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt at least two sizes too large, she looked weary. And still as beautiful as the day the Garrett's had left New York.

"Jess!" Natalie gave a happy cry as the two women embraced each other warmly. Having met through Sam, Jessica had been one of Natalie's four bridesmaids. "How are you?! How was the flight from Detroit? What time did you guys get here at?"

"I'm good, the flight sucked because of all the turbulence and we got here about an hour ago," the older woman replied with a laugh, as she kissed Natalie's cheek and released her. The smell of home cooking drifted throughout the entire house and trickled out the front door, as did the sounds of children laughing and shrieking and playing, little feet pounding across the hard wood. "Come in…come in…" Jess said, stepping back and holding the door for the family. "Ana and Markus are in the basement with the twins and Amanda Messer. We' re just waiting for Don to finish cooking dinner."

"Don's cooking?" Natalie arched an eyebrow as she kicked the snow off of her boots and motioned for Stanton to do the same.

"Don't tell me Sam's been fooling you all these years with her whole Betty Crocker bull crap," Jess rolled her eyes, then returned Stanton's hug as he stood on his tip toes and circled her waist with his arms. "We all know that Don's the domestic one."

"In other words he's whipped," Reed concluded, as he stepped into the breezeway and Jess closed and locked the door behind them.

"Never, ever let him hear you say that," she said, and accepted a one armed hug and kiss from the cheek from the young man. "And who would you be?" she asked, as she reached out to gently tug the pink wool hat from Courtney's head.

The three year old gave a shy smile and buried her face in her father's neck.

"This is Courtney," Reed told her, pride seeping from his voice. "Courtney, this is your aunt Jess."

"Well hello, Courtney," Jess smiled at the precious little girl and ran a hand over her light brown hair. "How hold would you be?"

She held up three fingers.

"I have a three year old too," Jess said. "Her name is Anastacia. Do you like My Little Pony?"

Courtney nodded energetically.

"Well my Ana brought her entire collection along. And when I say entire collection, I mean every My Little Pony that's been made since she was born. And on top of that Kellan and Kallison have all of their ponies and all of their Barbie stuff out. Do you think you'd like to go and see your cousins? Have fun playing with them?"

The little girl offered another nod, then stretched her arms out towards Jess.

"That's my girl!" Jess praised as Reed transferred his daughter from one set of arms to the other. "Let's get these pretty little boots and that gorgeous little coat off of you and we'll go downstairs and see what the other kids are up to? Okay? You can come too, Stanton. Uncle Adam is down there playing Wii and I'm sure he'd love someone to play with."

"Can I mommy?" the eight year old, already kicking off his boots and peeling off his coat.

Natalie nodded and smoothed down his dark hair before he hurried off, dragging Jess by the hand behind him.

The Garretts shed their own coats and hung them up in the hall closet and toed off their boots, placing them on the overflowing rubber mat by the front door, and then smiling to each other as Stanton's excited shriek of "Uncle Donnie!" travelled through the entire house, and then was followed by Flack's distinct voice as he teased Stanton.

"Whoa…" he gave a hearty laugh. "Who let a linebacker for the Giants in my house?"

"I'm not that big, Uncle Donnie!" Stanton giggled, and both Natalie and Reed could imagine the scene taking place in the living room as the big, bad homicide detective feigned a hernia as he picked up the eight year old.

"Uncle Duckie!" Courtney screeched. "Did you miss me Uncle Duckie?! Did you?! I missed you, Uncle Duckie?! Where's Auntie Sammie? Do you have hot chocolate and cookies? Where's Wiener?! I've only seen him in pictures! Can I play with him?! Can I?!"

"She is permanently going to be glued to his hip," Natalie commented to her husband. "As if having two girls of his own isn't enough."

"What in the hell did you feed that kid on the flight to New York?" Flack asked, as he appeared in the door of the breezeway. Dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a black Henley top and looking relaxed despite the last gruelling twenty four hours and the grief for his friend that gnawed at him. "You pump her full of caffeine or something? OD her on chocolate?" he inquired, as he gathered Natalie into a warm hug and kiss both of her cheeks.

"It's just her undying love for her Uncle Duckie," Natalie teased him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"It's hard being so popular with all the ladies," he joked and released her from his embrace. "Especially when my wife is so damn demanding all the time. I cook, I clean, I work full time, pay the bills. What more could she possibly want?"

"Oh I don't know," Sam appeared behind him, her arms circling his waist as she poked her head out from under his left arm. "A credit card with no limit, a designer wardrobe, a closet full of Jimmy Choos and a sparsely tattooed Latin pool boy."

"We don't have a pool," Flack reminded her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"Doesn't mean I can't have the sparsely tattooed Latin boy to keep me company while you're working," she teased him, playfully pinching his love handles before ducking under his arm to greet Natalie with a hug.

"I am so glad you guys are here," Sam said, pressing a kiss to the younger woman's cheek.

"So am I," Natalie breathed, and then sniffled noisily.

"Hey!" Sam scolded and pulling back, took Natalie's face in her hands. "No tears, okay? Not even happy ones. There's been too many tears around here. And there's going to be more. So for tonight, no crying? Not in this house. Kapish?"

The younger woman sniffled noisily and nodded. "Kapish," she agreed. Then smiling, reached up to touch Sam's hair. "I love it," she gushed, admiring the new style.

"Well at least that's one of us," Flack grumbled, receiving an elbow in the ribs from his wife as he stepped past her to offer a hand to Reed. "Glad you guys could make it," he said.

"We wouldn't have missed it," Reed said, shaking the older man's hand. "Sounds weird to say that about a funeral…"

Flack nodded in understanding. "It's been a tough twenty four hours that's for sure. Messer's still in the hospital, Hawkes' body is still in the morgue while Mari waits to see what the hell is going on with the department. She doesn't want to make any arrangements for a private thing and pay all that money out and find out they're giving him a proper burial."

"Understandable," Reed said.

"And Sam and I have a new baby," Flack casually added.

Natalie's eyes widened as she looked her friend from head to toe. "Okay…unless I missed the modern miracle that enables a woman with no uterus to carry a baby…"

"No immaculate conceptions or miracles here," Sam assured her. "But we do have a new baby. A son. Dawson. He's a month old. Adorable little thing. Looks just like his daddy," she winked at her husband.

"But…" Reed's eyes flitted from husband to wife. "Was it adoption? Surrogate?"

"He's Donnie's biological son," Sam told him. "With Jordan Gates."

Flack gave a tense smile and cleared his throat noisily as he saw his guests' eyes widened.

"It's all good!" Sam assured them, as she curled her arm around Flack's waist and tucked her head under his arm. "Trust me…it's all good…Donnie and I are fine…adjusting to life as parents of an infant after five years, but we're fine."

Reed and Natalie both nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"Come on guys," Sam laughed. "It's not horrible news. If anything it's the best news we've had in a long time. Donnie's son…our son…he's a blessing. The silver lining in the dark cloud that's been hanging over our heads in the last twenty four hours. The only good thing to come out of this horrible, godforsaken shitty mess. Be happy for us. Please. He's…Dawson's beautiful and part of our family…."

Natalie smiled. "Well then how about you take me so I can go and get my baby fix?" she asked, and reached for her friends hands.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and after receiving kiss from her husband, took Natalie's hand in her own and the two women prepared to leave the breezeway.

* * *

"Hold up!" Reed suddenly called to them. Going to the closet, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out two sheets of computer paper, stapled together and folded. "I've got a present for you," he told Sam, and held the items out to her.

"Christmas all over again!" she cried, and took the papers from him. Unfolding them, her eyes immediately filled with tears at the picture of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes that smiled up at her. Accompanied by big, bold, black letters that read: **HERO DENIED NYPD BURIAL. **

"That's going to be the front page of tomorrow's Times," Reed told her. "And…" he flipped the page over, showing her the letter to the editor he'd penned. "That's going to run alongside of it and an article about Hawkes."

"Thank you," Sam whispered, struggling with her emotions. "Mac fought so hard with the commissioner but he got nowhere."

"Brass wouldn't budge," Flack spoke up. "Not even in the slightest."

"Well, just wait until the public gets a hold of all of this," Reed said. "And you'll see how fast they pull their heads out of their asses. The NYPD hates bad press. And they've been getting a lot of lately in the past couple of decades. So this…this will just shake things right up. And he deserves to go out a hero. Hawkes deserves that."

No one could argue with that.

"This is perfect," Sam assured Reed, and folded the papers back up. "Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to all of us."

Flack smiled softly at her and reached out to run a soothing hand over her hair. He didn't need to say anything. The compassion in his blue eyes and in his caress as he stroked her tresses before letting his hand travel down her neck, across her shoulders and onto her back, spoke volumes.

"I need a drink!" Sam declared. "A stiff one."

"Sounds good to me," Natalie said, and linking arms, the two women headed out of the breezeway together.

Sighing heavily, Flack leaned against the front door and dropping his chin to his chest, closed his eyes momentarily.

"Hell of a long twenty four hours, huh?" It sounded more like a statement coming from Reed's mouth.

"Fucking brutal twenty four hours," the detective said. "It's just so hard to believe, you know? Last person I ever expected something like this to happen to was Hawkes. I always thought it anyone was going to go out in a blaze of glory on the job it would be me. But Hawkes?" Flack shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. "That's just not right," he said, lifting his head and opening his eyes.

"Not right when it's anyone," Reed told him. "No one deserves that."

"We accept it as part of the job," Flack said. "We accept it when we take our oath during graduation from the academy that one day we may need to make the ultimate sacrifice. That one day we might, all for the sake of serving and protecting, be shot, stabbed, whatever. Hell, I got blown up in a building for Christsakes. And I made it. I survived. Hawkes walks into a dingy fucking apartment on some backstreet and dies saving Danny. A bullet ricochets of a goddamn wall and hits him in the neck. Just like that. Just like that and he's gone. That man spend years saving lives. Then moved to the ME's office where he helped give families some kind of closure by finding out of their loved one died. As a CSI he solved case after case and helped put away scumbag after scumbag. All those years he's toiled for the fucking department. And for what? For them to turn around and say he's not a sworn officer? That he doesn't deserve to be buried with full honours?"

"It's not right, Don," Reed told him. "Not right at all. And that's why we're going to do something about it."

"All those perps that were put away 'cause of him and this is how the department repays him?" Flack snorted and shook his head. "Fuck that. That man was a hero and he deserves to be treated like one."

Reed nodded in agreement.

"You know, years ago, Messer and I were at Sullivan's the night we both testified at that bullshit inquiry into that whole Clay Dobson fiasco. You know, when the department was trying to use Mac as a fucking scapegoat…"

Reed nodded.

"And Dan-o and I had this talk about why we did the job. Danny was jaded. He needed answers to why we did what we did. Why we got up at two thirty in the morning and stood at a crime scene. In the pouring rain. Why we put our asses on the line day in and day out for our city when it just seemed like everyone hated us. And I said something along the lines of how it's 'cause we're good at what we do and we'd suck at anything else. How maybe we do it for that one time that someone thanks us for catching their son's murderer. And back then? I honestly believed every goddamn word I said that night."

"And now?" Reed asked.

"Now?" Flack leaned his head back against the door and stared up at the ceiling. "Now I guess I do it 'cause I know I'm one of the best at the job. Because I can't imagine doing anything else. And because I've got a wife and three kids to take care of. A mortgage, bills to pay. Food and clothes to buy. I do it for them. To provide for them. And being a cop is all I know."

"What about the serving and protecting part?" the younger man inquired.

Flack snorted and shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know if I believe that crap anymore. Maybe I'm the jaded one now. Maybe that night, years ago, I was just spewing a lot of bullshit."

"And maybe you've just lost your faith in the job and in yourself because one of your closest friends just died," Reed bravely suggested.

A smirk tugged at Flack's mouth.

"And maybe, when all that pain and all that grief finally subsides and you look around you and see all the blessings in your life, you'll put that gun and that badge on and be proud of it again," Reed continued. "And you'll look at your wife and your kids and you'll realize you aren't doing it to provide for them. You're doing it to make the city safer. For them."

Flack nodded slowly. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe one day I won't be such a bitter bastard anymore. Anything could happen right?"

"You're just hurting, Don. And we say a lot of shit when we're hurting. And when the pain of this settles down, you'll realize how damn lucky you are. And how you're a hero just for putting on that badge and putting your life at stake each and every day."

"A hero," Flack gave a dry laugh and shook his head. "I don't know about that. But you know what I do know?"

"What's that?" Reed asked.

"I know we got two beautiful wives that are in my kitchen right now, getting shit faced without us."

"Well then," Reed slung an arm around the older, bigger man's shoulders. "Why don't you say we join them? What ya think about that?"

Flack grinned and tousled Reed's hair affectionately.

"I think that's the best goddamn thing I've ever heard you say," he said.

* * *

**A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! I can't thank you all enough for all of your support that you've shown towards me and my stories!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Soccer-bitch**

**xSamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	72. Girls Only?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND KELLAN AND KALLISON FLACK. I ALSO DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK, PARANORMAL STATE OR THE HOTTIE HOST RYAN BUELL. DOES ANYONE ELSE WATCH IT? ANYONE? **

**A/N: THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER FOLKS! AND IT WAS WRITTEN FOR NOTHING MORE THAN PURE SHITS AND GIGGLES**

**THANKS TO CASS FOR HER HELP! LUV YA GIRLIE!**

* * *

**Girls Only?**

"All I can say is that my life is pretty plain  
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain  
And all I can do is just pour some tea for two and speak my point of view  
But it's not sane,  
It's not sane  
I just want some one to say to me  
I'll always be there when you wake  
Ya know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today  
So stay with me and I'll have it made  
And I don't understand why I sleep all day  
And I start to complain that there's no rain  
And all I can do is read a book to stay awake  
And it rips my life away,  
but it's a great escape escape...escape...escape…"  
-No Rain, Blind Melon

* * *

Adam Ross couldn't sleep.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. Or that he wasn't utterly emotionally and physically exhausted. Or that the eight beers he'd consumed after dinner while playing video games with his brother in law, Mark and Reed hadn't made him light heated and his body in a seemingly permanent tingly state. He had, in fact, been in bed for over and hour now; the covers pulled over his head as he straddled the doorstep of sleep but found himself unable to fully cross over. Jarred awake each time he started to doze off by the incessant chatter and the occasional raucous giggling taking place in the kitchen directly below him. Where his sister, Jess Angell (she'd always be Angell to Adam, even when she had fifty years of marriage behind her) and Natalie Gerrard hung out at the kitchen table, sharing a bottle of wine, a key lime pie and fond memories of when they all lived in New York City -before marriages and the stresses of raising families- and sharing tales of their lives now. They laughed while telling stories of silly things their children had said or done. They gushed proudly about the kids' extra curricular activities and successes at school, and how now, they just couldn't imagine not being mothers. Their babies were the lights of their lives and their greatest achievements.

And naturally, the majority of the time they mercilessly made fun of their husbands. Making each other roar with laughter at the tales of the often moronic things that their not so better halves had done during the years of marital bliss.

"Did I ever tell you guys about what Donnie did last Christmas?" Adam had heard his sister, her speech slightly slurred, ask. "Would you believe he actually used a staple gun to attach Christmas lights around the bay window in the living room? I had bought these special clips with sticky tape on the back. And he was suppose to put them around the window frame. Only four beers and two whiny little girls later, I guess his patience just deserted him. And I'm upstairs in the bedroom putting laundry away and I hear this noise…this loud THUNK noise. I didn't think much of it. And then it happens again. And again. And again. So I go downstairs and there, right before my disbelieving eyes, is my wonderful, amazing yet impossibly brain dead husband with the staple gun in his hand and victorious grin on his face."

"Please tell me you had 911 on speed dial," Jess had implored.. "So that there was no time wasted when he electrocuted himself."

"Well thank God that didn't happen," Sam had said. "But can you honestly believe he'd do something like that? That he'd think it was a good idea? Like what in the hell was going through his head? What evil little voice was telling him to do that? You can't tell me that he thought it was a smart thing to do."

"He's a man, Sammie," Angell had laughed. "And he had beer in him. Male DNA, beer and a power tool of some kind? Never a good combination."

Adam had given a disgusted snort at that last comment. And it had been then, instead of just lying there and listening to their male bashing, that he'd yanked the covers over his head and tried his best to fall asleep. How the other occupants of the house had managed to get some z's was beyond him. The women were slightly tipsy and extremely obnoxious. When it became more than obvious that neither Reed or Natalie were in any shape to make the drive back to Mac and Kelli's, it had added to four more guests to the already overflowing Flack house. All the female children were gathered in Kallison's room. Flack had procured extra blankets and pillows to go along with the Dora the Explorer, Tinkerbell and Cinderella sleeping bags and had brought in the mattress off of Kellan's bed. In turn, Reed and Natalie had taken Kellan's room and were using an air mattress that Flack had dug out of the crawl space in the basement for them. Mark and Jess were inhabiting the basement, while their son Markus and Stanton Garrett took up residence on the couch and love seat in the living room.

How in the hell those kids managed to sleep through the racket going on in the kitchen was a total mystery to Adam. And he gave a loud, irritated sigh as, after a lull in conversation downstairs, the girls started up again. This time talking about the television shows they used to watch and the music they'd once listened to and the move stars they'd had crushes on. They talked as if two decades had passed and the world was a drastically different place. As if they were little old ladies gushing and giggling over the fan girl crushes they'd had back in the day.

"What was that show you used to watch, Sammie?" Angell asked. "The one where the group of college kids formed some kind of ghost busting group and went around investigating hauntings and possessions and all that shit."

"Paranormal State," Sam replied. "They were this group of students from Penn State. I loved that show. I used to scare the living shit out of myself and not be able to sleep for a couple of days. I would get so freaked out that I would make Don check under the bed and in the closet. To make sure nothing was hiding under there. And I would nearly piss myself when something went bump in the night. And if he was on nights? I used to call him all scared out of mind. I swear he was seriously thinking about committing me a couple of times. And then there was Ryan Buell…." she gave a large, content sigh. "Ryan was the main guy and I had this massive crush on him. And I used to bug Donnie by telling him that Ryan could hold my hand and cuddle me when the ghosts came out to play. Or that Ryan could at least help exorcise my demons."

Both Jess and Natalie giggled.

"Wasn't he really young?" Jess asked.

"At that time he was twenty five. And I was…well I was a beautiful, vibrant, free spirited, young thirty-three year old. With a perfectly healthy crush on a cute, younger man."

"Cradle snatcher," Jess teased. "And what are you now?" she asked curiously.

"Now I'm an old hag with a moronic husband who thinks it's a smart idea to hang Christmas lights with a staple gun," Sam replied. "But I did manage to fool him this morning with the whole plastic wrap over the toilet bowl trick. He went in there half asleep and dropped his pants and…well let's just say he got the good old golden shower. That'll teach him for leaving the seat up."

The girls roared with laughter.

"You would think that living in a house full of women for five years would re-wire his brain," Sam said. "That he'd actually remember the put the damn lid down after all this time he's spent with all girls in the house. I mean he still leaves the seat up, still drops his socks and boxers wherever the hell he feels like it, still forgets about his dry cleaning, still forgets to call his mother on Mother's Day. I swear to you, that man would fall apart without me."

"And you'd be completely miserable and inconsolable without him," Jess told her friend. "Admit it. You can sit here and bitch and moan all you want. But if something was to happen to Don, you'd go insane. You'd never be the same Sammie."

Silence descended on the kitchen. Then Sam gave a heavy, forlorn sigh.

"Honestly?" she'd ask. "Without him?…I don't even want to think about a life without him…"

Adam smiled at the tenderness in his sister's voice. Sure, her and Flack fought like cats and dogs at the best of times and had an epic love/hate relationship. They had had some really shitty times and they loved to ride each other's asses and neither liked to back down during an argument. Even when it was clear exactly who was right and who was wrong. But they adored each other and would defend each other to the death. Like Sam often said, "I can talk all the shit about him I want. But if someone else does it…well they're going to be extracting my fist from their face."

As the giggling and talking quieted down to a respectable level, Adam rolled over onto his left hand side, and curing his arms around his pillow, closed his eyes once more and prayed to God that the noise downstairs wouldn't get in the way of his much needed beauty sleep again.

The sound of his stomach growling erupted from underneath the covers.

Sighing heavily and accepting defeat, Adam flopped over onto his back and unearthed himself from the covers. He was hungry. Starving in fact. And he knew that he'd never be able to fall asleep while hunger pains were gnawing so persistently at him. Yet he also feared the idea of having to go down into his sister's kitchen where she and her friends were so engrossed in their red wine, late night dessert, and bashing of the male persuasion. He was worried that once he stepped foot in the kitchen, he'd never make it back out again alive.

His stomach rumbled again. He craved sustenance. He needed it. And he knew that the only thing standing between a plate of left over homemade lasagna and a slice of that key lime pie was three females getting drunker by the minute. The longer he waited, the more intense the battle would be. The closer that wine bottle got to the bottom, the less likely he'd be admitted entrance to the kitchen. Or he'd be fodder for all of the women's jokes and cheap shots.

As he tossed the covers off of his body and swung his legs over the edge of the pull out, Adam Ross knew what he had to do.

It was time to pull up his big boy pants and say a little prayer.

* * *

"So…" Jess began, as she dug her fork into her second slice of pie. "How goes things in Ridgewood, Queens? Save for you playing puppet master in your quest to embarrass the NYPD."

"I am not trying to embarrass them," Sam defended herself, and took a sip of wine from a neon pink plastic tumbler. Setting the cup down, she picked up a Dora the Explorer plate sitting on the table that held a fresh slice of caramel cheesecake. A cheesecake that her husband had, earlier in the day, driven all the way to Manhattan to purchase. All because she'd insisted that Weinstein's made desserts that were to die for and she'd be forever grateful, and forever busy 'repaying' him if he'd go and get her one.

Both Jess and Natalie raised their eyebrows and stared at her pointedly.

"I'm not," the tiny brunette insisted, as she placed her foot on the edge of her chair and balanced the plate on her knee. ""I am merely trying to get Hawkes was he deserves. And when Donnie and I went to see Mari last night…she's devastated that he died doing the work of a cop but won't be recognized for it. She's distraught and grieving and she…getting the funeral for Hawkes won't make the pain go away, but maybe it will numb it a bit. Or at least let her know that he didn't die in vain."

"Aren't you the least bit worried that it could be traced back t you?" Jess asked. "The department is going to have a shit fit when that story runs tomorrow."

"Reed made sure that nothing could lead back to anyone with the last name Flack," Sam replied, as she popped a chunk of cheesecake into her mouth. "And now that Donnie's not leaving the department, my only concern was that nothing tarnished him in any way, shape or form. I don't want anything getting in the way of his career. He's fast tracking big time and I made Reed promise me that no one would ever know that he had any part in getting the ball rolling."

"Wouldn't want the NYPD's golden boy getting a little speck of dirt on him," Jess teased. "You do realize he's going to be Chief one day, right? It's inevitable. He's been steadily climbing the ladder. It's bound to happen."

"Only time will tell," Sam said, a proud smile spreading from ear to ear. "But as for life here in Ridgewood, well you pretty much know all the details. I got fired, found a job working for Stella in New Jersey, we put the house on the market and started making preparations to move to Hackensack. And now…well now the house is off the market, I'm going back to work for Mac part time and the piece de resistance? I'm planning on legally adopting the son my husband fathered with his mistress. Now how surreal is that?"

"I personally would have just spared myself a whole world of hurt and just cut his dick off when I found out about the mistress," Jess remarked dryly. "You're obviously a bigger person than I am."

Sam just shrugged and chewed on her cheesecake. "Other than that," she said, avoiding all talk of Jordan Gates. "Things have been okay. Although Don did have a run in with someone very interesting a while back when he and the girls were out Christmas shopping in mid-town."

"Now that is what I find surreal," Angell laughed. "Flack out shopping. With two kids in tow."

"He's a study in contradiction," Sam grinned. "But yeah…he was out in mid-town with the twins Christmas shopping and who does he just happen to run into after eight years? Devon Maxford."

Angell snorted. "Lucky him."

Natalie looked quizzically between the two women.

"This rich, brain dead, bimbo that Don dated back in his man whore days," explained Sam. "He was at her place, slamming her into walls and getting ready to do the nasty when this James Bond-esque spy robbed the place."

"I remember that," Natalie said "They broke into Chief Sinclair's too."

Sam nodded. "Don met Anna Nicole Smith…oh I'm sorry…Devon, at a charity hockey game. Can't say I blame her for latching onto him. There's something immensely sex about him when he's in all that hockey gear and he's all drenched with sweat…" she sighed and snagging her wine, took a long sip. "Anyhow, he was with her for a few months after that whole break in thing but she dumped him when she got tired or parading him around like a trophy and using him as her sex slave."

"Funny how you've never gotten tired of using and abusing him," Jess chided.

"Well unlike Devon, I know a good thing when I've got him in my evil, possessive clutches. Anyhow, he hadn't seen Devon in years and he just steps out of the Rangers store when he…"

"The Rangers store?" Jess arched an eyebrow. "I thought you said he was Christmas shopping for you."

"His idea of Christmas shopping for me included a stop in the Rangers store to buy me this really cute and sexy boy short and cami set…pink with the Rangers logo on it in white…in one of his many failed attempts to turn me into a fan girl," Sam explained. "So he steps out of the store, our insanely beautiful twin girls in tow, I might add, and whose coming up the sidewalk? Devon."

"Oh I can just see the scene playing out in my head," Jess laughed. "Donnie!" she squealed in a high pitched voice as she mocked the socialite in question. "It's so good to see you! You look sooo hot! I've been thinking about you every waking moment for eight years! And now here you are! Stepping right out of my wildest and dirtiest fantasy! Won't you ditch the brats and take me home and cuff me and strip search me and do all kinds of kinky shit to me?"

Natalie and Sam both laughed.

"Pretty much," Sam said and helped herself to more of her cheesecake. "Devon asked him if, get this, the girls were his or if he was babysitting."

"Dumb ass," Jess snorted. "Of course they're his! Look at them! They look just like him!"

"Apparently she was very distressed and disappointed that he had children and a wife," Sam told her friends. "I think the wife part upset her the most. At least they parted ways without her pushing her number in his face."

"Well at least there's one skank that won't go after a married man," Jess remarked. "So what is Miss Maxford up to?"

"She's Mrs Fieldman now," Sam corrected.

"Fieldman? As in the Fieldman's who own only the biggest, most lucrative real estate firm in all of New York City?" Jess asked.

Sam nodded.

"She hooked up with the son? How'd she meet him? Mommy and daddy set them up?"

"You're half right," Sam said. "Mommy and daddy did set them up. But she's with Mr Fieldman Senior."

"Ewww!" Jess grimaced. "What is he? Like ninety?"

"Seventy eight," Sam giggled.

"That is just gross," Jess declared.

"She told Donnie that her amazing, loving husband left everything to her. Everything. A hundred and eighty million dollars US, a penthouse on Park Place, a Bentley. The list just went on and on and on. But here's the best, most disturbing part. A stipulation in their 'arrangement'? She had to consummate the marriage and has to put out regularly."

Jess and Natalie gagged.

"Don said he nearly threw up right there and then," Sam laughed.

"So is it her plan to kill him off by using great sex as a weapon?" asked Jess.

"I doubt it," Sam replied. "Considering Don told me that having sex with her was like fucking a couch."

Jess nearly spit her wine across the table as Natalie swallowed a piece of pie awkwardly and coughed and sputtered because of it.

"Well he did," Sam giggled. "Isn't my husband just so wonderful? Isn't he just the sweetest, most loveable thing ever? Doesn't he just have a way with words? He's such a charming bastard, huh? After that I asked him how would he know? Has he fucked a lot of couches or something?"

"Stop…" Natalie pleaded, tears pouring down her face. "God…please just stop…you're too much…way too much…"

"He'd have to know something like that to make that comment!" Sam reasoned. "Right? Then he got mad at me for insinuating he'd ever do something so perverted and desperate and informed me I was never getting laid ever again."

"Yeah, right…" Jess snorted. "You two not have sex? Hell will have to freeze over before that happens. You two are like goddamn rabbits. I honestly don't know how…" her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as a dishevelled Adam Ross wandered into the kitchen. His hair impossibly messy and his feet bare, wearing a pair of Batman boxer shorts -the insignia splashed across the ass actually glowed in the dark- and a baggy Columbia t-shirt that was faded and tattered and had holes in both arm pits.

"Peanut, you are such a sexy beast," Sam said, and made a growling noise.

He frowned and shot her a foul look and headed for the fridge.

"Did I say you could come into my kitchen?" his sister asked. "Did I say you could just help yourself to whatever you wanted?"

"Uh…yeah…" he replied. "You did. Well, actually…" he pulled the refrigerator door opened and peer inside. "Your husband told me to make myself at home."

"Well guess what? My husband isn't the boss around here. I am. And if he tells you differently, he's lying. I call the shots. I run him. Got it?"

"You wish…" Adam mumbled and removed a pyrex dish of cold lasagna from the fridge, and shutting the door, carried his late night snack to the island.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam asked.

"I am getting something to eat," her brother replied, as he snagged himself a clean dish, fork and knife and a glass from the dishwasher.

"We are having some girl time here," Jess informed him. "And by girl time I mean females only. Men are not allowed in here. At all. You're suppose to ask our permission to enter before you even step foot into this kitchen."

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes and peeling the tin foil off of the lasagna, proceeded to cut himself a huge piece and drop it into the middle of his plate.

"In case you're hard of understanding, we want you to leave on your own free will before we're forced to boot your ass on out of here," Sam said, as she removed her foot from her chair and leaned forward to set her cup and her cheesecake on the table. "Don't make me come over there and Gibbs slap you," she warned, as she pushed her chair backwards and stood up.

"Don't make me go all medieval on your ass," Adam retorted, warily watching out of the corner of his eye as she walked past him. "Don't make me get to those thunder thighs of yours."

Sam frowned and raised her hand, making to slap him upside head. Then laughing as he visibly flinched and jumped out of the way.

"Why do you have to be so freaking evil?" he asked, keeping a close eye on her as she journeyed over to the drawer at the bottom of the microwave stand where she stored Kellan and Kallison's arts and craft supplies. Watching as she snagged a piece of bright yellow construction paper, a black magic marker and a spool of scotch tape.

"So freaking deliciously evil," Sam corrected. "Or so your brother in law keeps telling me all the time when I'm both torturing him and blowing his mind all at the same time."

Adam grimaced. "That I did not need to hear," he complained.

Sam shrugged, and dropping the piece of paper on the counter beside him, uncapped the magic marker and in huge, block letters, wrote: NO BOYS ALLOWED. Replacing the cap on the marker, she held the sign up for her brother to see and smiled sweetly.

"That includes you," she said. "So haul ass and get the hell out of here."

"Before we tie you to a chair and…" Jess began.

"And what?" Adam asked curiously. "Have you dirty little way with me? 'Cause if that's what you were going to say, I'll stick around and take my chances."

"I'm your sister you perv!" Sam scolded. "What is wrong with you?"

"I didn't mean you. I meant your hot friends," Adam told her, then licked his lips and gave Jess a wink.

"Out!" Sam hollered, pointing towards the door. "Get out! Now!"

"I am just…"

"I don't care! This is a drunken girls night and you are not a girl regardless of what Danny Messer says. So take your lasagna and your milk and get the hell out of my kitchen! And do not show your face again until well into tomorrow morning! Got it?"

"Tomorrow as in today as in Friday or tomorrow as in the next day as in Saturday?" Adam asked curiously.

"Don't make me hurt you Peanut!" Sam cried exasperatedly. "Don't make me Roshambo you in front of everyone."

"Rosham-what?" Jess asked.

"Roshambo," Sam replied. "It's from South Park. Cartman and Kyle were having this stupid ass contest or something that involved Roshambo'ing people. Kicking them in the nuts. Adam has every season of South Park on DVD. When I first moved here and lived with him, trust me, we watched a hell of a lot of South Park."

"And Paranormal State," Adam added.

"Ryan Buell…" Sam sighed dreamily. "That's the one boy that could violate my no guy policy. He could violate a lot more than that, actually."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Do your Cartman impersonation, Sammie. Do it. I haven't heard you do it in so long."

"Please tell me you do not have an Eric Cartman impersonation," Jess said.

"Only the best one I've ever heard," Adam praised. "Go on Sammie…do it…I know you want to…just do it for old times sakes."

"Fine…" she sighed, and taking a sip of Adam's milk, let out a huge belch. "Okay…I am only doing this once 'cause it drives Donnie insane. He can't stand me doing it. So here it goes…I'm going to entertain all of you with Kyle's Mom is a Big Fat Bitch. In D minor."

Jess and Natalie turned their chairs around to face her while Adam rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Sam cleared her throat, closed her eyes briefly and then promptly, in a perfect Cartman impersonation, belted out the song.

"Kyle's mom's a bitch, she's a big fat bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world. She's a stupid bitch, if there ever was a bitch, she's a bitch to all the boys and Monday she's a bitch, on Tuesday she's a bitch, on Wednesday thru Saturday she's a bitch. Then on Sunday just to be different, she's a super king Kamehameha biotch!"

Adam doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he laughed hysterically. Although shocked at first when observing their friend's hidden talent, both Natalie and Jess soon burst into laughter themselves.

"Hey!" Flack's deep, authoritative voice thundered through the room, bringing an abrupt end to the hysteria in the kitchen. "It's two thirty in the goddamn morning! What the hell is wrong with you people?!"

* * *

The noise immediately ceased. Startled eyes and sheepish faces looked over at him as he stood in the kitchen doorway in a pair of NYPD sweatpants, plain grey t-shirt and his hair mussed. A hand planted firmly on either side of the door frame.

Jess clamped a hand over her mouth in hopes of staunching her laughter. And only found it caused her to snort loudly. Which only caused Sam to erupt into giggles all over again. She placed her forehead on Adam's back as he was bent over, hands on his knees, tears still coming as his body shook and no sound came out as he laughed.

"Sorry dad," Natalie piped up. "We got a little carried away with ourselves."

"We've got all kinds of guests trying to sleep around here," Flack informed the group. "Including all kinds of kids. And here the four of you are, making all kinds of goddamn noise. And you…" he glared at Sam. "What is wrong with you? Doing that stupid ass Cartman thing…"

"You're just sore they spoofed your beloved Star Wars," Sam informed him, wiping tears off of her cheeks. "You've never quite gotten over that."

"You're definitely a Ross," he grumbled. "All the geek DNA is starting to show."

"I am not a geek," she said. "I am one of the cool kids. And you wish you could be a cool kid. You were still playing cops and robbers with the little girls in the neighbourhood while us cool kids were playing with the Millenium Falcon."

"You complaining about my cops and robbers techniques Sammie? 'Cause this morning you weren't bitching about it. Or did you hide the cuff marks from your friends?"

"I think you're mistaking me for you," she said. "You're the one with the bruises on your wrists and the penchant for being shackled to the bed."

Flack frowned. "It's two thirty in the morning," he repeated. "We've got three kids of our own that need taken care of in less then six hours. Were you planning on coming to bed some time this century?"

"Lonely, Flack?" Jess asked. "Itching to get yourself some? Let your wife have a late night with the girls and go and take care of it yourself."

"Donnie can't sleep alone," Sam told her. "He needs his little security blanket and me in the bed with him if he's going to fall asleep."

Flack glared at her.

"It's the blankie his mommy brought him home from the hospital in," she continued, oblivious to his embarrassment. "Sleeps with it over his feet every night."

"You coming to bed or not?" Flack barked at her.

"Can you not read the sign?" she asked, her body swaying as she walked towards him, holding up her homemade sign for him to see. "No boys allowed. That includes you, honey."

"How much have you had to drink?" he inquired.

"Oh just a little bit…" she replied, holding her thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart.

"Yeah…right…" he said, and curled his fingers around her wrist. "Time for bed…let's go…"

"I don't want to go to bed," she whined, and dug her heels into the floor. "Don't boss me around, Donald."

"Sammie, it's late. Really, really late and you've got kids to take care of and…"

"They're you're kids too!" she argued. "Not just mine! I didn't impregnate myself with your demon sperm, you know!"

"Sam…I'm serious…it's time for bed, okay? It's really late, babe. And you need to…"

"I don't need to do anything," she pouted dramatically. "What are you going to do? Ground me? Take away my privileges?"

"Spank her ass, dad!" Jess cried. "Put her over your knee and spank her ass!"

"Preferably when you get upstairs," Adam added.

"Come on, Sammie…" Flack tugged her towards the door. "Let's go…do not make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you…"

"Only romance I'd get in the last seven and a half years," she muttered.

Flack smirked. "Sammie…you're pushing it…"

"You just want me to come to bed so you can get yourself some," she said. "So you can enjoy uninhibited Sam for once. Well guess what? No such luck on your part. I am not going to be and I'm not putting out and I'm not…"

He sighed heavily, looked skyward as if to beg for both help and patience, then leaning down, proceeded to scoop his wife clear off the floor.

"Donnie!" she squealed, as she found herself dangling over his left shoulder, his hand firmly on her ass as he carried her towards the door. "You're going to drop me!"

"You're fine," he assured her. "Say goodnight, Sammie."

"Good night Sammie!" she cried.

He shook his head. "Now be quiet," he told her. "There's kids sleeping and if you wake them up, I'm letting your drunk ass take care of them. So shut your gate until we get upstairs and in our room, okay?"

"Okay!" she exclaimed, then screeched when he pinched her ass.

"I said be quiet!" he hissed.

"Okay!" she whispered, and clamped a hand over her mouth. Waiting until they were half way up the stairs before she removed her hand to speak once more. "Donnie?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"What, baby?"

"I love you…"

"I love you, too, Sammie. I want to strangle you sometimes, but I do love you."

"You'd miss me if I was gone," she declared. "You'd die miserable and alone without me."

"Yes," he agreed. "I would. I'd still have my sanity but I'd definitely be miserable."

"I'd be really, really, really sad if something happened to you," she told him, then hiccupped noisily.

"I know you would. Who would be around to keep you line?"

"Not just that…" she said. "I'd just…I'd just really, really, really miss you if you weren't here anymore. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my everything. You know that right?"

"Sammie…shhh…stop talking so much, babe."

"It's true!" she cried. "What would I do if something happened to you? You're the one that keeps everything under control around here. You're the one that takes care of me and the girls and Dawson. What would we do without you? What would I do without you?"

"Don't talk about stuff like that, okay? You've had too much to drink. Just be quiet."

"You know what I would do? If something happened to you? If you went before me? I'd go with you."

"Sammie, you're talking some crazy ass shit!" he angrily scolded her, as he used his foot to push open the bedroom door. "Don't fucking talk like that! That's stupid! You're drunk and you need to just lie down and get some goddamn sleep!"

"Well it's true!" she informed him. "I'd go with you! I'd find a way and I'd.."

"You'd do shit," he interjected, and dropping her unceremoniously into the middle of their bed, closed the door. "Now you just shut up and go to sleep, okay? It's really late and you're talking a bunch of crap. You've got four kids to think about and if I ever hear you talk like that ever again…"

"Okay…okay, boss man," she held her hands up in surrender and wriggled her way under the duvet. "I'm sorry…sheesh…"

"I hate when you go all fucking morbid on me," he told her, and flicking off the bedside lamp, lifted the comforter and slipped into bed beside her.

"You're just…" she suddenly sat up, and immediately clasped a hand to her head as the room spun around her. "Where the hell is our son?" she asked.

"He's sleeping in with Adam, remember? 'Cause Adam doesn't snore and you were complaining that my snoring was keeping him up. Chill out Sammie. Relax. Lie down and close your eyes, okay?"

She nodded and did as she was told. Rolling over onto her side, she placed her hand on his chest and tucking her head under his arm, snuggled her face into his side.

"Please let me know if you're going to be sick, okay?" he asked. "So I can both get you the trash can and avoid getting thrown up on."

"That only happened once," she reminded him.

"Once is enough. So just…just give me a warning, okay?"

She nodded and gave him a thumbs up sign. Inhaling deeply, he felt her smile against him. "Baby…" she whispered, her hand drifting over his chest and slowly down to his stomach. "You smell really, really, really yummy."

"Go to sleep, Samantha. Don't even think about…"

"I'm horny," she announced.

"No…you're drunk…those are two entirely different things…"

"Well I am drunk," she agreed, and sitting up, pushed herself up onto her knees. "But I'm horny too. I think I know when I'm horny, Don. You've only been having that effect on me every day for seven and half, almost eight years now."

"Sam…you can't be…" he sighed exasperatedly as she straddled his stomach.

"I can't be what?" she asked. "I can't be trying to seduce my husband?"

"Only if you're sober can you seduce me," he replied. "You know I won't do anything when you're tanked. So you just get off of me and lie down."

"Don't be so damn gentlemanly and noble," she said, and running her hands from his the waist of his sweats to his shoulders, leaned over and kissed him deeply.

"It's called respect," Flack informed her, turning his head in order to break the kiss. "And I have respect for you."

"Well how about for once not having any for me and just throwing me done and treating me like some of those girls you used to pick up in bars when you were single? Or like that dumb little bitch Devon? You even told me yourself she was all into you tossing her up against a wall and doing her like that. Maybe, just maybe, that's the Don Flack I'm looking for right now. The one that just says fuck it and…well and does fuck it."

"Samantha…" he couldn't help but laugh. "You're not like that and we both know it."

"Maybe I want to be like that," she told him. "Maybe just this once I want to be that way with you. We used to have that kind of sex a long time ago. Where we were both sore afterwards. What ever happened to that kind of sex?"

"We're married, Sam. We have three kids together. You're my wife and I…"

"I am your wife and your wife is telling you that she wants you to shit can your gentle, tender shit for one night."

"And maybe…" he said, laying his hands on her hips in order to move her off of him. "when you sober up and you come to me and tell me you want it I'll…"

All words were lost as she leaned over and began kissing and licking and nibbling at his neck. His fingers dug into her hips painfully, and he groaned loudly when he felt her bear down on him.

"What do I have to do to convince you?" she asked, as the tip of her tongue traced the outline of his ear.

"We can't be doing this, Sammie. We can't be doing this with all kinds of people in our house and…"

"Our house. Exactly. And if we want to have sex in our house, then fuck 'em. They can put up with you making all kinds of noise."

"Hey…you're the porn star, remember?" he teased, then grit his teeth as her tongue delved into his ear.

"Oh I remember very, very well…" she said, then bit down on his ear lobe.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "Why you got to be so damn vicious? Why you got to…"

She clamped a hand over his mouth, and flashing him a wicked grin, sat up and used her free hand to reach for the ties on the waist band of his sweats. "I've got an even better idea," she said, her fingers working at the drawstring. "How about you just lie there like a good little boy and you let me do crazy shit to you?"

He mumbled something incoherent behind her hand.

"I'm in charge," she told him. "So you just be quiet and lie there, okay? I promise I won't hurt you, Donnie. Not much anyway." She frowned as she struggled to untie his pants. Seeing three knots instead of just one, she lifted her hand off of his mouth and concentrated solely on her task.

"It's not that hard, Sammie…" Flack said.

"It is when there's three of everything," she informed him. "Just give me a second and I'll…" a wide, victorious smile crossed her face as she finally defeated the knot and lifted the bottom of his shirt further, leaned down to trace a circle around her navel with the tip of her tongue.

"Jesus fucking Christ…" he muttered, his hands slipping up her sides and travelling all the way to her shoulders. He pushed down on them gently, encouraging her to go that extra distance.

She pulled down the front of his sweats, then licked along the edge of the waist band. Hearing his breath hitch and feeling his fingers digging into her shoulders. She knew what he wanted. She knew what she wanted to do for him.

"Good things come to those who wait," she told him, and running a hand underneath his shirt, continued her tongue's assault on his stomach.

"Sammie…I don't think I can wait…so would you just…"

She shook her head defiantly.

He smirked, and then sat up quickly and with his hands on her shoulders pushed her down onto her back.

"That's it baby," she giggled. "Go all big, bad police man on me. I've been a bad, bad girl. I need you to cuff me and treat me like the evil girl I've been."

"You are evil…" he told her. "But evil in a really, really good way."

"In a really, really good way that you like," she corrected.

He nodded, and smirking, pushed her own shirt up to her shoulders and proceeded to lavish the same attention on her body as she had been with his. He felt her shudder against him and tunnel her fingers in his hair as his tongue hit her sensitive navel.

"Just relax, baby…" he whispered, his breath hot against her skin as he slid down her body, his hands pulling down her pyjama bottoms. "Just relax and…"

"Mommy?" Kellan's voice suddenly piped up from the side of the bed. "Daddy?"

"Kellan!" Sam exclaimed, and shoved Flack off of her.

"Guess I forgot to lock the door," he muttered, as his wife glared at him.

"I had a bad dream," the five year old informed them, her eyes barely open, Holly Hobby tucked under her arm. Compltely oblivious to what had been transpiring right in front of her. "Can I come and sleep with you guys?"

Sam looked at Flack.

He raised his eyebrows. His chest heaving with exertion, his body still in an obvious state of arousal.

"You can come and sleep with us," Sam told their daughter. "Do you want a drink or…?"

"I'm thirsty," Kellan told her, laying her head on the bed.

"Daddy will get you a drink," Flack told her, and climbing off the bed, pulled his t-shirt down to cover the front of his sweats.

Sam giggled at him.

"You owe me," he mouthed over his shoulder, as he led Kellan by the hand to the ensuite bathroom.

"I know," she said. "I love you."

He grinned and gave her a wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam smiled.

Sometimes no words were needed.

* * *

**I want to send out a huge thanks to all of my faithful and religious reviewers, readers and fans. Words can not express how much I appreciate all of your support! And a thanks to the lurkers to! All of you guys keep this story, and my others going! Due to three crazy muses, postings may become a little less regular. I hope you'll all stick around!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Madison Bellows**

**Wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**xsamilciousx**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	73. Hello, again

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN….YOU KNOW THE REST BY NOW!**

**OKAY, BEFORE I COMPLETELY LOSE MYSELF IN MY EXICTEMENT, I MUST DO TWO THINGS.**

**1. THANK EVERYONE WHO VOTED FOR ME IN THE AWARDS**

**2. CONGRATULATE ALL THE WINNERS AND RUNNERS UP.**

**NOW HERE WE GO….EXCUSE ME FOR THIS MOMENT OF NARCISSISM WOULD YOU?**

**FIVE FIRST PLACES!**

_**BEST ANGST (MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN)**_

_**BEST ROMANCE (VIEWS FROM BROOKLYN)**_

_**BEST DANNY/OC STORY (TOGETHER WE'LL FALL)**_

_**BEST DANNY/OC PAIRING (DANNY AND SAM ROSS-FLACK)**_

_**BEST DANNY/OC AUTHOR**_

**AND FIVE RUNNERS UP!**

_**BEST FLACK/OC AUTHOR (CONGRATS AXELLIA!)**_

_**BEST OC (SHARED WITH LAURZZ' AMANDA!)**_

_**BEST FLACK/OC PAIRING (SHARED WITH MUSTLOVECAT'S FLACK/NOELLE)**_

_**BEST ONE SHOT (HI, MY NAME IS)**_

_**BEST MINI EPIC (MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN)**_

**WOW GUYS…JUST WOW. WORDS CAN'T EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE ALL OF YOU! I COULD NEVER THANK YOU ALL ENOUGH.**

**NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!**

* * *

**Hello, again**

"Have you come here for forgiveness  
Have you come to raise the dead  
Have you come here to play Jesus  
To the lepers in your head  
Did I ask too much  
More than a lot  
You gave me nothing  
Now it's all I got  
We're one  
But we're not the same  
Well we  
Hurt each other  
Then we do it again

You say  
Love is a temple  
Love a higher law  
Love is a temple  
Love the higher law  
You ask me to enter  
But then you make me craw  
lAnd I can't be holding on  
To what you got  
When all you got is hurt."  
One, U2

* * *

Flack woke to a warm, tiny hand resting delicately on his chest and a knee pressed into a place that made him exceptionally nervous. One false move by the peacefully slumbering five year old and he'd quickly and easily be resorted to tears, not to mention singing soprano for the rest of her natural born life.

Cracking open his eyes, he glanced down at Kellan as she lay on her left hand side, sandwiched between her mother and father, her left cheek resting on his shoulder. Her mouth was open and saliva glistened at the corner of her mouth and had left a patch of wet on his t-shirt and her breath and body were warm and soft against him. A tender smile crossed his face as he observed his sleeping, precious daughter. Taking in the way her impossibly long and thick dark eyelashes fell on her pale, smooth skin and the sprinkling of freckles that dusted the bridge and the tip of her pixie nose. The way her coal black hair framed her delicate face and shimmered in the winter sun that trickled into the bedroom. Her beloved Holly tucked firmly and protectively under her head, using the doll as a pillow.

Reaching out with his left hand, Flack ran it over Kellan's hair and then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. There were two moments in his life that he could honestly say had transformed his life for the better. That had made him realize that life existed far beyond the day to day grind of the job and bringing home a pay check. That had shown him exactly how capable he was of loving another human being. A love that was all consuming and overwhelming and nearly brought him to his knees some days. The moment he'd said 'I do' and slipped that ring on Sam's finger and heard the minister proclaim, over the rushing of the ocean, they were husband and wife and told him to kiss the bride had been the first time.

The second had been when he'd been escorted to the neo-natal ICU at Women's and Children's and been 'introduced' to his brand new baby girls. Tiny little things with a shocking amount of black hair and little red bows tucked into their tresses. He'd never, in his entire life seen anything that small. He could still remember standing in front of the side by side incubators and marvelled at their wrinkled hands and feet and their impossibly tiny ears and noses. He was in complete awe of these beautiful, amazing creatures that he had a hand in creating, and he was overwhelmed by the sheer miracle of life. By how, after being told that the chances of them ever successfully carrying to term after a miscarriage in the September of the year they'd gotten engaged, he and Sam had somehow managed the miracle of life together. That who had started out as just tadpoles in mommy's tummy, were now right there before his eyes.

He was finally a daddy. Throughout the entire pregnancy, while he'd been excited about prospect and had attempted to make it to every doctor's appointment and ultrasound and had been the type of guy to constantly rub the belly and talk to it, he'd never actually felt like a father. Or even a soon to be father. He had found that the days and the weeks and months went by painfully slow and that his babies were never going to get there. He bragged to everyone that asked him how the pregnancy was coming along. He kept a framed ultrasound picture on his desk and showed out to anyone that was in the remote vicinity. Everyone from other detectives to uniforms to the night janitors. Even Sinclair and Whitmore weren't safe from his proud papa shtick, as Scagnetti had nicknamed it. He couldn't go past a children's store without either peering through the window, or actually going in and buying something for his yet to be born baby girls. Everything from lace head bands to leotards with frills on the ass. Onesies that advertised rock bands and sports teams and two tiny Rangers jerseys. And enough pink, purple and white dresses to last his daughters a life time.

"I think you're starting to go a little over board," Sam had declared one night, as she surveyed the packed closet in the newly decorated nursery, one hand on her aching lower back and the other softly rubbing her seven months pregnant stomach. The quintessential mommy to be in a pair of overalls and a kerchief over her hair.

The second bedroom in their cramped apartment had always been exceptionally cluttered, and was nearly unbearable with two cribs, a changing table and a rocking chair. Not to mention the mountains of stuffed animals people were always giving them.

He had been standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders and his chin resting on the top of her head.

"I'm vexed, Donnie…" she'd declared, as she shook her head slowly, clearly taken back by the amount of clothes their children had. "I'm terribly vexed…you worry me….you're scaring me with all of this shopping…you're not going all Queer Eye for the Straight Guy on me, are you?"

"Gotta spoil my baby girls, Sammie…it's my God given right as the guy solely responsible for getting them inside of you in the first place."

She'd rolled her eyes at that and had attempted to wriggle away from him, only to have Flack wrap both arms around her and settle both large, strong hands on her tummy.

"Okay…" he'd conceded, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Maybe I'm just a little obsessed with things."

"A little?" she'd laughed, then gave a soft smile as his nose nuzzled the side of her neck.

Flack hadn't cared what it looked like to his family, friends, colleagues and perfect strangers. He didn't give a rat's ass if his incessant bragging or the ultrasound picture at his desk or the outrageous amount of cash he spent on his unborn twins made him look like a pussy. Like less of a man. Conceiving after the miscarriage -the second in Sam's life- after doctor's had prepared them for the fact it may never happen, had been a major accomplishment for them. As had getting successfully past the crucial first trimester. And no one knew what it was like to be on pins and needles in fear of something going wrong for the next six months. Of living with the worry that carrying to term would never come to fruition. With all of that stress, Flack had felt he deserved the right to get worked up and excited about becoming a dad.

But nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming, all consuming rush of love that and the feeling of utmost completion that had come over him when he'd laid eyes on his daughters for the first time. And when the nurse had gotten him a chair and he'd sat down and she'd placed those two tiny bundles, both swaddled in pink, in each of his arms…well Kallison and Kellan had instantly taken hostage of the part of his heart that Sam hadn't manage to capture yet.

His entire being, his entire soul belonged to his girls.

* * *

Stifling a yawn behind his forearm, Flack raised his head from his pillow and cast a glance over at his wife. Fast asleep on her left side, her face turned towards him and a soft smile curving her lips. A protective, yet gentle arm draped over Kellan's tiny body.

By the time he'd returned from his short trip to the bathroom with their daughter just hours before, Sam had already passed out, face down, in the middle of the bed. She hadn't even stirred when he'd physically picked her up to move her in order to make room for himself and Kellan. Done in by a mixture of her tattered emotions and way too much alcohol.

Carefully manoeuvring his right arm that was almost completely numb from his daughter sleeping on it, Flack laid his hand on the top of his wife's head and softly stroked her forehead with his thumb.

The smile on her lips broadened and her eyes slowly flickered open. Golden brown tenderly gazing into brilliant blue.

"Hey…" Sam said simply, her voice just above a whisper.

"Hey…" he returned the smile with one of his own. "You managed to get through the night without running to the john once to be sick. I'm impressed."

"I think I was too tired to throw up," she responded. "But my head…God it feels like there's a raging tsunami inside of it."

"You know, I should be kicking your ass for drinking that much while on your meds," Flack informed her.

"But you won't, right?" Sam asked hopefully.

"I'll let it slide _this _time," he replied. "But next time…I mean I know you've barely touched alcohol in five years and I know you can hold your liquor surprisingly well for someone so damn small…but next time…well how about there's not a next a time? I'm not trying to be controlling or bossy, but I worry about you, Sammie. With all those meds you're taking…"

"There won't be a next time," she assured him. "I promise."

"Good," he said, as she smiled and captured his hand in hers and brought it down to her cheek and rubbed her face against his palm before nestling into it. She relished those affectionate, tender touches and the feel of his rough skin against the silkiness of hers. They both smiled; their eyes locked on each other as they basked in the peaceful silence embracing their home.

"What time is it?" she asked after several minutes. Giving a loud yawn, she stretched languorously, her bare feet -eggplant purple toe nails and all- poking out from underneath the duvet.

Flack cast a glance over his shoulder, checking the time on the bedside clock radio. "Eight thirteen," he replied, turning back to face her.

Sam groaned. "We're going to be bombarded by demanding, noisy, whiny brats soon. And that's just the adults we've got camping out here. Did Dawson get up at all during the night? He's way too young to be sleeping all the way through yet. Did you go down and check on him to see if he's alright? Did you…"

"Take it easy, mommy. The baby is fine. He woke up around five. I was all ready to head out to look after him and Adam knocked on the door and told me not to worry about it. That he had everything under control."

"Peanut is such a godsend," she declared. "Still shocks me that he had his own kids and he's such a natural with babies. But hey…I've seen and heard stranger. We should try and talk him into giving up his job with the lab to be our full time, live in nanny."

"No…what we should do is move back into the city into an apartment and then that way we can afford for _you_ to stay home full time," Flack said.

"Let's not get into that again, okay? You and your desire to have a stay at home, Stepford wife always leads into a huge fight. Can't we just lie here and enjoy our morning? Can't we just hang out for a bit? This house is going to explode with activity and noise soon. I hope you're prepared to cook some of Detective Flack's famous banana pancakes for everyone. In case you've forgotten, we're running a drop in center all of a sudden."

"Hey…I only make my famous banana pancakes for three people," he informed her. "The three most important people in my life. That's my thing with my girls. Everyone else? We've got enough cereal and tons of bread for toast. They can fend for themselves. I'm no one's Gordon Ramsay."

"Remember the first time you ever made me your pancakes?" she asked.

Flack nodded. "Mornin' after the first time you crashed at my place. You were pretty hung over then, too."

"Maybe because a tall, dark and extremely handsome man who shall remain nameless was plying me with home made Caesars and snake bite shooters all night," she said with a grin.

"Sammie, don't make it sound like all I did was feed you alcohol all night. There was pizza and wings included in your meal plan."

"There was," she agreed. "But admit it, Don. You were getting me tanked 'cause you were hoping I'd let you go where only one other man had ever gone before."

Flack just smiled.

"Well weren't you just so surprised when I shot you down even after you'd gotten me tanked."

"You didn't completely shoot me down," he argued. "You did let me…you know…pay a little visit down under."

She blushed slightly. "My first foray into the wild adventures of Donald Flack Junior and his stunning, mind blowing oral skills. I can't believe you tried to take advantage of me."

"I can't believe no guy had ever…"

"Well doesn't that make you just feel so special," she chided, then laughed when he nodded and grinned proudly. "I have to admit though, after I chickened out and put the brakes on other things, you were a perfect gentleman. You didn't even try anything else even thought we were sleeping in the same bed."

"Trust me babe, it was a damn struggle. I had to call upon every once of will power I had. But you'd said no and I respected that. You know I even remember what you had on that night?"

"You're frighteningly obsessed with me, you know that?" she teased.

"I'm frighteningly in love with you," he corrected. "I was even then."

"Okay then. Amaze me with you impressive memory and your phenomenal observation skills," she said.

"You had on this white Henley shirt with forest green arms and Miller Genuine Draft written across it. And it was tight and didn't even cover your belly button and you were driving me crazy with that piercing of yours. Pair of low riding, ass hugging jeans that when you bent over, gave me a peek of the neon pink thong you had on and your tattoo. Your hair was braided and you had on a backwards Devils cap. And black and pink Air Walk running shoes."

A huge grin spread slowly across her face. "Damn…you're good," she declared. "Did you ever actually pay attention to the Rangers game?"

"Honestly? No," he admitted. "But I was really good at pretending that I was interested in it."

"I still remember how you'd put your arm around me and keep pretending that your hand slipped every time your fingers brushed against my boob," she laughed. "You were like this nervous, horny high school kid that was scared to put the moves on me."

"Hey…I was worried you would shoot me down," Flack defended himself. "I didn't want to try something and then have you slap me in the face and call me a perv and tell me you just wanted to be friends."

"Don…five months before that I was giving you head in your car when you drove me home after work. I think that should have told you right there and then that I wanted to be more than just friends."

"So I'm a dumb ass. I dragged my heels. Wasted a lot of time. It all worked out in the end, right? I pulled my head out of my butt eventually. Look where we are now. Married almost seven years, two kids…"

She arched her eyebrows and stared at him pointedly.

"Three kids…" he corrected him. "Two of them biologically ours. But we've come a long way, baby. Pretty damn good for a guy that blushed when you commented about how good he smelled that night."

"God!" she laughed. "Do you remember everything about that night?"

"Pretty much. I remember you calling me God a few times, too. Did wonders for my ego."

"Like your ego needed any further boosting," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Know what my one regret about that night is?" he asked.

"What? That you didn't get yourself some?"

"Well…yeah…and that I couldn't find any of that Damiana chocolate. Considering what it did to you the first time, if I had have filled you with that stuff…"

She giggled and shook her head. "I would have not fallen for that trick twice. No matter how hot and charming and persuasive and convincing you may be."

"Hmmm…now that you mention it…I am rather charming, persuasive and convincing. And less face it babe, you lucked out when you landed a guy has hot as me."

She snorted. "Only thing it got me was my dark haired, blue eyed babies that I wanted so badly," she said, giving him a playful wink and then pressing a kiss to the top of Kellan's head before softly combing her fingers through her daughter's silky tresses.

Flack smiled and ran his hand through his wife's hair. "We did good, baby," he said.

She gave a smile of her own and a nod. Her proud, loving eyes on Kellan. "We did very, very, very good," she agreed.

Propping himself up onto his elbow, Flack leaned over his daughter's sleeping body and pressing a soft kiss to his wife's lips, trailed the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers.

"God you can be just the most adorable thing some times," Sam declared, and laying a hand on the side of his scruffy, unshaven face, pecked his lips gently. "You really do have your moments, Donald."

"It's why you keep coming back for more. Why you keep me around."

"You really want to know what makes me keep you around?" she asked curiously.

He grinned devilishly.

"Other than your incredible ass and the even more incredible sex," she told him. "It's the way you just love to cater to my every whim. How you're always at my beck and call. How you just live to wait on me hand and foot."

"If you ever tell people exactly how whipped I actually am…"

"Please!" she laughed. "They already know! They just don't want to humiliate you by bringing it up. But seriously…you do like doing things for me, right Donnie?"

"To an extent…" he responded warily.

"Well…seeing as you like doing things for me…do you think you could do a little something for me now?"

"Kellan's in the bed with us, Sammie. I can't just…"

"Not that you pervert! How can you think of that first thing in the morning?"

"How can I not. First thing in the morning is when my…well, you know…when my service weapon is locked and loaded the second I open my eyes."

"God…you are the biggest man whore ever," she teased. "I'm being serious here."

"So am I. You've been with me for nearly eight years. You know how serious I am."

She sighed exasperatedly.

"Yes…" he said. "Yes I like doing things for you. Why?"

"Because I was thinking that seeing as you like doing things, that maybe you'd be the most amazing, phenomenal husband in the world and get out of bed and go downstairs and make me a cup of tea and bring me a bagel with strawberry cream cheese."

His eyes widened.

"It's not like I'm asking you to part the Red Sea, Don. I'm not asking you to perform a miracle of some kind. I just want a cup of tea and something to eat. And seeing as you're up…"

"You're up, too," he pointed out.

"I know…but you love me and adore me and you don't know how to say no to me…"

Flack gave a heavy sigh, and carefully slipping his arm out from underneath Kellan, sat up and ran his hands over his face and through his messy hair. "You're goddamn lucky I love you so much, Samantha Marie," he said, and leaning over the sleeping five year old, kissed his wife chastely.

"I know full well how lucky I am Donald Joseph," she retorted. "And you'll be lucky yourself later if you get downstairs and make me a tea and a bagel. With cream cheese."

"So then you'll owe me twice," he informed her.

She shrugged and smiled. "I won't mind repaying those debts, trust me."

Grinning, he pushed the heavy duvet off of him and climbed out of bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the ice cold hardwood. "I don't want to ever here you say I never do nice things for you," he said as he headed for the door.

"And can you bring me a banana too?" she asked. "Please and thank you," she added, blowing him a kiss as he opened the door.

"You'll be the death of me woman," he declared, and stepped out of the room.

"Well at least you'll die happy," she reasoned. Then with a smile, lay back down and nestled her head into her pillow.

Beside her, Kellan murmured in her sleep and rolled over onto her side. "Mommy?" she breathed, her blue eyes flickering open.

"What, baby girl?" Sam asked, and wrapping her arm around Kellan's petite frame, pulled her daughter tightly into her side.

"What does whipped mean?" the five year old inquired sleepily.

"Well…" she began, as she stroked her daughter's hair. "It means that daddy likes to do whatever mommy says."

"He likes to do it? Or he has to 'cause you're bossy?"

Sam grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of Kellan's head. "You're going make a fine wife one day," she declared. "'Cause you're learning from the master."

* * *

The fall out had been swift and brutal.

Less than half an hour after the New York Times had ran a colour picture of Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, Reed Garrett's letter to the editor and a gut wrenching, tear jerking story on Hawkes and his family all underneath a massive, bold headline that accused the NYPD of denying a hero what he so richly deserved, outrage had rained down on the department. Disgusted and horrified members of both the general public began flooding department switch boards and the commissioner's office with furious complaints. Soon after, their calls of protest were followed by calls by local and state officials demanding an inquiry into the allegations against the NYPD and their 'abuse' of their people.

Fifteen minutes later, Mac was bombarded by a sea of photographers as he got off the elevator and stepped out onto the thirty-fifth floor at the lab. All of them wanting both his personal story on his life -both career and personal wise- with Hawkes, and his honest opinion of the mess regarding the brass denying the man a proper funeral. By that time, Mac was three things: exhausted, grieving, and massively pissed off that Hawkes was getting the shaft.

For lack of a better word, he'd snapped. He'd looked directly into the cameras and spoke from his heart. He had ranted against the department for ignoring Hawkes' family during their time of need. There'd not been one message of sympathy sent to Mari and the kids from the brass or the mayor's office. Not one flower of offer of support had shown up on their doorstep. The only thing they'd received was the cold shoulder and proverbial fuck you. And he stressed that for a police department that bragged about being a huge family, the only time they actually practiced what they preached was at recruitment time. Danny Messer was in the hospital. Doctor Sheldon Hawkes was dead. And the brass and those running the city didn't seem to give two shits.

A half an hour hadn't passed since he'd made his comments and Mac had received two things. An irate call from the commissioner threatening to have his badge for insubordination for his 'ludicrous' statements, and a second call from the mayor himself. Assuring him that his job was safe, and that Hawkes would receive a no holds barred funeral.

Mac hadn't cared about the former. At that point in time, his job was the last thing he was worried about. It was earning respect for not just Hawkes, but for every member of his team. The unsung heroes behind every solved case. Who worked themselves until they were exhausted. Who had shed blood, sweat, and many tears in the pursuit of justice. They were family. They rallied around each other, and Mac held tightly onto the reins and guided them the best he could. And there was nothing he wouldn't do for them. Even if it meant forfeiting his badge to ensure they got what they so richly deserved.

The department hated embarrassment. And Mac, along with the Times, Reed and whoever Reed's inside source was, had collectively humiliated the department. The commissioner was determined to find out exactly who'd fed Reed the information regarding the treatment of Hawkes and his family. Mac had wished him the best of luck. Reed had journalistic integrity and would risk the threat of jail in order to protect his 'people'. Mac himself, didn't care what member of his team or which of their family had so sneakily orchestrated the plot against the department. Maybe it was a collective group. One that would deny any allegation and stand up for each other if need to. Maybe it was just one person, acting alone out of disgust, feeling ashamed for the badge. It didn't matter to him. He was proud of the whole lot of them.

Now, with a raging head ache caused by the stress of dealing with the brass, the grief he'd been hiding from everyone, and the exhaustion that played sheer havoc on his body, Mac sought solace in his office. He closed the door and locked his holster and weapon in his safe. He left his computer on hibernate and turned off the ringer on his cell phone and arranged to have all calls to his office go to straight to voice mail. Needing some time -even if it was just a few minutes- to sit back and collect his thoughts. To quietly reminisce about the years he'd worked with Hawkes. To remember the good and the bad. The collars and the ones that got away. The personal moments they'd experienced together. Each other's weddings, the birth of Hawkes' son. The adoptions of Mac's kids.

Dropping into the chair behind his desk, Mac stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Shutting out the outside world. Tuning out the sounds of employees that rushed past his office. Ignoring their chattering and shouting and nervous laughter. Everyone was too on edge, to stunned about Hawkes' death to smile and laugh with sincerity. And he wondered just how long it would be until things went back to normal around the lab.

And if they ever would.

He felt the tension seep from his weary body as he lost himself in memories of Hawkes. In his worry for the man's family. In his thoughts of how Danny was doing cooped up in the hospital. He made mental notes to himself to head on over to check on the younger man, and to make sure that Lindsay and the kids were holding up okay. He reminded himself to stop by and see how Mari and Jasmine and Elijah were doing. Especially now that she'd most likely been given the news. He planned on calling Reed, who had spent the night at Flack's overflowing house with Natalie and the kids.

The only thing that Mac didn't think about was himself. Or his own family. Kelli and the kids had long ago accepted that they were second. It was the nature of the beast. Something that can being with the enigma of Mac Taylor. And before they'd taken the step towards marriage, Mac himself had given Kelli the option to walk away with no hard feelings on his part. It took a strong woman to be married to a cop. To accept that it was the badge first and family life second. To deal with the incessant worrying and stress that came each time their loved one stepped out the door. Even Samantha and Lindsay, who did the job themselves had trouble at times dealing with their husbands being in harms way day in and day out. They were independent, feisty women who loved their men with a passion and intensity that stunned even the most hardened of hearts. And if it was hard for them, Mac couldn't fathom putting Kelli through such torment.

She'd looked at him as if he'd grown a second head and told him, a scowl on her face as she used sign, that for a smart man, he was a damn stupid human being for ever asking him something like that.

He was so lost in his thoughts, so absorbed with thoughts of all that he and his team had lost and all that had remarkably been saved, that he didn't hear the soft tap at his door, or the slight squeak that it made as it swung open, nor did his ears pick up on soft footfalls as they approached his desk.

* * *

"He _does _close his eyes for a moment and rest," a soft feminine voice said. The daintiness of the British accent falling on his ears. And causing his heart, despite itself, to beat a little faster as warm, wonderful memories flooded through him.

His eyes fluttered open. His breath caught in his chest as the woman that stood before him. Dressed conservatively in a crisp white blouse, black pencil skirt and knee high black leather boots. A thick, slate grey woollen pea coat draped over her arm. And a soft, angelic smile on her lips.

"Hello Mac," the vision greeted him. "It's been a long time."

"Peyton," he managed through his surprise. He couldn't recall a time he'd been _that _startled to see someone from his past. His not so distant past, at that. And he was slightly unnerved by the feelings and unresolved heart ache that rushed through him.

"You honestly didn't think that I wouldn't come, did you?" she asked, as Mac quickly got up from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. There they stood. Lost lovers with fond memories and immense personal baggage creating a wedge between them. Both unsure of what step they took next. Did they simply keep their distance? Or embrace for old time's sake?

Mac chose the former. For now.

"How did you…?"

"Sid called me," Peyton explained. "He and I have kept in contact for the last nine years. Phone calls and emails and such. And seeing as I went through medical school with Sheldon, he felt it was only right that I should know about his passing. I flew out as soon as I could. It was shocking, to say the least."

"For all of us," Mac told her. "It's hit us hard. The entire team has been hit hard by this. And they're…we're dealing with it. One day at a time."

Peyton nodded. "And how are you doing, Mac?" she asked, concern in her voice and eyes. "How are you dealing with it? I know that you loved Sheldon very much. That you had a great respect for him. You're always so concerned about others. Whose concerned about you?"

"I don't have time to be concerned about myself," he replied. "The well being of my team and their families are first and foremost. You know that. I've always been like that."

"I'd expect nothing less from you," Peyton said with a smile. "But this affects you as well, Mac. Sheldon was part of this team. His family is your family. And I know how bad you must be hurting. And that you're a master at hiding that from people."

"I've done a lot of hurting, Peyton," he told her. Sounding more harsh then he'd intended. "And not all of it has been physical."

She sighed sadly and dropped her coat onto the arm of the sofa across from his desk. "May I?" she asked, gesturing towards the couch.

Mac motioned for her to go ahead.

Peyton gracefully lowered herself onto the couch as Mac leaned back against his desk, hands planted firmly on top of it.

"I truly am sorry Mac," she said, as she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed self consciously at her elbows. "The way that things ended between us…I know that sending you a letter was not the best way to handle things…"

"A Dear John letter you mean?" Mac asked, struggling to keep the irritation from seeping into his voice.

"I should have handled things so much better than what I did," she admitted. "I wanted to come back and do it face to face but I was so afraid that…I was so afraid that the sound of your voice and the sight of your eyes would only keep me here in New York City. And I was unhappy here, Mac. You were the only light in my life and I…in the end I would have made you unhappy as well. And that wasn't fair to you."

"What wasn't fair to me was you not having the guts to come back here and face me," he told her. "I would have much rather you had the courage and the decency to do things face to face. I would have heard you out, Peyton. I would have listened to what you said. And because I loved you so much I would have let you walk away. No hard feelings."

"I know whatever apology I offer up is woefully inadequate, Mac. I know I should have handled things better. And I know I must have hurt you deeply. But at the time…at the time I thought it was the best for both of us. And now…now I know all that that letter did was leave so many unanswered questions. I never should have done that to you. Especially after I was the one who pursued you. Who pressured you into a relationship and into forgetting about your wife."

"Claire has nothing to do with this," Mac snapped. "She died sixteen years ago, Peyton. That's a long time ago. I'm remarried now. I have two boys."

"I know…" she smiled warmly. "Sid told me. He told me all about your wife lovely wife Kelli and your two sons. And about how excruciatingly happy and in love you are. And you have no idea how wonderful that makes me feel Mac. To know that you've moved on and you're created this fantastic life for yourself. You're a good man and you deserve all the happiness in the world."

"Kelli and the boys are my life," he told the woman before him. "She's my everything. My rock."

"I'm sure she is. But truly Mac, we both know that this is your life. Serving and protecting. Running the crime lab. That's your life. And she must be a stronger woman than I am. Because I couldn't compete with all of that."

"And what about you?" he asked, anxious to divert the subject. "Last I heard from Sid you and your husband were living in Bristol."

"We're actually in Wales now. Cardiff," Peyton told him. "James took the position of Dean at Cardiff University several months ago. I accepted a teaching role in the pathology department. It's a much better fit for me then the ME's office there."

"And you never had any children?" he asked.

"God was never gracious enough to grant us that particular blessing," she replied sadly. "I so wanted to be a mother, but…" she sighed heavily. "That path was simply not mine to take."

Mac nodded in understanding.

"I was startled when Sid told me about the rest of the team," Peyton said, brightening up considerably. "About all of the marriages and all of the children between the lot of them."

"They've been a fertile bunch," Mac said with a chuckle, and twisting around, grabbed the framed photograph off of his desk and carried it over to the couch. Sitting down beside his ex girlfriend, he kept a respectable distance as he pointed out and named, the children that belonged to the members of his team.

"And who is this?" Peyton pointed at a smiling Samantha Flack.

"That's Adam Ross' older sister," Mac told her. "You remember Adam? Slightly awkward yet insanely intelligent lab tech?"

She nodded.

"I hired her shortly after I returned to New York. She's a Dartmouth grad. Came to us via Phoenix. She's my ballistic expert."

"Impressive," Peyton said with a nod. "She's also very pretty."

"She's also Flack's wife," Mac revealed. "They've been married just shy of seven years. And these two…" he pointed to the twins. "Are their identical twin daughters. Kellan and Kallison."

"They're absolutely beautiful," Peyton gushed. "They make a lovely family."

"They've had their ups and downs," Mac sighed. "But they're better for it."

"Life is full of trials and tribulations." Peyton reasoned. "It's how we handle and conquer them that is the most important. And Sheldon's death…" she laid a hand on Mac's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "It's going to be a long, hard road. But in the end…in the end you'll all conquer this, too."

Mac nodded, and swallowed noisily. Desperate to rid himself of the lump of emotion that had lodged in his throat.

Peyton gave a tender smile and pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek. "Give yourself time, Mac," she said. "Give yourself time to be a human being for once. Stop being everyone's rock and saviour all of the time and just open your heart and let yourself feel. You have earned that right."

He sniffled and gave another nod. "Would you like to go and grab a cup of coffee?" he asked. "Catch up on old times?"

"I would," she replied. "Very much so. In fact…" she said, as he stood up and returned the picture to his desk. "You know what I'm fancying at the moment?"

Mac shook his head.

"For some reason I'm wanting a Hostess cupcake," she told him. "Particularly one from the vending machine."

Mac gave a broad grin of recollection. "Well lucky for you," he said, as he offered his hand. "I know the perfect vending machine on the fifth floor."

"You read my mind," Peyton gave a light laugh, as she accepted her hand and he helped her to her feet. "It really is good to see you again, Mac," she said sincerely, her hands on his shoulders.

"It's good to see you too Peyton," he responded. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the door.

"We shall," she said, and looped her arm through his.

And together they exited his office. Not as old lovers.

But as old friends.

* * *

**A huge thanks to all of those who are reading and reviewing! Words cannot express how much I appreciate each and every one of you! Even the lurkers!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Soccer-bitch**

**muchmadness**

**wolfeylady**

**Madison Bellows**

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**Delko's Girl 88**


	74. Flack Family Fun

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**ONCE AGAIN, THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED FOR ME IN THE AWARDS! I AM STILL SHOCKED AND EXTREMELY HUMBLED! **

**AND CONGRATS TO ALL THE OTHER WINNERS AS WELL!**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO CASS FOR ALL OF HER WONDERFUL LITTLE IDEAS, AND HALEY FOR GIVING ME THE GREEN LIGHT ON THE SNOW BALL THING.**

**OKAY, I DECIDED TO GO WITH A FLUFFY FUTURE CHAPTER TO BREAK UP THE WHOLE SADNESS SURROUNDING HAWKES' DEATH, FUNERAL ETC. ENJOY! **

**COOKIES TO WHOEVER PICKS OUT THE TIE IN TO 'TIME'S UP' AND TO MY FIRST STORY, MEMORIES OF BROOKLYN**

* * *

**Flack Family Fun**

"I will remember your pain,  
And fears.  
Come on,  
Come on yeah.  
You stay here,  
Every moment there you are.

I grow up,  
I hope to get the hang of this.  
I bleed from six strings,  
I let the truth fall from my lips.

Do you remember what we were?  
Do you find out what a kiss is for right before you die?

Just like when you have fallen,  
I will be there when you rise.  
In all kinds of weather,  
I will be there when you rise.  
Ohhh... It's the most peculiar feeling,  
I don't know what's coming.  
After we die,  
Ohhhh... I will be there when you rise."  
-Rise, Will Dailey

* * *

Flack was freezing.

From the waist down, he was nothing short of a living and breathing icicle. The front and the back of his jeans, from the ankle to where the bottom of his black and red snowboarding jacket - a Christmas present the year before from Sam, who got tired of seeing him bundled up in layers as opposed to actually wearing a _normal_winter coat- fell just below his ass. And even that was wet, considering he'd been parked on his rear for the last ten minutes huddled behind the large yellow plastic slide in the middle of Jack Bleeker park, two blocks from his warm and cozy home.

He attempted to wriggle his toes. Despite the three pairs of wool socks he'd been smart enough to wear under his Timberland boots, he was somewhat disheartened to realize that he could barely feel his extremities. It was well below zero and his lungs burned with each inhale of the winter air. His cheeks were a crimson red and his eyelashes, chin and the tip of his nose nearly frozen. He was just thankful that he'd actually listened to his wife when she'd tossed him an navy blue wool hat with NYPD written across it and a pair of thick, well insulated clothes and insisted that he wear them. It was the first time in nearly eight years together he'd actually admitted to her face that she was right about something.

And knowing Sam, she'd never let him live that down.

"Daddy!" Kellan whispered harshly, from where she stood between his legs, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Her pink and white stripped scarf had fallen down and settled underneath her chin, and like her father, her cheeks were bright red and her eyelashes bore tiny chunks of ice at the tips. Her nose was running. Profusely.

"What, baby sweets?" he asked, and reached out to wipe her nose with one of his gloves. The things we don't do for our kids, Flack thought, as he cleaned his hand off on his thigh. He wondered when in the hell he ever went from a carefree bachelor bar hopping into the wee hours of the morning and then stumbling home blissfully drunk, to parked on his ass in the snow, wiping his kid's snotty nose without the use of a Kleenex.

"It's snowing again!" Kellan informed him of the obvious, as she tilted her head back towards the grey, dull sky, and closed her eyes and giggled softly as snow flakes tumbled down onto her face. "I like the snow! I wished it snowed all the time, daddy!"

Flack just smiled. Silently wishing that he shared in his daughter's enthusiasm for the bitter winter weather and praying to the higher powers for not allowing the brutal New York winters to last even longer than they already did. "Do you see anything, Kellan?" he asked, his voice low and serious as he tugged his daughter's scarf up to cover her face. So that just her big blue eyes were visible.

"I don't see them daddy! I don't see mommy or Kallison."

"Well keep looking. I'm counting on you here, baby sweets. You're the look out. It's your job to make sure we don't get caught. That they don't sneak up on us. That we can get the drop on them the second you see them. See all them snowballs there?" he nodded down at the dozen tightly packed orbs of snow sitting beside him.

Kellan looked down and nodded.

"That's our arsenal, alright? We're getting our butts kicked here. Mommy and Kallie are just lying in wait hoping to smoke us out. They're just hiding somewhere thinking we're going to think they've giving up. They're hoping we're going to think it's safe to come out. And when we do….they'll nail us. And we don't want that, do we?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"So you keep a good eye out? Okay? You wanna win the war? You've got to be smarter than your enemy. And we're definitely smarter than mommy. Right?"

"As if daddy," Kellan said with a roll of her eyes.

Flack smirked and leaned his head back against the slide behind him. He tried to concentrate on warm things to keep his mind off of how damn cold he was. He thought of those two weeks he'd spent in Turks and Caicos. Where the temperatures had hovered just below a hundred during the day and rarely hit below eighty five at night. He remembered those long, sweaty nights -more due to strenuous newlywed activity then the actual heat itself- and how he and Sam would lie in the middle of the bed in their hotel room afterwards. Hearts pounding in their chests and their slick limbs entangled. Listening to the sounds of the ocean through the open patio doors and staring out at the beautiful, full moon that filled the room with heavenly, silver light. He imagined that instead of sitting in the snow, he was in his basement, sprawled out on the couch of lounging in his favourite chair, a bottle of beer in his hand, the Rangers on television and the fire place crackling.

And how, as he immersed himself in a game of snow ball tag/hide and seek, his brother in law was taking his place on that sectional couch. Most likely watching something on the Space or Sci-Fi channel, or playing video games, while babysitting Dawson and keeping an eye on Wiener. The guests, after a lively and raucous breakfast, had scattered in their separate directions. Reed, Natalie and the kids packed up and headed out to Mac and Kelli's while Jess and Mark and their two hellions left to make a day out of visiting Mark's family and her father and brothers. Danny's parents had come to take Amanda back to their place. Lindsay wanted all three of her kids together until Danny was released from the hospital in a few days, and Sam and Flack, with their twins and a new baby in a house, just didn't have the room or the patience to take on all three of the Messer kids.

Being stuck inside the house was driving Sam and the girls absolutely crazy. And when it had been his wife who'd gotten the girls riled up with a suggestion that she, and daddy, take them to the park and play tag and hide and seek, he hadn't had the heart to disappoint his kids. Or Sammie for that matter. All three women in his life had long ago perfected their pouts and their best whiny voices, and he was a goner the moment they began batting their long eyelashes in his direction. Although spending an hour or two in the freezing cold wasn't exactly his idea of a relaxing afternoon with his family, neither was listening to the girls bitch and moan about how bored they were. Or watching the same Disney movies over and over again. Or bearing witness to their fighting.

Or having to immerse himself in the numerous chores that Sam had written down on her 'Honey Do List' and tacked to the fridge.

Snowball tag and hide and seek was definitely better than having to clean the utility room or paint the en-suite bathroom or change _all _of the light bulbs in the house to the energy efficient kind.

"Daddy!" Kellan cried from behind her scarf as she peered around the slide. "I see them! I see mommy and Kallison!"

"Do they see you?" he asked, as he reached out and closed his hand around a snowball.

"I don't think so…" she replied. "They're over by the swings!"

Flack twisted his body around and peeked out from around the slide as well. Watching as his wife, bundled up in her pink and black snowboarding coat and matching pants, a bubble gum pink hat perched on her head and matching mitts covering her hands, lifted Kallison onto one of the swings and commenced pushing her back and forth. She'd either given up on the game, or was pretending she had.

"Maybe mommy thinks we ran away," Kellan said, as she released her hold on his neck and turning around, settled herself on his lap. "Maybe she doesn't want to play anymore."

"Or maybe mommy is just sneaky," Flack told her. "Maybe she's trying to fool us into thinking that she gave up and doesn't want to play anymore. Let's hand tight for a couple of minutes, okay? This could be a trap and we're too smart to fall for a trap like that."

"What if mommy never comes over and finds us?" Kellan asked, as she picked up one of the snowballs with both hands and brought it to her lips. "What if we sit here forever and freeze to death?" she inquired, as she munched at the snow.

"We won't freeze to death," her father promised her. "We'll just give it a couple of minutes and…"

"Gotcha!" Sam bellowed, suddenly appearing at the side of the slide, startling both Kellan and Flack. "Take that!" she cried, and pelted her husband in the chest with the snow ball clutched tightly in her hand. Sending chunks of snow flying up into his face as the ball disintegrated on impact.

"Mommy!" Kellan shrieked, then began giggling so hard she tumbled backwards off of her father's lap, landing spread-eagled on the inches of snow that blanketed the ground. "You got us, mommy!" she squealed excitedly, then began moving her arms and legs vigorously as she made a snow angel. "I told daddy that you were smarter than he was but he didn't listen!"

"When does your dad ever listen to anything I say?" Sam asked, her eyes widening at the sight of the snow ball in Flack's hand. "Don't you dare!" she cried and began slowly backing away. "You already almost got me in the face once today!"

"Oh trust me, Sammie…" Flack wiped his face off with the sleeve of his coat and swept the snow off of his chest with his hand. "I won't be aiming for your pretty little face…"

"I won fair and square!" Sam informed him as he pushed himself up onto his feet. "Kallie and I won this battle outright! You said that whoever got nailed last was the loser. Game over. And that was you…" she held her hand up to her forehead, forefinger and thumb in the shape of an. "You're the big L, Donnie."

"The big L…" he snorted. "I'll show you the big L," he said, and made to grab her. A mischievous grin curving his lips as she took a couple of steps backwards. "Don't make me chase you, Sammie. That's one race you won't win babe. I'm only a foot taller than you. Much longer legs, babe."

"Yeah? Well you're also a hundred pounds heavier which means you're like a slow, lumbering elephant," she teased.

Flack frowned, then took a lunging step towards her.

She gave a shriek and turning on her heel, nearly stumbled in the snow as she took off running in the direction of the swings with Flack, and Kellan, hot on her heels. The twins' giggles floating on icy air as they watched their parents with great amusement.

It wasn't often that they got to sit back and see their parents acting like the little kids in the family. And it was much better to see mommy and daddy smiling and laughing and teasing each other then it was to see them mad at each other and to hear them arguing and saying mean things to each other. Mommy always cried when daddy and her got into a fight and daddy always scared her by yelling really, really, really loud. And neither of the girls liked angry daddy. At all.

"Save me, Kallison!" Sam breathlessly pleaded, as she sought shelter behind her daughter. "Save me from the big bad policeman."

"Oh nice, Tinks…" Flack smirked, hunched over, his hands on his thighs as he attempted to catch his breath. The intake of the frigid air burning his lungs. "Use a five year old…_our_ five year old…as a human shield."

"What's happened to you?" Sam asked. "Out of shape, Donnie? What ever happened to the guy that could chase a perp for seven blocks and still get his man in the end? You're not even thirty-eight yet and you can't even make it a hundred yards without nearly having a heart attack."

"It's the weather," Flack told her, coughing noisily and then spitting into the snow.

"And the fact that you smoke a pack a day," his wife added. "You need to sit down and strap on an oxygen tank, Don? Can't keep up in your old age? Or are you just worried about getting your butt kicked by a girl? _Again_."

He frowned. Then bolted around the side of the swing and grabbed a hold of his wife by her hips. "Whose going to get their butt kicked?" he inquired, laughing as he hoisted her effortlessly over his shoulder. An arm curled around her petite frame and a hand on her ass as he carried her away from the swings.

"Let me go!" she squealed, kicking and squirming in vain. "Let me go! Put me down! Put me down right now, Don! Or I'll…"

"Or you'll what?" he chuckled. "What are you going to do, Tinks? I've got you in a completely submissive position here. You can't go anywhere. And if you don't stop all that kicking and fighting me, I'm going to lose my grab and drop you flat on your ass. Just take it easy."

"You're evil!" she declared. Shrieking as he allowed her to slip over his shoulder and slide down her back. Her hat tumbling to the ground. "Donnie!" she screamed. "You're going to drop me!"

"I am going to drop you if you don't calm down," he told her, as he trudged through the snow, the twins both scampering behind them. Giggling and chattering about what daddy was going to do to mommy. And just who the bad guy out of the two was. "You calm down and nothing bad will happen to you? Got it? You just relax and take it easy and you'll get through this in one piece, babe."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Sam grumbled. "I swear to God if you let me go…"

"I promise you I will not drop you," Flack told her. "At least not on your head."

"What are you…?" her words were cut off as she found herself lifted off of his shoulder and then quickly deposited, flat on her back, in the middle of one of the tall snow banks that served as a perimeter on the poorly made outdoor rink the city had completed just days before. "I can't believe you!" she cried, struggling to climb out of the bank. "You are an evil shit, Donald Flack Junior! What was I ever thinking marrying you? I never should have agreed to go out with you eight years ago. I should have just kept shooting you down!"

"I don't take no for an answer, remember?" he grinned down at her. "You did that and I'd still be on your ass about dating me even now. I wasn't letting you off the hook, Sammie. You were destined to fall for the Flack charm. Even if it did take me forever to bust it out on you."

"You're such an arrogant SOB," she muttered, then held out her hand.

"But you love me. It's why you married me, Sammie. You were wildly and desperately in love with me then, and you still are. Your life would suck without me."

She snorted.

"And think about it. Had you not agreed to go out with me?" he curled his fingers around her tiny, mitt covered hand and pulled her to her feet. "If you hadn't have agreed to go out with me, we wouldn't be here right now," he finished, as he wrapped his arms around his wife's slender body.

"You mean in the middle of Bleeker park in the dead of winter freezing our asses off?" she asked, hands gripping the front of his jacket, her teeth chattering as she beamed up at him, her golden brown eyes sparkling.

"Well that too…but I was thinking more along the lines of how we're embroiled in complete domestic bliss. Crazily and madly in love with each other, two amazing, beautiful little girls, an adorable son. You ask me, you did the right thing giving in eight years ago."

"Don't you mean you did the right thing by pulling your head out of your butt and then parking it on the stairs in my old apartment for three solid hours?" she teased. "If I do remember correctly, you came to me. You were waiting for me to come home. Not the other way around."

"Yeah…waiting for you to come home from a date with that f--"

Her eyes widened and she cast a glance towards the twins who were three feet away, on their backs in a snow bank, making snow angels.

"That freaking a-hole defence attorney who talked about himself all night and ate off your plate during dinner. At Tavern on the Green. And who took a personal phone call in the middle of a carriage ride. And who had the nerve to bad mouth and who actually thought he was going to score a second date with you."

"Well you know…I probably would have went out with him again if you hadn't have been sitting on those stairs waiting for me," Sam admitted.

Flack grimaced. "You telling me you actually would have dated that tool again?"

"He wasn't that bad," Sam reasoned. "Okay….so he was arrogant, obnoxious, had absolutely no sense of humour and talking to him was as exciting as watching paint dry. But he was rather attractive and he did have tons of money. We would have made some beautiful kids that we could have raised together in some fancy brownstone. Or that a nanny could have raised while I drove around in my BMW and blew his money on Fifth Avenue."

Flack snorted. "Come on…how boring would that kind of life have been? You wouldn't have wanted to live like that. Think of how dull that would have been. Living the rest of your life with that moron? Chances are your kids would have been just as damn pathetic as he was. Least with me, you got yourself some damn good looking kids. And I may be just some blue collar guy on a city salary, but I rock your world and you know it."

"Oh I still would have hooked up with you," Sam chided. "You would have been my lover. I would have keep going to you when I needed crazy, hot, kinky sex."

He grinned. "Are you saying you would have used me for my body?" he asked with a dramatic gasp.

"All six feet two inches, two hundred and ten pounds of it," Sam replied. "I would have used you and abused you, Donnie."

"You've been doing that for the last eight years," he laughed. "And have you heard me complain once?"

She shook her head, then placed her chin on his chest and smiled up at him. "I love my life," she told him, her voice quiet and sincere. "Despite all the bad times and all the tears and all the fighting…I wouldn't give you up for anything in the world, Don. You're my everything. You've always been my everything. And you're right. We do have beautiful, amazing kids together. And I am madly and crazily in love with you."

"You forgot passionately," he told her with a dimply grin.

"And passionately…" she added with an exaggerated, dramatic sigh.

"And you know what babe?" he asked, as he pulled her even tighter against him as the other reached up to dust snow out of her hair. "I gotta admit…I got a pretty damn big crush on you."

She smiled. "You do, do you?"

He nodded. "Massive, in fact."

"Well then you have very, very good taste in women. Such a drastic improvement from your days with leggy, red headed socialites with no brains."

He frowned, then laying a hand on the side of her face, covered her lips with his in a long, slow kiss. Her lips were freezing cold and tasted of a mixture between cherry chap stick and snow, but feel of her body against his and her hands gripping the front of his coat tightly quickly warded off the cold.

"Daddy!" Kallison cried, her face wrinkled in sheer disgust. "Mommy! Get a room why don't ya?!"

Sam burst out laughing, bringing an abrupt end to the kiss. "Where did you learn that?" she asked her daughter. "Who taught you that?"

"I will not give away my confidential sources," Kallison replied.

"You have been spending way too time with your Uncle Peanut," Flack declared. "Either that or you were eavesdropping on Uncle Reed when he was on the phone this morning."

"I heard nothing and saw nothing," the five year old said. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it!"

Flack grinned at Sam. "I think we have either a future detective or a future reporter on our hands," he said, giving her a wink and a peck on the cheek before walking over to the snow bank where his daughters lay on their bags, eyes closed and their tongues sticking out as they attempted to catch snowflakes. "Come on, ladies…" he said, and crouching down, scooped a child up under each arm. "Time to head home. It's freezing out here. Don't want you two getting sick."

"Do we have to go back to school tomorrow, daddy?" Kellan asked, wriggling her legs in indication that she wanted to be put down.

"Yep…Christmas break is over," Flack said, as he set her down on the ground. "Time for you guys to go back to the old grind."

Kallison let out an exaggerated sneeze, followed by a cough. "Daddy…" she whined, as she wrapped an arm around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't feel so good."

"Nice try pumpkin eater," he chuckled, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Are we ready?" Sam asked, as she bent down to pick up her hat from where it lay in the snow. A frown covering her face as she realized it was soaking wet.

Flack nodded, and reaching up with his free hand, pulled off his own hat and handed it to her.

She gave a soft smile of appreciation and slipped the NYPD wool cap onto her head as she fell in step alongside of her husband and his hand settled on the small of her back.

"Can we have hot chocolate when we get home mommy?" Kellan asked hopefully, grabbing a hold of her mother's hand and skipping along happily beside her.

"With marsh mellows?" Kallison piped up.

"Lots and lots of 'em!" her sister cried excitedly. "I want to use daddy's big cup!"

"No I want to use daddy's big cup!" Kallison argued. "You got to use it last time!"

"Did not!" Kellan retorted.

"Did too! I remember! I got the memory of an elephant, 'member?"

"Uncle Peanut meant that you look like an elephant," Kellan said.

"Girls…" Flack attempted to keep the peace. "Easy now…easy…we had a really nice, fun afternoon out and you don't want to ruin it by fighting, do you?"

"But Kellan got to use your cup last time, daddy! It's my turn!" Kallison cried.

"Well, seeing as I don't have the memory of an elephant and I can't remember who did what, how about you two have race to the gate up there and the winner gets to use my cup. Sound good?"

Both girls nodded.

Flack placed Kallison on the ground, grinning as the two girls, in their pink and purple snowsuits and their clunky boots and their purple, yellow and neon pink 'jester' style hats complete with bells on the ends of each tail, took off through the snow. Stumbling several times and giggling hysterically as they collided with each other more than once and tumbled down onto the snow.

"Oh they're definitely Ross' alright," Flack said to his wife, as he draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight into his side.

"Yeah…they got all my brains and all of your looks. Lucky for them, huh?" she teased, as she curled her arm around his waist. ""Cause if they'd gotten their father's brains…"

"Enough out of you," he said, and bent down to kiss her. "No more comments from the peanut gallery."

"Not even if it's to tell you how much I love you?" she asked curiously. "Or would you prefer I kept that too myself?"

Flack grinned down at her. "You can tell me that as much as you want," he said.

* * *

The evening had been one of the most relaxing Sam could remember the family spending together in a long time. With their home back to order for the time being and their guests opting to stay overnight at the places they were visiting, it was quiet and peaceful around the Flack house was quiet and peaceful. Or at least their version of peaceful. There was never a dull moment with two rambunctious five year olds, an equally as hyper dog even made more so because Adam had been sneaking it table scraps all day despite Sam's direct orders not to do it, and a month old baby that coaxed laughs and giggles and gushes of praise for every little thing he did. Whether it be blow a bubble while pursing his lips together, giving a smile brought on by gas, or letting out some of the noisiest bowel movements that any of them had ever heard. Everything that Dawson did was cute, as far as the ladies in the house were concerned. Even if it was puking down daddy's shoulder and back after letting out a huge belch.

After dinner and the girls had been bathed, the entire family had retreated down to the family room to watch movies and indulge in some left over Christmas candy from stockings a bowls of popcorn. While Adam opted to hang out in the home office and surf the 'net - "Don't let me catch you on any porn sites or chat lines" Sam had warned, to which her brother had rolled his eyes in response- the girls had snuggled up together on one part of the sectional couch while their parents lounged on the other.

It had been Kellan's turn to pick the movie. It was movie night twice a week and the girls took turns on choosing what the family would want. That night it was Snow White. Flack had inwardly groaned and rolled his eyes. They'd only seen that half a dozen times already.

But it was better than The Tinkerbell Movie or Cinderella, which had been on constantly nearly every day for three months after the girls had received them for their birthdays.

"There's something I don't get about this movie," Flack had said, his eyes narrowed and a frown on his face.

"What's not to get?" Sam has asked. "It's Disney. It's not suppose to make you think."

"What I mean is that there is no way that…" he had glanced over at the girls, then leaning into his wife, placed his lips against her ear. "…there is no way that one woman a can live in total isolation in the middle of a forest and have a strictly platonic relationship with _any_ of the seven men she's living with."

Sam's cheeks had flushed bright red. Then she'd given a scowl and pushed him away from her. "Way to just ruin my whole childhood you big tool!" she'd cried.

Three hours later, with the movie long finished and the girls long tucked into bed and the house in silence, Sam and Flack found themselves completely alone for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Adam was upstairs holed up on the computer, the girls, although not yet asleep, were in their rooms giggling and chatting through the walls with each other, and Dawson was upstairs in the master bedroom in his portable playpen. The baby monitor switched on and the receiver parked on the coffee table.

"We're pretty goddamn boring," Flack declared, as he lay stretched out on the longest part of the sectional. The television off and the fireplace illuminating and heating the room.

She nodded in agreement as she rested on her stomach on the smaller part of the sofa, her head nestled into the crook of her husband's neck. "I don't know if its so much boring as it is that we're just plain lazy," she said.

"That could be it," he said, and yawned noisily. "We've got a long week ahead of us," he commented. "Hawkes' visitation, his funeral the next day…"

"At least he got what he deserved," Sam said. "I'm glad that the department was shamed into giving him a proper funeral. I don't feel to good with having to go to that kind of extent. But…"

"They deserved it," Flack declared, as his fingers combed through her hair. "Fucking shameful how they acted. It was disgusting. And if they'll do it to Hawkes, they'll do it to anyone. And that's just not right. You know I don't want anything like that, right? A massive departmental deal? You know that I just want something small and quaint when I kick the bucket?"

"We've talked about this a million times," Sam reminded him. "And you've written it all down. So can you please not go all fatalistic on me tonight? It's bad enough dealing with losing Sheldon. But to hear you talk like that? Just…just please don't do it, okay?"

"Okay…" he said, and kissed the top of her head. "It's just good to be prepared, Sammie. That's all."

"And you are prepared. Very prepared. Only I'm not prepared to lose you and I can't stand it when you talk about stuff like that. We had an amazing day, Donnie. And we're having a great night. Please don't mess that up by talking about death. Especially _your_ death."

"Sorry…" he said, his hand settling on the back of her neck. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked.

"I heard a weird story on CNN today," Sam told him. "About this spa on the upper east side that offers bird dropping facials."

Flack grimaced.

"Apparently it's the hot new thing," she said. "I guess they gather up the bird droppings and grind it into powder and then turn it into a cream. I'm not entirely sure how, because by the time that I got to that part I was completely grossed out and no longer paying attention."

"Who in the hell would pay money to have bird shit smeared on their face?" Flack asked. "And never mind that, who in the hell's job is it to collect the stuff? I hope whoever does it gets paid a hell of a lot of money. 'Cause that's just gross. Never mind what diseases those goddamn flying rats might be carrying and dropping all over the city."

"People will pay money for the strangest things," Sam reasoned.

"True…kind of like when you dropped two hundred bucks at a salon to stick your feet into a fish bowl and let the little bastards nibble on you," he shuddered. "I'll never understand why you did that."

"They're called Doctor fish," Sam told him. "And it was honestly the most relaxing thing I've ever experienced."

"Well no one ever said that you were normal Sammie," he said. Then winced as she dug her teeth into his shoulder.

"Watch it or I'll nibble on you," she told him, raising her head to smile at him.

Flack grinned. "Just my feet or other places too?"

"I'm not into the whole foot thing like you are," Sam reminded him as she sat up. "But there's a couple of other places I wouldn't mind getting a hold of."

"Yeah? Like…?"

"Like your love handles," she teased, and pinched his sides. "And your potato patches!" she cried gleefully, and tickled the insides of his thighs.

"Leave them goddamn potato patches alone!" he shoved her hand away and clamped his legs together.

"But baby…." she kissed his cheek. "I love your potato patches. They're so cute. The girls have them, too. And so does Dawson. Did you noticed that when you were changing his diaper? That he has your potato patches?"

"I did. I also noticed he has my big…"

Sam placed her hand over his mouth. "Please do not finish that sentence," she begged, then removing his hand, covered his mouth with hers in a long, sizzling kiss.

"So is this where you start making last night and this morning up to me?" Flack asked hopefully.

Sam just smiled.

"'Cause hold that thought if it is," he said, and quickly sat up. "'Cause I've got something for you. A little surprise. Little something I picked up just for the two of us when I ran out to grab milk this morning."

"What kind of surprise?" she asked, watching as he climb off the couch.

"The kind that you can't know anything about," Flack replied. "It's what makes a surprise a surprise."

"Well I know that," she huffed. "But is it good? Bad?"

"Would I ever give you a bad surprise?" he asked, and crossing the basement, disappeared into the utility room. "It's a good surprise!" he called to his wife.

"Okay…" she frowned at the sound of the freezer squeaking open and items being arranged inside. "But what kind of surprise would come out of a…"

Her words were cut off as Flack stepped back out into the basement. A massive, mischievous grin on his face. And a container of ice cream in one hand and a dirty towel from the laundry in the other.

"I love ice cream," she declared, licking her bottom lip in anticipation.

"Not just any ice cream," he told her, and spread the towel out on the couch. "This is extremely special ice cream. Mommy and daddy ice cream."

She arched a quizzical eyebrow.

Raising his eyebrows, he held the container out. "Your favourite," he said. "Mint chocolate chip. And you know what mint chocolate chip ice cream means in our relationship, right?"

She gave a huge smile and nodded. Then without a word or without being told, scooted backwards on the couch until she was sitting on the towel.

Flack grinned, and tearing off the plastic wrap covering the lid, popped the container open. Sticking his finger into the ice cream, he leaned over the couch and held his finger out to her.

Grabbing him the wrist, Sam took his finger into her mouth and sucked aggressively. "It _is_ my favourite," she declared.

Smirking, he tossed the lid onto the coffee table and dropped to his knees at the side of couch.

"And you say we're boring," she laughed.

He kissed her. Hungrily and passionately. Then dipping his finger into the ice cream once more, proceeded to spread the ice cold treat along the side of her slender neck.

"The things I have planned for you," he said.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even lurking! Words can not express how humbled I am not just by the results in the awards, but in the constant outpouring of love and support for me and my stories! I appreciate each and every one of you!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Hope4sall**

**Laurzz**

**Afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**xSamilciousx**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**


	75. Between Friends

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS**

**A/N: MASSIVE THANKS AND SHOUTS OUT TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED IN THE AWARDS! I AM HUMBLED AND HONOURED THAT YOU ALL ENJOY MY STUFF THAT MUCH!**

**AND CONGRATS TO ALL THE WINNERS!**

**AND POTATO PATCHES ARE A FLACK-ISM (AT LEAST IN MY WORLD) FOR THE FAT AT THE TOP OF THE INSIDE OF YOUR THIGH. LOL**

* * *

**Between Friends**

"I've had my moments, days in the sun  
Moments I was second to none  
Moments when I knew I did what I thought I couldn't do  
Like the day I walked away from the wine  
For a woman who became my wife  
And a love that, when it was right,  
Could always see me through  
Lookin' at me now you might not know it  
But I've had my moments."  
-Moments, Emerson Drive

* * *

Two hours before the scheduled start of the private memorial service being held at Blackburn and Sons funeral home on the upper East side for Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, Tony Scagnetti found himself stomping snow off of his black dress shoes as he climbed the steps leading up to Flack's front door. The afternoon visitation had gone well. Although closed off to the public, members of the crime lab and the department itself had trickled in and out during noon to two. Making time to stop by and pay their respects during their lunch breaks or while they were supposed to be on the clock. In favour of the public funeral the next day -St Patrick's Cathedral was expected to be packed to the rafters with not just family and friends, but members of the NYPD and FDNY and other police departments in and out of the state of New York, politicians and other dignitaries and the general public- Mari had decided that the visitation and evening memorial service was for close friends and family only. Followed by a small get together, a wake of sorts, at her home that her mother and several of her mother's friends were hosting.

Scagnetti himself, stuck in court from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon, had been unable to attend the visitation, but had accepted Flack's invitation to head on out to the house for a couple of beers before heading into the city for the memorial service. A couple of beers sounded damn good to the big detective, who'd brought along the perfect chaser for those beers in the form of a twenty-sixer of Jack Daniel's and a bottle of Bailey's.

He tapped the toes of his shoes against the bottom of the door frame, ridding himself off the last traces of snow before pulling open the screen door and laying a finger on the doorbell. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to keep himself warm as the chime sounded throughout the entire house. From beyond the heavy wooden door, he could hear Wiener's incessant yapping -the mutt was always set off by the sound of the door bell or anyone that simply walked through the front door- and Sam's loud, scolding voice as it got closer and closer to the front foyer. He saw a burst of light as the door to the breezeway opened, then heard the click of the deadbolt as it was snapped open.

"Special delivery!" Scagnetti greeted, holding aloft the paper bag emblazoned with the liquor store's insignia.

"It's Christmas all over again!" Sam chirped, her cheerful voice a poor attempt at covering up her frayed nerves and tattered emotions as she pulled the door open and held it wide enough for her friend to enter. She looked conservative in her grey jumper style dress, black turtleneck and thick black stockings, a burgundy velvet headband holding her hair away from her face.

She'd spent the entire day firmly planted at Mari's side at the funeral home. Alternating between consoling her grieving friend and greeting each guest that walked through the parlour doors and made their way to the casket. She and Kelli had taken turns coordinating the evening plans with the funeral director and making sure that everything was going to be exactly the way that Mari wanted it. And on top of that had been the everyday stresses of home life. Of taking care of a month old baby and getting two five year olds up in the morning, fed, dressed and to school. Of tending to household chores that had fallen by the wayside and paying bills that had, unfortunately, went completely forgotten on top of the fridge and were now nearly a week over due. All little things that when bunched all together, were enough to drive a sane person crazy.

Or a sober person to drink.

"I figured I can't come over and see my mistress without bringing the beverages," Scagnetti teased, as he stepped into the breezeway and Sam closed and locked the door behind him.

"You didn't have to butter me up with booze," Sam told her husband's partner, as he toed off his shoes and slipped out of his jacket, which she took and hung in the already overflowing hall closet. "You know you don't have to get me drunk to seduce me anymore, Tony. We're past that stage. Besides…" she patted his stomach. "I've missed my chubby Santa."

"Yeah? You keep talking like that and your chubby Santa's little helper is going to get a mind of it's own, if you know what I mean," Scagnetti chuckled, then drew her into a tight, one armed hug. "How you holding up, Missus?" he asked.

"I'm doing okay," she replied, her tiny arms wrapping around his wide, strong body. "It's still a shock, you know? I don't think it's completely sunk in it. Maybe because I haven't exactly had the time to sit back and think about it. It's been insanity in here the last few days. People coming and going, Donnie pulling in crazy amounts of hours, the girls back at school after the holidays, Dawson…" she sighed. "Thank God my brother is here or I'd be certifiably insane by now."

"Don't knock it," Scagnetti said, as he held her out at arm's length and kissed both of her cheeks. "I lost my mind a long time ago. Actually, since I started working with your hubby. But that's a depressingly long story that would require me to be completely tanked to even attempt to get into."

"How do you think I feel?" Sam laughed, as led the way out of the breezeway and closed the door. "I've worked with him for nine years and I've been married to him for nearly seven. That's just downright masochistic if you ask me. Why I continue to torture myself is beyond me."

"You do it 'cause you love the guy," the detective reasoned, as he followed her through the tidy living room and down the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. "'Cause you'd be damn miserable without him."

"But at least I'd be sane," Sam said as they entered the kitchen. "You have no idea what it's like in this house some days."

"Uh…actually…I do. I'm Flack's partner, remember? We've been buddies for years. I've been here when the two of you have gotten into some of your dandy scraps. I have heard language come out of the two of you that I never even knew existed in the great big dictionary of profanity. I know exactly how nasty things can get in the Flack house."

"Well you missed a good one three mornings ago," Sam told him, as she journeyed to the sink and opened the cupboard above it. Standing on her tip toes, she took down two plastic tumblers - one neon pink and the other bright green- as Scagnetti unpacked the back of booze and then went to the fridge and helped himself to two cans of Pepsi.

"Is this the one about Junior forgetting to tell you that he had the joint task force meeting with DHS and Vice?" he asked, as he snapped open the cans of pop and set them on the island and then shed his suit jacket and laid it over on of the bar stools on the opposite side of the counter.

"Here I was, thinking that he was taking the girls to school. So naturally I was still in my pyjamas right?" Sam moved to the fridge and filled the glasses with ice from the dispenser mounted on the stainless steel refrigerator door. "I'm taking my time, making the girls' lunches while they're having breakfast and tending to Dawson, thinking that Don's going to be down any second to help get them ready for school. You know, washed up, teeth brushed, dressed, the whole nine. Well he comes down all right. Wearing these department issued boots, cargo pants and those black thermal shirts you guys wear sometimes when you go on raids."

"SWAT gear," Scagnetti confirmed, as she joined him at the island and he cracked open the bottle of JD.

"Exactly," she said, observing as he poured the liquor into her glass, waving her hand over it when he'd given her enough. "And he informs me he's heading to work now. Just so casual about it like it was something he told me about already. I had no clue what he was talking about because he specifically told me that he had the girls' first day back at school off and that he'd take them. So that started a big old thing naturally. I was convinced he didn't tell me, he was convinced he did. And you know what it's like when you fight with Don. He's always right. Even when he knows he's full of shit."

"I've learned that it's just best to humour him," Scagnetti told her, as he poured Pepsi into their glasses. "If he thinks he's right…well letting him think he's right is better than the world of hurt you're going to cause yourself by attempting to prove just how wrong he is."

Sam rolled her eyes, and picking up her drink, swirling it around in her hands before taking a sip. Coughing and wincing as she was taken back by the amount and strength of the alcohol.

"I should be kicking your ass by the way," Scagnetti told her, as he leaned back against the counter behind him. "'Cause of you picking fights with Junior the rest of us had to put up with his bullshit for the rest of the day. He was as grumpy as all shit. Gets like that and I just want to put him over my knee and spank the shit out of his ass. How'd you manage to turn him into such a girl?"

"The threat of no sex for the rest of his life always hits him deep," Sam laughed. "We made up when we got home from work."

"Yeah…and I know what making up means when it comes to you two."

"Actually, my brother watched the kids and my husband went all romantic on me and took me out to dinner. A dress up dinner, at that. Quaint little Italian restaurant, candles, some wine."

"And then the real making up came later when the two of you got home," Scagnetti teased. "Don't lie. He walked into work the next morning with this massive, shit eating grin on his face. And he only gets that grin for one reason."

Sam grinned and gulped down some of her drink. "I rock his world, what can I say?"

"So where is Junior? He run away from home? Or is he passed out from exhaustion somewhere?"

"He took the kids over to his mom and dad's for the night. Kellan and Kallison wanted to come tonight. Donnie sat down with them and explained that Uncle Shelly had gotten hurt at work and that the doctors had done everything they could to try and make him better again, but that God wanted him as an angel and the doctors never win against God."

Scagnetti grinned as he imagined the talk between father and daughters.

"So they get the whole idea that Uncle Shelly is in heaven. With God and all the other angels and saints and what not. And that his body stays in the ground, but his soul is everywhere, just floating around. And that they can't see him, but they can talk to him and he's watching them. They wanted to come tonight but daddy didn't like that idea. He doesn't think it would have been good for them."

"Gotta say that for once, I actually agree with the guy," Scagnetti said.

"They were so pissed off. Especially Kellan. She accused him of treating her like a baby. You should have heard her…" Sam laughed and shook her head before bringing her cup to her lips. "…she reamed him out royally."

"'Cause she's just like her mother," the detective concluded. "She takes after you. Shoots from the hip."

"She's got an attitude problem," Sam sighed.

"Hence why I said she's just like her mother," Scagnetti teased. "So how'd it go with the in-law's? I take it the whole 'surprise you have another grandkid' convo went well."

Sam snorted and swallowed her drink. "Are you kidding me? Don's mother went insane. I am talking right ballistic. His dad was okay with it. Massively disappointed that his son not only cheated but couldn't manage to use protection, but okay with it nonetheless. Patricia though? Psycho bitch from hell. She was like something out of the exorcist. Her face went beet red, her eyes were bugging out of her head, smoke was practically coming out of her ears. It was crazy. She now refuses to step foot in our house. Calls it a den of inequity. Says she doesn't want the evil rubbing off on her."

Scagnetti smirked and shook his head.

"Which is exactly why Donnie had to take the kids over there for the night. I wouldn't be surprised if she siphoned some Holy Water from the church and is going to use it to bath the kids in once he leaves. You know, to get all the germs and evil shit off of them. Or maybe she'll make them drink it. To cast out the demons."

"You watch way to many of those poltergeist shows," Scagnetti informed her. "I thought you'd be all happy to get that witch out of your hair."

"Oh I am, trust me. I just…" Sam sighed and rubbed at her temples. "It's just a lot going on at once, you know? Jordan dying, taking in Dawson when we haven't taken care of a baby in five years, planning the adoption, Adam's martial issues, my crazy assed family and now Hawkes. It's just too much all going on at one time. It's no wonder I'm not an alcoholic."

Scagnetti gave a small smile and reached out to gently and comfortingly rub her shoulder.

"But what can I do, right? God only gives us what we can handle. And right now, He's giving me alcohol. So…" she toasted her friend with her glass before taking a large sip. "Drink up."

"Where's your brother?" Scagnetti asked, as he gulped down half of his drink in one serving.

"He's already in the city. He had a meeting with the attorney that Don recommended him to. So he was just going to grab a bite to eat afterwards and then meet up with us at the funeral home. Speaking of which…" she pulled up the sleeve of her black turtleneck and peered down at her watch. "God…I hope Donnie gets home soon. I get paranoid when he's gone too long. I worry about him."

"I knew it," the detective chuckled. "You can bitch and moan about Junior all you want. You can call him every foul name in the book and boot his ass to the couch. Fact of the matter is, you love him and you'd go nuts without him."

Sam just smiled.

"Admit it little Brooklyn," he nudged her playfully with his elbow. "You'd miss the guy if he wasn't around."

"Of course I would," she said. "I mean, if Donnie wasn't here, who would I get to lift all the heavy shit? Who would I get to do all the repairs around here? Who would I get to get things off of the high shelves?"

"Smart ass," Scagnetti smirked. "You know what I mean."

"I do," she said with a nod. "And you're right. I would miss him he wasn't around. My husband makes life very, very, very…what's the best word to use? Interesting? Exciting? Complex?"

"How about complete?" the man beside her suggested.

Sam giggled. "Tony Scagnetti…going on romantic on me, are you? What's gotten into you? Are you feeling okay? You never talk like this? Are you alright?"

"I'm good…I'm good…" he assured her. Then grinned. "Met someone," he told her.

"Someone as in a woman someone?" Sam asked.

He nodded.

"Someone within the department?" she pressed. Relief visible on the her face as the found of the breezeway door squeaking open fell on their ears.

"Just this girl that I've been running into a lot lately," he told her.

"God…please do not tell me you've developed an infatuation on one of Madame Sookie's girls or some stripper that gives you lap dances and a little extra in the back room. 'Cause if you tell me that, Tony, I'm going to my mother in law's and getting some of that holy water and disinfecting every inch of you."

"It's no one like that," he assured him. "And I don't know what kind of stories Junior likes to tell you about my extra curricular activities, but he's exaggerating."

Sam stared at him pointedly, an eyebrow arched.

"He is," Scagnetti insisted. "And this someone that I met…well she's just your normal every day, average girl. Works at the Starbucks across the street from the precinct."

"Uh-uh…" Sam shook her head vigorously. "You are not allowed to date any baristas. Do not let yourself fall into the same trap as Adam did. Them baristas seem all sweet and innocent, but trust me, they will suck you in and get you in their evil clutches and they will destroy you. Doesn't the mere mention of Paisley's name want to scream and go running for your life?"

Scagnetti grinned and sipped his drunk.

"She's a vicious, life sucking monster from which there is no escape," Sam declared.

* * *

"You talking about my mother again?" Flack asked curiously, catching Sam's comment as he journeyed into the kitchen, tossing his overcoat across the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

"Did you hear me say venomous, wretched, Satan possessed mother in law from hell?" his wife retorted, as he laid a hand on the small of her back and kissed her cheek in greeting.

"Where's mine?" Scagnetti inquired, tilting his face towards his friend.

"Donnie saves his best kisses for you," Sam informed him, then giggled when Flack pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. "He gives me all the wet, messy ones and gives you the intense, toe curling ones."

"Yeah…that's it Sammie…" Flack pried her cup out of her hands and helped himself to a large sip of her drink. "You've discovered my dirty secret. I'm having a wild, sordid affair with Scagnetti."

"Danny will be so jealous," she teased, then snatched the drink from his hand as he attempted to take another sip. "Designated driver!" she cried. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I need something to calm my damn nerves after dealing with my mother," Flack told her. "You have any idea how horrific that experience was? Introducing her to her 'bastard grandson' as she so eloquently calls him."

"Like I said, venomous, wretched bi-otch," Sam declared, and took a gulp from her cup. "She refuses to come into our home ever again," she told Scagnetti. "Because Donnie committed adultery and fathered a child outside of his marriage and therefore, brought Satan into our home. And she will not spend one moment in this house of ill repute."

"Actually, babe, she honestly believes I brought Satan into my home the day I married you," Flack teased his wife.

"Because I am just so evil and villainous," Sam gave a maniacal laugh. "I perform Satanic rituals and practice animal and human sacrifices and dress all in black and drink from a goblet of human blood. But only on full moons of course."

"Rest of the time you just chain Junior up and torture him," Scagnetti quipped.

"Exactly!" Sam chirped. "And he likes it. And no honey, we weren't talking about your lovely mother. Bubsy was telling me about some new flavour of his."

"Jackie from Starbucks," Flack said, and opening the fridge wide, snagged a can of Pepsi.

"You told him before me!" Sam exclaimed in mock horror, and slapped Scagnetti on the shoulder. "Bubsy how could you betray me like that? I thought we had something special! And all along you've been cheating on me with my husband!"

"What can I say?" the big detective asked. "I've got a thing for the nice ass and blue eyes too."

Flack grimaced, and snapping open the tab on the can, took a swig of pop. "I'm going to try and pretend that you never commented on my ass," he said, and belched loudly.

"Gross!" Sam cried, then swallowed a large amount of booze and released a massive burp of her own.

Flack smirked and shook her head as Scagnetti roared with laughter and dropped down to his knees to bow to her.

"Why thank you," Sam said, and curtsied elegantly. "I will not be out done," she informed her husband and tugged playfully at his black, blue and silver stripped tie. "You're quite the handsome shit tonight," she declared.

"How much have you had to drink?" Flack inquired. "'Cause there's no way you're going to no memorial service half tanked."

"This is my first one," his wife told him. "It's my nerves, Donnie. My nerves are so shot that I'm giddy. I can't control myself. I'm so freaked out about this entire thing that I can't think straight."

"Better to laugh than bawl your eyes out," Scagnetti reasoned. "As long as you're not bursting into giggles at the service, it's all good."

"See…" Sam stepped to the big man's side and curled an arm around his waist. "I knew I married the wrong homicide detective way back when. I never should have turned you down when you asked me out, Bubsy."

"Told you one day you'd regret it," Scagnetti chuckled. "Oh calm down, Junior," he said, acknowledging Flack's frown. "You know we're just kidding around. I never once asked her out."

"Well not on a date at least," Sam said. "But you did proposition me."

Flack's eyes narrowed, his forehead furrowing as he glared at his partner.

"Joking, Donnie, joking…" his wife assured him. "We're just yanking your chain. Riding your ass as Danny likes to say. Not once did Tony ask me out on a date or invite me to sleep with him."

"But I did think about," the detective admitted. "Several times in fact."

"Sorry…" Sam gave a sugary sweet smile and batted her eyelashes as she gazed up at Scagnetti. "But honestly…" she patted his stomach. "I am way out of your league. I'm way out of Don's league, but I was thirty-four and beggars can't be choosers."

"I am going to remember all of this when it comes to re-write my will Sammie," Flack told her. "And you're going to get the shock of your life when I kick the bucket and you find out I left you shit."

"Donnie…you work for the city. What would you possibly be leaving me? Unless you've got millions squirreled away somewhere. Then and only then will I be mortally shocked."

"All it takes is a dollar and a dream baby," Flack told her.

Sam rolled her eyes. "So…spill Bubsy," she said, as she released her hold on Scagnetti in favour of stepping in front of Flack and leaning back against his chest. "Whose this Jackie girl and when do I get to meet her and will I approve?"

"She works at Starbucks, soon and probably not," Scagnetti answered all of her questions quickly.

"Cool, how soon is soon and why not?" Sam inquired, not missing a beat.

"What's so cool about it, maybe in the next couple of weeks and because she's younger than you are," her friend replied.

"Cool that at least she's employed, why wait so long and you are a dirty, perverted old man," Sam countered.

"She only gets paid minimum, because I'm not quite ready to introduce her to you insane people and why thank you," Scagnetti grinned.

"It's better than nothing, we're not insane and only you would take that as a compliment," Sam shot back.

The detective opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut again.

Sam roared with laughter. "I win! For once I win! He's speechless!"

Flack chuckled and shook his head. "You two and your weird methods of communication."

"It's how we pass secret messages back and forth between each other," Sam declared. "The best is when we're in interrogation and the perps are trying so hard to keep up with us. Drives them insane. Never mind what it does to Mac."

"I can definitely attest to the fact that his hair wasn't as grey and his nerves weren't as shot until you started working there," Flack said, and pressing a kiss to her cheek, cast a glance down at his watch. "We should get going soon…" he suggested.

Sam nodded, and finishing her drink, stepped away from him and sat her cup on the island. "I'm going to go pee and freshen up my face," she said, and quickly exited the kitchen.

* * *

Flack waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs before looking at Scagnetti and sighing heavily.

"Do you have any idea how fucked up these last couple of weeks have been?" he asked his partner. "Like how royally and majorly screwed up it's been? Jordan gets murdered, I'm given custody of the son I made with her, my wife is making plans to adopt a kid I fathered with my mistress and Hawkes is dead. When the fuck did things go so wrong? When did all of this happened?"

"Let me see…" Scagnetti swirled the ice and booze around in his cup. "I guess it all went south the minute you forgot how to say no and couldn't keep it in your pants."

Flack frowned, pop can poised close to his lips. "You come here to give me a lecture again, Tony? Same lecture you gave me eight months ago when Sam spread it around the entire lab and precinct that I had an affair? The same lecture you repeated several times after my wife took off with my kids and moved into Sid Hammerback's house?"

"I wasn't lecturing you," Scagnetti told him. "I was simply letting you know how badly you'd fucked up and trying to make you realize what you were in danger of losin' just 'cause you felt that getting laid was more important than keeping your family together."

"Wasn't as simple as that," Flack snorted.

"I don't care how simple it was or how complicated it was. And there's no goddamn excuse or reason you can give me to justify why you did, Don. You messed up. Plain and simple. I thought you were a fuck head then and I still think you're a fuck head for doing it."

Flack downed the last of his pop and turned abruptly on his heel. "Excuse me if I find it hard to take criticism from the biggest man whore on earth. A guy who will tap just about anything."

"Huge difference between us," the other man said. "I was doing my thing as a single guy. You were doing it while you had a sick wife and two beautiful little girls at home. I didn't have anything to lose by being a shmuck. You had everything to lose. So whose the bigger shit head?"

"Look, you don't know what was going on around here, alright?" Flack defended himself. "You don't know what shit I was putting up with."

"Oh woe is fucking me," Scagnetti growled. "Give me a goddamn break. How long are you going to go one trying to justify what you did? How long are you going to go around acting like you're the fucking victim in all of this? You're wife was sick. Sammie and the girls needed you. And what did you do? You wimped out. You needed to escape. I've heard this all before Flack. You go on and on about it every time it gets brought up. And I am going to tell you now, what I told you then. Love ya like a son but you're full of fucking crap and you're a complete asshole for doing what you did. So spare me the bullshit, a'right?"

"You know what Tony, why don't you take your judgemental BS and just…"

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, as she wandered back into the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation that had been taking place. "You two sound a little…grumpy."

"Everything's good," Scagnetti replied. Then smile tersely at Flack. "Isn't it, Junior." It was more a statement than a question.

"You ready to go?" Flack asked his wife.

She nodded, and picking up a black cardigan sweater that was slung over the back of one of the chairs, slipped into it. "As ready as I'll ever be," she sighed. "I mean…you can't really prepare yourself for this kind of thing, right?"

"Funny thing about life," Scagnetti mused, as he led the way out of the kitchen. "It's always throwing shit at you. From all different directions. I'm seriously considering taking early retirement. I got this weird, creepy feeling that death's just going to start ticking us off one by one."

"Don't say that!" Sam scolded. "That's a horrible thing to say. Reminds me of that movie from a long time ago, Final Destination. Where death stalked that one kid 'cause he ended up getting kicked off the plane after he had a dream it was going to blow up and he went nuts trying to convince people to get the hell off or they'd all die. And the plane does end up blowing up and then death starts coming after the other kids that booted off the flight, too. I was obsessed with that movie. I loved Devon Sawa. Couldn't get enough of him."

"I think you get this perverse pleasure of scaring yourself half to death," Flack declared.

"I just got this crazy assed feeling," Scagnetti said. "And I can't seem to shake it no matter how hard I try. What's that old saying? Things come in threes? Christ…what else could possibly go wrong?"

Neither Flack or Sam dared to offer up a guess.

**A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you for all of your love and support! Even all of the lurkers!!!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Heart2handgun**

**Laurzz**

**Petite Poppy**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**wolfeylady**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Delko's Girl 88**


	76. Over my dead body

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS. MARI BELONGS TO THE FABULOUS HOPE4SALL.**

* * *

**Over my dead body**

"So, so you think you can tell  
Heaven from Hell,  
Blue skys from pain.  
Can you tell a green field  
From a cold steel rail?  
A smile from a veil?  
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade  
Your heros for ghosts?  
Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for a cool breeze?  
Cold comfort for change?  
And did you exchange  
A walk on part in the war  
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.  
We're just two lost souls  
Swimming in a fish bowl,  
Year after year,  
Running over the same old ground.  
What have we found?  
The same old fears.  
Wish you were here."  
-Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd

* * *

Blackburn and Sons funeral home was situated in a massive red brick Victorian home on the upper east side that through the years, had undergone extensive renovations and refurbishments to restore the building to its original grandeur. Outside it boasted leaded and stained glass windows and well manicured lawns and prize winning gardens that for the winter, were covered in inches of snow. Inside, there were three main parlours. With their soaring cove ceilings, white crown moulding atop deep burgundy walls, elaborate floral arrangements that decorated every available space, and rich brocade drapes that matched the couches and chairs, they were capable of hosting over a hundred guests each. There were four similarly decorated smaller rooms for more private showings on the east side of the building, and upstairs, at the top of the winding staircase and adjacent to the staff break room and offices, was a lounge area equipped with a fully functional kitchen that served for hosting family and friends following funerals.

At the back of the home were two chapels. One small and quaint that was used for when family members sought solace away from the crowds and the stresses of viewings and arrangements, and the other that was spacious and was reserved for large groups and where non denominational services and rites of remembrance were held. It was the latter that had been booked and prepared for Doctor Sheldon Hawkes. His body -clad in a charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt and black and grey stripped tie and laying on top of a bed of white satin lining the inside of an open, cherry wood casket- had been moved into the chapel shortly before guests had began arriving. Soft, instrumental music and the respectful chattering of those who had gathered and funeral home staff trickled out of the open double doors that led into the chapel, as did the fragrant scent of the over two dozen floral arrangements that were placed around the room.

"Oh wonderful," Scagnetti mumbled to Sam, as he and Flack escorted her into the chapel.

Sam glanced up at her friend, frowning at the look of disgust that had crept up onto his face before looking towards what had captured his attention. Groaning loudly at the sight of Chief of Detectives Brigham Sinclair, Inspector Whitmore and the Commissioner Gerald Moore huddled in a tight group on the far side of the back of the room.

"The three stooges," Scagnetti snorted. "Thought this was suppose to be a private thing? Friends and family only."

"It was," Sam whispered back, as she unbuttoned her black and pink tweed winter coat. "But don't you remember, Tony? The NYPD is just one big happy family," sarcasm dripped off her tongue and she rolled her eyes.

"One big ass dysfunctional family is more like it," Flack said, stepping behind his wife in order to help her out of her jacket. Like Scagnetti, he'd left his overcoat in the SUV, and his suit jacket was damp in several places from the snow that had managed to cling to the fabric on the short walk from the parking lot across the street.

"Which means they're all Flacks," she chided, as she turned to straighten and tighten his tie.

"Funny…" he grinned down at her, then pecked her lips chastely as she smoothed down the lapels on his suit jacket.

"Well I'm just damn glad I'm not part of NYPD royalty like you two are," Scagnetti said. "You're more than welcome to be the Prince Charles and Lady Di of this nasty ass monarchy."

"Hey, I merely married into the mess," Sam defended herself. "Don't fault me for falling in love with the Crown Prince of Darkness."

"You two are real comedians tonight, you know that?" Flack asked, as he moved to sign the guest book resting on a oak podium by the chapel doors.

"Donnie!" Sam hissed. "Get back here! Don't you leave me with these people! They're on their way over here!"

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned over the podium and began slowly, and methodically signing their names to the registry.

"Evil bastard…" Sam muttered, then plastered a fake smile on her face as she turned to greet the Chief of Detectives and Inspector Whitmore. "Chief Sinclair," she offered a small hand to the man standing before her. "Nice to see you again."

"Mrs Flack," Sinclair shook her hand warmly. "Always a pleasure…Detective Scagnetti."

"Chief," the big man said, and forgoing shaking his boss' hand in favour of shoving both of his in his pockets. "Inspector," he gave Whitmore a stiff nod. "Surprised to see you both here. And the Commish. I figured we'd just see you all at the big show tomorrow. Considering this was supposed to be just for family and friends."

"This _is_ the New York City Police Department, Detective," Sinclair reminded him.

Scagnetti's eyebrows shot up and a smirked slowly spread across his face. "And that's supposed to mean…?"

"The NYPD is a family," the Chief told him. "We firmly stand beyond our own. And when something happens to one of us, it happens to us all. This department isn't a one man show."

Sam cleared her throat and coughed noisily.

"Could have fooled me," Scagnetti responded. "You know, considering you were so quick to shit all over the good doctor."

Sinclair's eyes narrowed as Whitmore visibly flinched before her jaw and body became tense.

"I don't think this is the time to be talking about something like that," Sam said, as she reached around Scagnetti's body to rub his back. "This is supposed to be about Hawkes and Mari and the kids. Not about department politics. And all's well that ends well, right? So there's no need to get all worked up over that now."

"It's very interesting that you would bring that up Detective," Sinclair addressed Scagnetti, then nodded a greeting in Flack's direction as the detective rejoined the group. "I find it ironic that you're talking about that at a time like this when we've already managed to nail down the culprit who leaked the information about the department to the press."

Sam's body stiffened and her stomach twisted into knots. She felt her husband's hand settle on the small of her back, a small source of strength and comfort.

"You're all very, very lucky that Detective Messer admitted to talking to Reed Garrett about what was going on within the department regarding Doctor Hawkes and his funeral," Sinclair told them.

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up.

"Danny did what?" Sam asked.

"When we approached him about the incident in which Doctor Hawkes was killed and he was seriously injured, we also asked him if he knew who'd gone to the press," Sinclair replied. "And he readily admitted that it was him and he acted alone."

"But he…"

"I'm sure that Detective Messer acted in good faith," Flack said, cutting his wife off before she could say anything that would point the finger at herself. "That he felt justified in his actions."

"It is of no concern to the public how the NYPD conducts business," Sinclair informed the younger man. "These rules and stipulations have been in place for decades. Since the beginning of the department, and the public had no business trampling over long standing tradition."

"With all due respect sir," Flack said. "But in this case I think the rules were made to be broken. Hawkes…Doctor Hawkes died doing the same job as a sworn officer of the department. He was killed doing the department's bidding. If anything calls for public outcry it was the fact that he was being treated like some commoner when he died protecting this city."

"Well this is just something that you and I will have to agree to disagree on Detective, " Sinclair gave a small smirk. "And such decisions are what makes me the Chief and what makes you nothing more than a lowly Lieutenant."

Flack smirked, then spoke before Sam had the chance to. He was fully aware of her fierce loyalty to him and knew full well how capable she was of opening her mouth and making a shit storm ten times worse than how it had started out. "Well Chief, I guess that when I'm running the show, there'll be a lot of changes around the department, won't there."

"I honestly don't think that now is the time to be playing whose cajones are bigger," Sam spoke up. "This is a memorial service. For a dear friend of ours and for you to come over here and start spewing threats and insults…"

"I just wanted you all to know how very lucky you are," Sinclair interjected. "Because if Detective Messer hadn't come clean about this, there would have been an IAB investigation. The department doesn't need a rat."

"You mean another one to go with the fifty that already exist?" Scagnetti snorted. "Like there isn't worse things being said then the brass are an ignorant bunch of fuck heads for not giving Hawkes what he deserved? Give me a break. You guys screwed up. Plain and simple. You screwed up and your embarrassed and us lowly employees are paying the price. This is all just the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard."

"Heads would have rolled, Detective," Sinclair told him angrily. "And a lot of people would have had their dirty laundry aired. And if you ask me…" he looked directly at Flack. "A few of you have had enough dirty laundry aired lately to do the whole department. We wouldn't want any more skeletons to come tumbling out of that closet, would we?"

"Oh you mean like dirty emails you sent years ago to someone here that should remain nameless?" Sam piped up. "Someone who still has all of them saved on a flash drive that's hidden far away from prying eyes?"

Whitmore gave a shocked gasp while Scagnetti laughed outright and Flack coughed noisily and looked away, attempting to hide a grin as Sinclair fixed his cold eyes on his wife.

"I'm done here," the Chief said and turned abruptly on his heel.

"Well that went well," Flack commented, as he watched Sinclair and Whitmore stalk off.

"You serious about that?" Scagnetti asked Sam. "You still have those emails?"

"No," she laughed. "But he doesn't know that. Did you see the way he nearly shit himself? That should get him to back off for a while. And can you honestly believe his nerve? Coming here tonight to solely caused shit? What is wrong with people?"

"They're all sorts of screwed up these days," Flack reasoned, as he took her hand and led her down the center aisle of the chapel. "He's just an obnoxious prick who gets off on making peoples' lives miserable. I'm seriously starting to re-think my decision to yank my resignation. Maybe it would be a good thing to get the hell out of here and go to New Jersey."

"You change your mind again and I'll seriously kick your ass," Scagnetti told him. "You are not leaving me here, by myself, to deal with these people. You go to Hackensack, I go to Hackensack. 'Nuff said."

"God," Sam laughed. "The two of you there? That place would either sink faster than the Titanic or you'd terrify everyone."

"Flack's the scary one," Scagnetti said. "Always has been. I'm the good cop, he's the bad cop. Never going to change, Missus. He's the big, bad mean one and I'm the innocent, angelic teddy bear."

Flack snorted.

"Well I am…" his partner shrugged.

* * *

Flack hated every moment, every passing second that he spent in that chapel shaking hands and engaging in small talk. He just couldn't handle the whole atmosphere that surrounded funerals or memorial services or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. He hated being the shoulder to cry on, the tough one that simply stood there when people threw their arms around him and sobbed into his chest. He had offering up pitiful words of solace that sounded empty and hallow to even his own ears. Nothing he said, or did, could numb the pain that Mari and the kids were feeling. No matter how long he stood there stroking her hair and whispering to her that he was sorry and that everything was going to be okay, the truth of the matter was, his words, albeit sympathetic and sincere words, did shit to comfort Hawkes' grieving family.

No matter how many times he hugged Jasmine and told her how much her father had loved her and adored her and no matter how many times he'd patted Elijah on the head and told him that whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, he could always call him, his reassurances and promised held little weight. At least to him. He couldn't simply just be at Mari's beck and call whenever she needed him, even if he did tell her that he'd be there in a heartbeat. He couldn't just be the go to, surrogate daddy when Jasmine had issues had school or problems with her mother. When Elijah needed help with his homework or was having girl problems or wanted to talk to another guy about guy things. He couldn't just drop whatever he was going to take the kid to his soccer games and to sporting events and on camping trips. And Flack knew, before he even made the promises to do all of that and more, that he'd never follow through on half of what he said.

Not that he didn't want to. Because he genuinely did want to help out. He didn't mind doing things with the kids and he didn't mind checking up on Mari from time to time. But the truth of the matter was that that wasn't his family. They weren't his wife and his kids. He had Sammie and the girls and now Dawson to devote all of his time to. They needed him at home, with them, taking care of things. They needed to be, and deserved to be, his top priorities. And no one would ever take the top stop away from his wife and his kids. He'd fucked up enough in his past, and he didn't need anything to completely shatter what he'd tried so hard to rebuild.

Above all, being the proverbial rock and the guy to go to when you're having an emotional breakdown was getting a little old. He'd long ago accepted the role of the hard assed yet surprisingly sympathetic one. The one that Mac turned to when he needed someone to handle things 'gently'. Flack was the one that everyone sent to -when they weren't counting on him to be the first one through the door on a raid- deliver the bad news to family members. He had two distinct sides to his work persona. He could be as scary as hell when sitting across the interrogation from hardened criminals, or he could be quiet and empathetic and handing out tissues when a mother or father sat alongside of him in a quiet room and cried and shared fond memories of their son or daughter. Being human had always been his weakness.

And he'd told Mac as much when Clay Dobson had killed again upon his release from jail. Flack had been torn up over the fact that it was his log book that had sent Detective Truby to jail. His notes that had, in essence, allowed Dobson to file for an appeal, get out of jail and prey upon innocent victims again. While Flack had acknowledged that it was right thing to do locking Truby up and he'd given his log book freely and accepted his role in both one of his detective's demises and Dobson's release, the fact of the matter was, he still resented Mac for forcing him to make that decision. And years later, he found that there were still times that he possessed a lingering bitterness towards the older man. A discord that he simply just could not shake.

Flack knew he could have learned a lot from Hawkes, had he'd been more willing to put their startling differences aside and just give the guy a chance. If he hadn't have been so pig headed in his assumption that Hawkes looked down at him because of his lowly high school diploma compared to Hawkes' enormous intellect, he would have learned how to be a better person. To simply forgive instead of fighting so much. Despite being locked up for a crime he didn't commit thanks to Shane Casey, and for being pressured to erase files on the Ann Steele flash drive by some old college buddy of his -Flack didn't know the entire story, and hadn't cared to then and certainly didn't care to know now that the man wasn't around to defend himself- Hawkes had never seemed to hold no ill will. Towards anyone that had ever done him wrong. He was always low key and down to earth and always possessed that calm voice and that gentle, reassuring smile.

Definitely could have learned something from him, Flack thought, as he turned away from paying his silent respects at the open coffin. He was determined, especially in front of a room of people, to keep up his stoic and solid persona. No matter how badly he wanted to succumb to his own feelings of grief and loss, he simply couldn't do it. People were counting on him to hold it together. Sam was a mess and needed him to keep her on her feet. To prevent her from completely losing it. And if he was to give in to his emotions at that point in time….

Well it just wouldn't be a good thing, he concluded. And as he made his way towards where his wife sat in the front row with Kelli and Mari -each woman flanked the grieving widow and held one of her hands tightly and spoke in soft, soothing voices and occasionally wiped Mari's tears away with wrinkled and tattered Kleenexes- he felt a small, delicate hand fall on his forearm.

"It's been a long time Detective Flack," a soft voice greeted him, and he felt a smile cross his face as he turned to face the woman next to him.

"Peyton," he said in return.

"It's nice to see you again," she told him, and standing on her tip toes, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his clean shaven cheek.

"Good to see you too," he said, and gave her a quick hug in return. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Sid called me to tell me about what had happened to Sheldon," Peyton told him, and reaching up to clear lipstick off of his cheek with a fingertip. "We went to medical school together and worked many years alongside of each other in the ME's office. We tried to keep in touch as much as possible when I decided to stay in England. But.."

"Life gets in the way sometimes," Flack concluded.

"It does have a bad habit of doing just that," she agreed, and then gave a smile. "And your life has certainly been busy from what Mac has been telling me."

"It's been an odyssey to say the least," Flack agreed with a chuckle.

"A husband and father now. Mac showed me a picture of your wife and your little girls. They're very pretty."

"Beautiful," Flack said. "Exceptionally. They're the loves of my life. All three of them. What keeps me getting out of bed every morning and finding my way to the job. Wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't for them, that's for sure. And you? Life's treating you well?"

"Very much so. I got married three years ago. My husband, Robert and I just moved to Wales. Cardiff, actually. He just took the position as the dean there."

"Impressive," Flack said with a nod.

"Life certainly has changed a lot for the both of us," Peyton observed. "Even if I do distinctly remember that time years ago down in autopsy when you made fun of the way I said pre-natal vitamins."

Flack grinned. "It wasn't that I was making fun of you," he defended himself. "I just found it cute the way you said, is all."

Peyton arched her eyebrows and stared at him pointedly.

"Okay…" he conceded. "I was making fun of you. But it was just a little bit," he quickly added, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

"You're lucky you're as handsome and charming as you are," Peyton laughed.

He gave a sheepish smile and shrugged. "My wife says that all the time. When she's getting ready to threaten me with an ass kicking. About how she'd beat me but won't 'cause she finds me so damn good looking and irresistible."

"And so damn conceited," Sam added, as she joined him and Peyton and snaked an arm around his waist.

"It's the pretty blue eyes," Peyton reasoned. "He thinks they give him free will to say and do whatever he wants."

"I seriously think you two may have been separated at birth with your wise ass, comedic talents," Flack commented. "Peyton, this is my wife, Samantha. Sammie, this is Doctor Peyton Driscoll. She used to be our ME."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said and offered a hand. And silently reminded herself to see beyond the rumours she'd heard when she first started. About the British bitch that had broken Mac's heart.

"A pleasure," Peyton told her, and shook the other woman's hand. "Mac was telling me all about you yesterday."

"Uh-oh," Sam laughed. "That can't be good."

"He was just saying that you graduated from Dartmouth and that you're originally from New York City but came back here via Phoenix."

Sam nodded in confirmation.

"And before you ask," Flack spoke up. "As hard as it is for even me to believe and I've been married to her for seven years, yes. She really is related to Adam Ross. Shocking isn't? That someone that looks like her could share DNA with someone like him? Still baffles my mind."

"Adam's my little brother," Sam told Peyton, as she gave her husband a playful elbow to the side. "Well, he's not so little anymore. At least not physically. And speaking of my little brother…" she glimpsed down at her watch. "This is going to start soon and he's running behind. So if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to go and give him a call. It was nice to meet you, Peyton."

"You as well," she said, and shook Sam's hand once more. "Perhaps we could meet up before I head back to Wales. Grab a coffee or a tea."

Sam smiled. "I'd like that," she said, and then accepted a kiss on the cheek from her husband. "You two can exchange digits. Although I'm sure the gossip will start as soon as some of these people see you slipping him your number. Some of them…" she shook her head. "No words. It's like high school all over again."

"And you're the leader of the cool kids," Flack teased.

"And you're the captain of the football team who tries to get in my…_good graces_…by pretending you need tutoring," Sam teased, then gave him a wink before heading off down the aisle.

Flack turned back to Peyton, a grin on his face. "She's from Brooklyn," he said, as if that explained it all.

* * *

Sighing heavily, Sam slipped into an empty chair in the row behind Mari and the kids and settled her purse on the seat next to her. Adam, she had found out while attempting to call him, was actually closure to the funeral home than she expected. No sooner had she dialled the number and stood tapping her foot impatiently on the marble floor of the building's foyer, someone had tugged playfully on the back of her hair. Adam had, it turned out, had just arrived and had gone upstairs to grab a quick coffee before heading to the service. He was extremely nervous. Adam had never been good at dealing with anything that required him to be in a huge social circle, and mixed in with the grief and loss that he was feeling, his nerves were nearly shot. Adam didn't do loss very well. Or change. He was a firm believer in strict routine and couldn't handle anything upsetting his apple cart.

All part of his OCD, Sam had learned long ago. His reluctance to accept change and to break out of the mould. His compulsive hand wringing when he got exceptionally frazzled and the way he rambled. Most people assumed it was just Adam. That the incessant chatting, usually about nonsense, just came along with him. But Sam could remember the years before the OCD had ever reared it's ugly head -brought on by their father and his abuse, she was sure of it- and her brother was confident and popular and thought nothing of getting up in front of a group of people and speaking. He had made friends easily and had been into sports. Then his eighth birthday had hit and Adam changed. He had woken up that morning and he was an entirely different person. He started obsessively washing his hands and brushing his teeth until his gums bleed. He pulled apart his entire room and rearranged everything he owned according to size and colour. He couldn't speak a proper sentence when he was upset without spewing a bunch of nonsense. He began pulling out his hair and his eyelashes and biting himself.

He'd gotten help over the years. A lot of money had been spent on therapy, and while Adam was still, for the most part, an introvert and still had his fair share of issues, he was an incredibly intelligent, loveable and fully functioning human being. But there had been times when Sam had worried about him. Scared to death that he was never going to be her brother again. That he'd slip away and she'd never get him back.

She honestly didn't know how she'd ever function without Adam in her life. Despite being a wife and a mother, her brother was her best friend. Her biggest confidant and her largest fan. And a life without him was a life Sam didn't want to consider. And as she sat watching him -admiring his neatly trimmed beard and tamed hair and his crisp white dress shirt, well tailored black suit and a solid mauve satin tie Sam knew full well had come out of her husband's closet- she had never been so proud of him as she was now. With the way he sat with Mari, clasping both of her hands in his, his eyes, full of compassion and understanding, riveted on her face as she spoke.

Peanut has come a hell of a long way, she concluded, and reaching into her purse, pulled out the folded piece of lined paper she'd shoved inside before leaving the house. Opening it, she frowned as she was confronted by Danny's horrific chicken scratch hand writing and once again shoved her hand into her bag, this time in search of her glasses. Abandoning her fruitless search when she felt something tap against her temple.

Glancing up, she smiled at her husband as he stood alongside of her, her glasses in his hand.

"And you say I'm the forgetful one," Flack quipped.

"This is exactly why I married you," Sam said as she took the glasses from him. "Because you take such good care of me."

He smiled, and leaning down, dropped a kiss on the top of her head before sitting down beside her.

"I hope this gets started soon," he whispered to her, as he draped his arm around her shoulders. "Sooner this is over the better."

Sam nodded in agreement and slipped her glasses onto her face. "I can't believe Daniel actually talked me into doing this," she said. "And that you refused when he asked you first."

"I'm not good at that sort of thing, babe. Talking in front of people."

"Don…you've stood in front of reporters and held press conferences after raids and huge busts," she reminded him. "How come you can do that but you can't get up in front of this crowd and read Danny's little eulogy?"

"Because all of that was work," he told her. "And this…this is personal. And I just…I just can't do it, babe. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's how you feel. Why would you be sorry for feeling that way?"

He shrugged.

"No one is expecting you to not show any emotion," Sam told him.

Flack sighed.

"God…is that what you think? You think people are expecting you to be this brick wall? That they're going to think less of you for crying?"

He frowned and stared at her. "I am not going to cry," he told her.

"Why not? You're above it or something?"

"Sam…I don't do stuff like that…I don't do…" he sighed heavily. "I don't do weak, okay?"

"Crying does not make you weak. Crying makes you human. You cried when the girls were born."

"That was different. I'd just become a dad. That's worth crying over."

"You cried when I moved out of the house and took Kellan and Kallison with me."

"I'd just lost my entire family because I was a complete fuck up. Of course I cried. All of that stuff…all of that was worth crying over."

"And you don't think Hawkes is worth crying over?"

Flack didn't respond.

"He was our friend," Sam reminded him. "And I know that you're dying inside, Donnie. I know what you're really like when you take off all that protective armour you insist on drowning yourself in. I know the real you. And the real you is compassionate and sweet and in possession of this stunning amount of empathy. The real you is not weak. You've never been weak."

"Whatever Sammie…just…can we please just drop this? I'll get my tears and my grief out some other time. Okay? When we're home alone and it's just the two of us and I don't feel like I'm on display. Just not here, okay?"

"Okay…" she surrendered. Albeit reluctantly. "Did you notice that Zack and Kendall are here?" she asked casually, as she turned her attention back to the piece of paper in her hands.

"I noticed. I'm surprised they came all the way from DC for someone they barely knew. I know Kendall worked Hawkes but did she really know him that much?"

Sam shrugged. "Apparently, she felt it was the right thing to do and she felt the need to pay her respects. Zack's working for DHS now."

"No shit…"

"He wants to get into the Secret Service," Sam said.

"Yeah? Well if whatever president is in power when he works for them gets assassinated, at least we know for sure it was an inside job."

She smirked. "He's still a little…off…isn't he."

"Off does not accurately describe that guy. He just looks like a psycho. Like he could go all Michael Myers on someone. Did he talk to you?"

Sam shook her head. "He avoids me like the plague."

"Good…" Flack declared, then pressing a kiss to her temple, pulled her tight into his side.

"Are you sure you won't read this?" she asked, nodding down at Danny's speech.

"Sammie…"

"I just don't think I can do it. I hate getting up in front of groups of people. I'm going to lose it in front of everyone. I don't want to cry in front of all these people."

Flack chuckled and rubbed her shoulder softly. "Now there's the pot calling the kettle black. Five minutes ago you were giving me shit about not showing my emotions. And now you're worried about doing it?"

"I just don't want to…" her words trailed off as a frown took over her lips. Pulling away from him slightly, she looked down at his suit jacket. "Is it me or did your pocket just vibrate?" she asked.

"Maybe it's just happy to see you," Flack teased.

"Inappropriate!" Sam scolded, but couldn't help but grin.

"It was my phone," he sighed, and reaching into his inside pocket, pulled out of the offending object. "It's my mom. Which one of our kids burnt the house down do you think?"

"Or which one's head has spun around like Linda Blair in The Exorcist," Sam said, and gave an evil laugh.

"In that case, it's definitely Kallison," Flack told her as he got to his feet. "She's the evil one."

"You're seriously underestimating Kellan. I know that's she so wee and helpless sometimes, but never underestimate the tiny ones. Did you not learn anything when you married me?"

"Oh I learned a lot," he assured her, and kissed the top of her head. "But not as much as you did."

"I learned that you have a smart mouth and a penchant for talking about inappropriate things at inappropriate times," she said.

"You love me though," he told her, as he headed down the aisle.

_Well like that was ever in question, _Sam thought. And turned back to the paper in her hands.

* * *

Stepping into the empty front foyer of the funeral room, Flack flipped open his cell phone and dialled his parents' number. Pressing the phone to his ear with one hand, he shoved the other into the left pocket of his dress pants and paced the narrow width of the vestibule. The soles of his black dress shoes clicking on the marble tiles as he waited for someone, anyone, to answer his call.

"Daddy?!" Kellan sobbed into the phone.

_Christ, _he thought. _Not now. _"What's wrong, baby sweets?" he asked, fighting to stay patient and calm despite the irritation that threatened to consume him.

"You have to come and get us daddy!" his daughter cried. "You have to! You have to come and rescue us! Me and Kallison and Dawson and Holly! All of us daddy! You have to come! You have to come now!"

"Kellan, what…?"

"I hate it here!" she wailed. "I hate it daddy! I hate grandma!"

"Kellan…listen to me. Calm down. You know how mommy and I feel about you talking like that. You can't go around saying you hate people. Especially your grandmother. Now you need to…"

"But I do hate it here, daddy!" she insisted. Breaking her father's heart with every sob and every sniffle and every gasp for breath. "I want to go home! I want you to come and get us! Please come and get us, daddy!"

"I can't come and get you," Flack told her. "I am in the middle of something very important and I can't…"

"Uncle Shelly will understand! He'll understand! If he's in heaven like you said than he knows how mean grandma is! He won't be made that you come to get us, daddy."

"Kellan, you need to calm down. I can't come and get you guys right now."

"Please!" she sobbed. "Please daddy! Please come and rescue us!"

Sighing heavily, Flack removed his hand from his pocket and placing it on the door, pushed his way out into the bitterly cold night. "Why don't you tell me what happened," he suggested.

"Grandma's…mean…" Kellan managed between gulps of air. "She…said…that you…and Dawson…are…going…to…hell."

Flack frowned. "She what?" he asked.

"'Cause you…had…a…girlfriend…and…had…a…baby," Kellan continued, the phone rattling as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her pyjamas. "That's…why…you're…going…to hell."

Flack inwardly let loose a litany of profanity directed solely at his mother. Sam was totally right. His mother _was _an evil bitch. And the thought that she would torment her own grandchildren - especially someone like Kellan who was extremely sensitive and believed anything - with her nonsensical bullshit made him both see red and feel sick to his stomach.

"Daddy…" Kellan whimpered. "Did you dis'peer?"

"I'm here baby sweets," he answered. "Look, I know what grandma said was really, really mean…"

"You're not going to hell are you?" she asked. "And Dawson?"

"Dawson and I aren't going anywhere."

"Pwomise? Pwomise you'll go to heaven with me and Kallison and mommy?"

"I promise. There's nothing you need to worry about, okay?"

"Okay…" she sniffled. "Will you please come and rescue us, daddy?"

"I can't come get anyone right now. I need to be here. It's very important that I stay here. Would it be okay if mommy and I came and picked you up later and took you home?"

"I guess…" Kellan said in a tiny voice. "Is that a long way away, daddy? When you and mommy come and get us?"

"No. It's just a couple of hours. You know how fast that is?"

"No."

"It's like if you blink…that's how fast," Flack told her.

Silence emanated from the other end of the phone.

"I just blinked three times daddy," Kellan suddenly announced. "And you're not here yet."

"I will be there soon, I promise. Right now, I gotta go. Okay?"

"Okay…I love you lots, daddy."

Flack smiled. "I love you too. Can you give grandma a message for me?"

Kellan sighed. "I s'pose."

"Tell her I said that really mean people go to hell too so that means I'll see her there."

Kellan giggled. "I'll tell her for sure. Bye, daddy! Come soon, 'kay?"

"I'll see you in a little bit," he promised, then disconnected the call.

* * *

Sighing heavily, Flack snapped his phone closed and palming it, reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket once again and pulled out a half pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He shook a smoke out from it's container and placing it between his lips, lit it and took a long drag. Then moved away from the front doors of the funeral home as he heard them open behind him. He cast a sideways glance at the figure that stepped beside him and greeted him with a curt nod. The hair on the back of his neck bristling and his body tensing as he realized it was Zack Tanner.

"Kid trouble?" Zack asked, gesturing towards Flack's phone.

The detective nodded. "Double trouble at that," he replied. "Two girls."

"Yeah…Adam was telling Kendall that you and Sammie ended up having twins."

"Identical," Flack confirmed. "Kellan and Kallison. They're five now. Five going on fifteen some days."

The other man laughed. "I hear that. Our girl, Madison, Maddy as we call her, she's just turning four. But I swear she's worse than a teenager," he gave a small laugh, then jerked his head in the direction of the funeral home. "Shame about the doc, huh?"

"Damn shame," Flack said. "He was a really good guy."

Zack gave a small nod. "So things are good here in the Big Apple?"

Flack shrugged. "I can't complain. How about in DC?"

"Same shit, different day," Zack leaned against the brick wall behind him and took a long drag of his smoke. "There goes my New Years resolution," he snorted.

Flack smirked. "Don't feel too bad. I broke mine before I even managed to make it."

Zack gave a tense smile. "Sammie looks good," he commented casually.

"Yeah…she does…" Flack responded. "And I think the best thing for you to do would be for you to stay on your side of the room and Sammie stay on hers. Don't be coming over and talking to her. You talk to her, I beat your ass. Understand me?"

Zack grinned. "Still got that over protective thing, going on huh?"

Flack just shook his head and butting his smoke against the bricks, tossed it over the railing off the front porch and into the snow below. "I gotta get in there," he said.

"I'm a changed man, you know," Zack told him. "Once Kendall and I got the hell out of New York City, I never laid a hand on her again."

"Good for you," Flack said, and reached for the handle on the door.

"Got me to thinking that maybe it was who I was with before that made me the way I was," Zack continued.

Flack felt his entire body tense up once more. His hand gripped the handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "You're treading on some thin ice here," he said. "So why don't you just stop while you're ahead?"

"I'm glad things turned out the way they did for you and Sammie. I really am. Having twin girls after everything that happened the first time around with me and her. Her losing the baby and all. She had a miscarriage with you too, right?"

"How about we just not talk about Sammie?" Flack suggested.

"Just wanted to say that I'm glad things finally worked out for her. And that you've managed to keep your sanity for this long."

Flack snorted and turned back to the door.

"And I never thanked you," Zack told him. "It's been almost seven years now and I've never thanked you. For saving my life that day. If you hadn't have yanked me out of the way like you did..."

"I would have done it for anyone," Flack said. "So don't feel too flattered. I wouldn't let any of my guys take a hit if I had a chance to stop it. And that day, you were working with me. Plain and simple."

Zack nodded. "You didn't have to do it. And I bet deep down, part of you didn't want to."

Flack didn't respond.

"And I bet a part of you, even now, wishes you hadn't."

"Actually…" Flack looked over his shoulder at the other man, their eyes locking. "You're right…sometimes I do wish I hadn't. 'Cause honestly, for the hell you put Sammie through? You leaving this world would have been justice well served. And it would have given her a whole peace of mind she's never had with you walking the earth."

A smirk tugged at Zack's lips. "Good to see you again, New York," he said, and turned away dismissively.

Flack just sighed, and shaking his head, opened the door and stepped inside.

It was time to get the show on the road.

Time to mourn a death.

And celebrate life.

* * *

**A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! Words can not express how much I appreicate all of you! Even the lurkers! I am continually humbled be the outpouring of support for this story!**

**Please R and R folks**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Laurzz**

**Afrozenheart412**

**madhatterette**

**Heart2handgun**

**xSamiliciousx**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Forest Angel**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	77. Like a house of cards

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS AND BABY DAWSON.**

**OKAY, SO THE MUSE WAS ITCHING FOR A SAM AND FLACK FIGHT AND RESISTANCE WAS FUTILE. SO A LITTLE BIT OF WARNING FOR SOME HARSH LANGUAGE, BRUTAL HONESTY AND A LESS THAN PERFECT FLACK. PERSONALLY, MY FAVOURITE FLACK IS A FLACK WITH FAULTS, REGARDLESS OF WHAT STELLA SAYS. BUT THAT'S JUST ME…**

* * *

**Like a house of cards…**

"I hurt myself today  
To see if I still feel  
I focus on the pain  
The only thing that's real  
The needle tears a hole  
The old familiar sting  
Try to kill it all away  
But I remember everything

What have I become  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know goes away  
In the end  
And you could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns  
Upon my liar's chair  
Full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair  
Beneath the stains of time  
The feelings disappear  
You are someone else  
I am still right here."  
-Hurt, Johnny Cash (originally done by Nine Inch Nails)

* * *

Samantha yawned noisily as she climbed the stairs, her bare feet quietly slapping against cold hard wood and her hands gathering the edges of her lilac coloured polar fleece hoodie, pulling it tighter around her body in hopes of warding off the chill inside the home.

It was close to midnight, and as moonlight streamed through the living room window, casting shards of silver across the floor, she found herself finally making her way to bed after what had possibly been the longest two days of her entire life.

The memorial service the night before had been incredibly difficult to get through, for all of those in attendance. She had been unable to successfully deliver Danny's simply, yet heart tugging eulogy, and it had been a teary eyed Adam who'd stood up and came to stand alongside of her in a show of support. Laying one gentle hand on the small of her back, he took the paper from her trembling hands with the other and continued reading in a steady, confident voice.

Other speeches had been made as well. Peyton, in her delicate British accent, had talked of the years she'd spent going through medical school with Hawkes and their time together in the Medical Examiner's Office. Bringing forth chuckles as she recalled their 'competition'. She had been called to a crime scene where an unlucky bachelor, the night before his wedding night, had been impaled on a condom machine. Sheldon had held the 'record' of being able to remove the body the quickest and most successfully from a billboard with all of the organs in tact. And she could still recall the look of pride, and relief, when she'd announced down in autopsy that she'd been unable to beat him.

An uncharacteristically emotional Mac had spoke after his ex girlfriend. Sharing fond memories of the years he'd known Hawkes, beginning with the man's time in the ME's office, and causing those in attendance to smile and laugh at humorous anecdotes from past cases - "Other than it not being attached to a person, there's nothing wrong with this finger," Hawkes had apparently declared, while holding up a severed digit that had been found in a dead man's freezer. About how startled he'd been one morning when he'd gone down to autopsy and the young ME was nowhere to be found. Until one of the morgue drawers suddenly opened and there was Hawkes, flat on his back, complaining that one of the interns had left the door opened all night and it could have caused things to freeze up and blow a compressor.

Mac had talked about his genuine surprise when Hawkes' request to take the CSI exam had shown up on his desk. There'd been pride in the former Marine's voice and eyes when he recalled how not only had Hawkes passed the gruelling test with flying colours, but how he'd effortlessly took to his new career. How it had seemed as if Hawkes was either born to do the work, or had been blessed with an extraordinary 'gift' for it. He left out all mention of strife and discord, and segued nicely into his thoughts, and observations on the man himself. Praising Hawkes' immense intelligence and integrity. His gentle and approachable manner, his quiet confidence and unyielding strength and stoicism in the face of evil and hatred. His compassion and patience. His ability to 'make you want to be a better person'. And above all, it was the man beyond the job that Mac had admired the most. The trustworthy confidant, the loyal friend, and the attentive and adoring husband and father.

And as if Mac's words hadn't been enough to bring tears to the eyes of many, his outward display of emotion afterwards had broken many. Upon finishing his speech, he'd simply folded the paper in his hands, walked over to the coffin and placed a gentle hand over Hawkes' as they lay folded on his chest,.

"Goodbye, Sheldon," he'd said, just loud enough for those in the first couple of rows to hear, then had leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the deceased man's forehead.

Things had gone 'downhill' from there. Before the tears could be dried and the sniffling could subside, Jasmine and Elijah had taken to the floor to talk about their dad. To share all of the fun, light hearted times they'd had together. Family outings, birthday parties and Christmas mornings, including the one that had just passed, when Hawkes had surprised his family with the news that he had decided to, in six weeks time, take a teaching position at Columbia. They spoke about school plays he'd helped out -mom had made the costumes, but dad had helped recite lines and acted out scenes-, the camping trip that they'd all taken with the Messers and the Flacks two summers before. Laughing at how dad had never let Aunt Sam live down the morning she'd woken up and had been scared to death when she'd found piles of neatly stacked stones in front of each tent and intricately woven twig figures dangling from the trees. Everyone knew that Aunt Sam scared easily when it came to horror movies and that she believed almost anything. It had been Uncle Don's idea to create his own Blair Witch Project, and their dad had gone along with the hilarious, if not slightly cruel and tasteless, prank.

But it had been Jasmine who'd provoked the most tears. Standing there in front of everyone in her simple black dress and the pearls her mother had worn on her wedding day, brave and strong and beautiful. A grieving little girl stuck in a confidant young woman's body. Talking about how much she had loved and respected her father -despite words to the contrary she'd regretfully said during moments of spoiled, selfish immaturity- and how he'd transformed hers, and her mother's life. How he'd brightened their existence with his mere presence and filled their home with love and tenderness. He had been strict, but understanding. Patient, yet not lax. He had come into her life nearly eight years ago and had become her father. He had accepted her and loved her as his own. Not because he'd had to, but because he had wanted to.

Afterwards, the department chaplain and the priest from Mari and Hawkes' parish, had recited psalms and prayers. And the night had been finished off with a slide show that Adam had lovingly created. Photos of Hawkes at work and at play. With his co-workers during both relaxing, fun times and during moments of intensity, and others of him with his wife and children. All set to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah. And while it remained one of Sam's favourite songs, there was no way she'd ever be able to listen to it again without suffering a major meltdown as a result.

She and Flack had skipped out on the 'after party', choosing instead to go and rescue their three children from hell on earth and to spend the rest of the night in the quiet privacy of their own home. Sam had wisely stayed in the car. Or, to be more accurate, her husband had wisely ordered her to stay in the car upon arrival at his parents' place. He knew how testy and mama bear protective she was with her kids and how much she hated his mother under normal circumstances. And with her nerves and emotions in complete tatters, he knew it was in everyone's best interest if she just stayed her distance from her mother in law. Sam's mouth was a loose canon, and the last thing Flack had wanted was to make the situation even worse than it was. And she'd been relieved when the wicked witch had stayed inside the house in favour of her husband helping their son to the car with two sleeping girls bundled in blankets over their pyjamas and Dawson wide awake and raring to go in his car seat.

The entire family had ended up sleeping in mommy and daddy's room that night. Dawson in his portable play pen, and Kellan and Kallison sandwiched between their parents in the 'grown up bed' as they called it. The heavy duvet pulled to their chins as they murmured in their sleep and angelic smiles curved their lips. All while mom and dad lay on their sides, smiling at each other their daughters' heads, their fingers entwined and their joined hands resting on the small space between their pillows.

The day that had just drawn to an end had been long and trying. The parade through the streets of mid-town Manhattan as the coffin, draped with an American Flag and resting on the back of horse drawn gun carriage was followed behind by the grieving widow. Her hair whipping about her face and her tears being scattered by the bitterly cold wind as she was supported on either side of her by Detectives Mac Taylor and Don Flack Junior. Both in their dress blues as she firmly kept a trembling hand curled around their biceps. She was heartbroken but brave. Determined to follow her husband's last journey every step of the way despite the snow and the wind and the freezing temperatures.

A traditional Catholic ceremony had been followed by a private interment. Hawkes' coffin had been moved to it's final resting place, a crept big enough for two in the main mausoleum of Gate of Heaven cemetery on the upper east side. Where he would lie in wait until his wife, hopefully many years from now, was ready to join him once again.

Sam was just glad that it was all over. That now that the very pubic outpouring of love and support was finished, the private act of grieving could begin. For all of those involved.

* * *

She paused at the closed door of the master bedroom, listening for sounds of life inside and being rewarded with the canned television laughter of some poorly written and even more poorly acted sitcom. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the door and then curled the fingers of her other hand around the door knob.

"I'm coming in," she announced.

"Hang on…" Flack's voice drifted out into the hallway. "Give my mistress some time to climb out the window and wiggle her ass down the drain pipe."

Sam rolled her eyes and turning the handle, let herself into the bedroom. Where her husband was sitting up in bed in a pair of sweat pants and a tattered and weathered Mets t-shirt. His hair still damp from his shower as he leaned back against the headboard, watching television, a bottle of milk in his right hand as Dawson lay quietly along his left arm, sucking contently and busily on his formula, his blue eyes wide and riveted on his father.

"Really think it's necessary that you knock on your own bedroom door?" Flack asked, as his wife journeyed into the en-suite bathroom. Listening to her feet padding across the tiles, a slight rattling as she removed her toothbrush from its holder, followed by the water being turned on.

"I didn't know what you were up to in here," she replied, as she appeared in the doorway, scrubbing vigorously at her teeth.

"What do you honestly think I'd be doing in our bedroom?" he asked.

"I don't know…flogging the bishop, maybe?"

He smirked and shook his head.

"Oh come on…don't go all innocent, Donnie. Every guy does it. Including you. And any guy who says they don't do it? Well they're liars. On top of being narcissistic perverts."

"Hey…I am not narcissistic," he argued.

"Okay…so you're just a pervert," she concluded, and cheerfully bounced back into the bathroom.

"Sometimes a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do," Flack reasoned.

"Please!" she laughed. "Since when do you need to do that? Don't I indulge you enough? Don't I cater to your every sexual whim and dirty fantasy?"

"Actually…." he grinned.

"Forget I said that last part. Because there are some things that you fantasize about that I…well let's just say those are going to remain very dirty, unfilled dreams on your part. But seriously, do you really have a reason to be spanking the monkey?"

"Do you mind?" Flack laughed. "Why are you talking like that? Coming up with all these weird terms for it?"

"Oh I'm sorry," she said as she turned the water off. "I wasn't aware that sophomoric terms for jerking off upset you."

He smirked at his wife as she exited the bathroom, flicking the light off as she stepped out into the bedroom. "You have been spending way too much time hanging out with your brother and Scagnetti," he informed her.

"Not quite enough," Sam said, as she removed her glasses and set them on the nightstand. "I can't quite belch the entire national anthem and I can't quite master picking my nose and scratching my crotch at the same time."

"You are seriously disturbed," Flack said, as she shed her hoodie and tossed it in the general direction of the chair in the far corner. Watching in amusement as it hit the arm rest, and tumbled to the floor and onto an unsuspecting Wiener as he lay curled up and dozing at the side of the chair in the doggie bed he'd been given for Christmas. The daschund bolted awake with a startled yelp, then jumped to his feet and began barking and snarling at the sweater as it lay in a heap alongside of him.

Sam gasped in horror and slapping a hand over her mouth, hurried over to check on the uninjured animal.

"Wiener!" she cried, as she pried her sweater from his jaws and scooped him up into her arms. "Mommy's sorry!" she showered his face with kisses and nuzzled the top of his head and his ears with her nose. "I didn't mean that! I am sorry! Mommy is so, so, so sorry!"

"Sammie…he's a dog," Flack reminded her.

"He's still one of my babies!" she exclaimed, and cuddled the animal close to her chest. "Mommy didn't mean to do that," she said to Wiener as she stroked his ears. "That was very, very mean of her. But she didn't mean it. She'd never do anything nasty to you. You know that, right? That she'd never hurt you? I am so sorry pup-pup."

Flack shook his head in disbelief. "You are totally mental," he announced. "That's it. First thing in the morning, I am checking you into the nut house."

"Are you kidding?" Sam laughed. "I will have you know that I'm the only sane one around here. Ignore daddy, Wiener," she pressed a kiss to the top of the dog's head. "He's just a big old mean poo head."

"And you wonder where the girls get their colourful vocabulary from," Flack said. "And I will have you know that I am not a big old mean poo head. I am just treat the animals like animals and the humans like humans. And you…well you just baffle my mind."

"Oh I keep you young and spry, Don. Here pup-pup," Sam placed Wiener on the bed. "You cuddle up to mommy and daddy tonight."

"And here daddy was thinking he'd get to cuddle up to mommy tonight," Flack muttered.

"What?" Sam asked, a grin on her face as she tightened the draw string on her lavender, pink and deep purple flannel pyjama bottoms and then straightened the long sleeved pink top. "You're suddenly above having sex with the dog in the room?"

"Dog and son in the room," Flack corrected. "For all we know they could be spies conducting some covert mission collecting information on us."

"Oh…I'm sorry…" she chided. "When did my name suddenly become Devon?"

Her husband frowned.

"You keep doing that and your forehead is going to get permanent wrinkles in it," Sam informed him. Then gave a dramatic pout and reached out to tousle his hair. "Donnie…me wuvs you," she said.

"You are never going to let me live Devon down are you," he stated, as she pulled back the heavy duvet and climbed into bed beside him.

"Of course not. You showed a remarkable lack of taste and self respect when you hooked up with her. You honestly don't expect me to not ride your ass about if for the rest of your life, do you?"

"You know, Sammie…a long time ago there was this saying about women being seen and not heard. How about we pretend that…"

"It was children should be seen and not heard," she corrected. "And how about you not finish what you were about to say."

A smirk tugged at the corners of Flack's mouth. "Did I happen to say I wuvs you too?" he asked, then kissed her chastely before pecking her forehead.

Sam curled her right arm around his left bicep and lightly scraped the nails of her left hand along his smooth skin. "Hmmm…." she looked up at him, her golden brown eyes sparkling mischievously. "No wife beater tonight?" she asked, as she tugged at the sleeve of his t-shirt before slipping her hand up his arm.

"You're obsessed," Flack declared.

"Can I help it that I married a man with beautiful, strong, sexy arms?" she asked, then taking the sleeve of his shirt between her teeth, gave a low growl and shook her head back and forth like a puppy playing with a chew toy.

"You are so weird," Flack said.

"Not weird, one of a kind," she argued. "Eccentric if you will."

"Mm-hm," Flack responded, then winced as she nipped at his arm.

"I am just playing with you baby," she said, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before resting her head against it. "Dawson…" she sing-songed, as she combed her fingers through her son's hair. "Mommy's little snuggle tot."

"Snuggle tot," Flack laughed. "Where do you come up with these things?"

"They just pop into my head…he's eating good?"

"This is a six ounce bottle," Flack told her. "And he's already eaten…" plucking the bottle from his son's mouth, he held it up to the light, squinting as he checked the level of formula. "…five ounces."

Dawson gave a shriek of displeasure.

"Okay…okay…keep your pampers on," Flack said to the baby, and then offered him the bottle again. "I am just telling your mommy what's what here."

"Typical man," Sam sighed. "Throws a bitch fit when his food gets taken away."

"And who do you know that's like that?" her husband inquired.

"Oh I wonder," she laughed, then trailed her fingers along his forearm, over his wrist and across the top of his hand. Stopping at his wedding ring, she ran the pad of her finger over the smooth white gold.

"Scagnetti still here?" Flack asked.

Sam yawned and nodded. "Adam and him are still downstairs playing Wii. And just so you know, in case in the morning they say otherwise, I beat them fair and square in hockey. If they say I didn't, they're lying."

"How much did you beat them by?"

"I kicked both of their asses," she announced proudly.

"That's my girl," Flack turned his face towards her, his lips brushing against her forehead. "You've learned from the master."

"This whole relationship has been one huge learning experience that's for sure," she said and snuggled her head into his arm.

A companionable silence fell between them. Sam closed her eyes, relaxing in her husband's familiar scent and the mere presence of his body so close to hers, her fingers still exploring his wedding band and the top of his hand.

* * *

"So…" she said at long last.

"So…" Flack chuckled. "Is that how we start conversations now? Are we that boring?"

"We are," she laughed. "I don't know whatever happened to us."

"Marriage…kids…a mortgage…a dog…just plain old domestic shit."

"Well if I was going to fall into domestic hell, I am glad it was with you," she teased. "What I was going to ask you was if Danny told you about IAB when you talked to him earlier."

"All he said was that IAB paid him a visit but they're decided not to pursue action against him considering his current medical state."

"In other words, they know the department fucked up but they're too chicken shit to admit it," Sam concluded.

"Exactly…you all done there, little man?" he plucked the empty bottle from Dawson's mouth and set it on the nightstand. "What were you and Mac talking about earlier today?" he asked his wife, as he picked his son up and settled him against his chest. One hand on the back of Dawson's head, the other rubbing his back in slow, smooth circles.

"He just wanted to let me know that Whitmore and Sinclair approved my re-hire. Not like they had much of a choice considering Danny's out of action for God knows how long and Hawkes is…"

"Out of action permanently," Flack concluded softly.

Sam nodded. "He was a little disappointed I couldn't come back full time," she said.

"Well that's tough shit for Mac. No way you can handle full time and taking care of three kids."

"Kellan and Kallison are in school half days," she reminded him. "And Lindsay has offered to take them from noon to five."

"And that only works if Mac can guarantee you straight eight to four," Flack said. "And even if he can do that, what about Dawson? Linds can't take him while you work, babe. She's already got her own baby to look after."

"I know that…which is why Mac says he can pull some strings with the lab day care and get Dawson a spot there."

"Nice to know you're discussing our son's care with Mac and not me," he grumbled.

"He was just being helpful," Sam reasoned. "He's really, really short staffed and he…"

"And he what? All of a sudden is ready to bend over and kiss your ass? Less than a month ago he was kicking you to the curb and tossin' ya out like yesterday's trash and now all of a sudden he's pulling strings for you? What the hell is that?"

"Like I said, he's short staffed and…"

"And that's Mac's fucking problem. Not yours," Flack snapped.

"Okay…you know what?" Sam huffed as she untangled her arm from his and sat up straight. "You need to keep your damn voice down. You're going to scare Dawson and the girls are sleeping. There's no need for you to get all fucking shitty with me, Don. You asked me what Mac and I talked about and I told you. Don't act like I'm carrying on some illicit affair or something."

"Yeah…'cause you'd never do that," he scoffed. "Only I do shit like that, right?"

"What? Where the hell did that comment come from? Did I say anything about you having an affair? Did I even insinuate about something like that? It fucking happened and we dealt with it and now all of a sudden you want to get into a big old thing about it? What the hell is your issue?"

"My issue is that you're talking about personal shit with your boss," Flack told her.

"No…you're issue is that Scagnetti won't let you forget how badly you fucked up," Sam said. "Because while he thinks it's all fine and dandy that I took you back and we're a happy family for the most part…"

"For the most part?" he stared at her long and hard. "What the fuck is that suppose to mean?"

"…he still feels that you got your cake and you ate it too," Sam finished. "And that pisses him off and he can't turn down the opportunity to remind you how bad you messed up."

"You think I need to be reminded?" Flack asked. "You think I don't dwell on it every goddamn day? You don't think I feel like a complete prick? That I haven't felt worse since Jordan died? Since I forced my wife to take in the kid I made with my now dead mistress?"

"You never forced me to do anything," Sam replied. "I took on the role of his mother willingly. You know what your problem is?"

"No…" he snorted and successfully burping Dawson, swung his legs over the side of mattress and climbed out of bed. "…but I bet you're going to tell me," he said snidely, as he carried the baby over to the playpen.

"You know what? Forget it," Sam huffed. "Just forget it. Because for some reason you're being a massive prick all of a sudden and I am not getting into it with you tonight. Or any night for that matter."

"Oh come on Sammie," Flack gave a dry laugh as he leaned over the playpen to swaddle his son tightly. "You not speak your mind? You not cause massive shit? You won't be able to sleep if you don't get the last word in and we both fucking know it."

"Oh fuck you Don," she spat, and beating her fist angrily against her pillow, flopped over onto her side and yanked the covers up to her chin. "Shut up and leave me alone."

"Don't you fucking tell me to shut up," he snarled, and ripped the comforter off of her. "You want to start a fight? Then goddamn finish it! Don't roll over and tell me to leave you alone when all you're going to do is bloody well lie there and sulk all fucking night!"

"And you're going to wake the kids up!" she hissed as she bolted into a sitting position. "Keep your goddamn voice down for Christsakes! I wasn't starting a fight with you! I was telling you about the conversation I had with Mac and you made some smart ass comment about affairs and it all went downhill from there. Do not make me out to be the bad person here!"

"And don't act like you're always the innocent one either. You just told me that you decided to go back to work full time. You discussed things about the kids, our kids, with your boss but you didn't think to talk to me about them? Or are you the only spouse and the only parent in this house?"

"You are overreacting," Sam retorted. "I did not decide anything! Mac told me that he'd like me back full time and I discussed my concerns with him and he was merely suggesting ways to problem solve with me. Fuck, Don. What is your issue?"

"Weren't you going to tell me that before you threw your little hissy fit there?" he asked. "Weren't you going to tell me what my problem is?"

"You've got more than one," she informed him.

He laughed and shook his head. "This coming from you. From the queen of misery."

"Your problem is that you've got all this residual guilt and you can't just let shit go!" Sam snapped. "I don't know how many times we have to argue about Jordan! I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I don't want to talk about it anymore! That I just want to put it behind us! I forgave you when everyone else told me to dump your ass! I took you back when all of my family and friends were telling me to just stay away! And you know why I did that? Do you want me to be completely honest with you?"

"Be my guest," Flack said, his hands on his hips as he glared down at her.

"I am not going to sit here and bullshit you and tell you that the only reason I did it was because I love you. Because I do love and I'll always love you and you know that. But I also didn't want to let you go because I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid of having to start a whole new life for myself. A single mother with two girls. Who the hell is going to want to be with someone with two kids?"

"Oh this is just rich, Sammie. Telling me now that you only took me back 'cause you were afraid of being alone. Are you fucking serious?"

"Is that what I said? That is not what I said. Did you not hear me tell you that I love you? Did you not hear any of that, Don?"

"Oh I heard that. And then I heard 'I also took you back 'cause no one else would want me'."

Sam shook her head and regarded him sadly. "That is not what I said. I said I was afraid and I was…"

"And that you were worried no either guy would want you. And seeing as you knew that I wanted you back so bad, that I wanted to make us work and I wanted to keep my family together, you settled for me."

"No…no that is not what I said. I never settled for you. I chose to be with you. Do you honestly think I would still be here if I didn't want you? If I didn't love you? If I just settled? Do you really think I haven't had the chance to be with someone else?"

"Who?" he scoffed. "Terrence Davis?"

"Okay…now you're just being ridiculous…"

"Who else Sam? Who else did you get a chance with? Scagnetti? That stupid ass prick Blaire that works at the lab? Who? Tell me who?"

"No one! All I was trying to say is that if I wanted to be with someone else, I am sure I could have found someone! What the hell is…"

"Zack?" Flack asked. "Were you going to toss him in there, too? Seeing as we all know how you always seemed to go crawling back to that worthless piece of shit."

"I don't want anyone else!" she yelled. "I haven't had any chances to be with anyone else! It's you! It's always been you! Why are you doing this? Why are you starting in on me? Why do things start out so good and go so bad? We were laughing and joking around and then all of a sudden…all of a sudden you just snap and become someone else. And I hate that someone else!"

"Well there's the fucking door, Sam! You hate me that much…"

"I don't hate you!" she cried. "I never said I hated you, Donnie! I said I hated the person you become when we're fighting! Why are you being like this? How does this happen? How do you change like this? I don't understand what makes you like this!"

"This is me," he reasoned. "This is how I've always been. And maybe you're just starting to realize that."

"This is insane! You're being so irrational right now! Tell me what is going on in that head of yours, Don! How we can go from laughing and joking ten minutes ago to this? How we can go from that happy family in the park a few days ago to fighting like this? How we can go from loving and supportive over the last two days to wanting to kill each other! How does this happen?"

"Because it's what we do, Sam," he said quietly. "We fight. We hate each other. It's just who we are."

"I don't hate you!" she argued. "You're my husband and I love you! Are you saying that you hate me?"

He sighed heavily, and closing his eyes briefly, pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Well I guess your silence just says it all," she said sadly. "Why are we here then, Don? Why are we even in this marriage if that's how you feel?"

"I never said that I hated you, Sammie."

"You didn't say anything. And that's even worse."

"I love you. You know that. But let's face it…sometimes we don't like each other very much."

"No…you know what the problem is? The problem is that we don't like ourselves very much sometimes," she concluded. "And you never answered me. Why are we here? Why are we even in this marriage when it seems like there's a horrific moment to erase every good one? Why are we working so hard for something that most of the times it seems as if you don't want to save?"

"I don't know…" he admitted. "I just don't know. I'm here because I love you. Because fifty percent of the times things are genuinely great between us."

"And the other fifty percent?" she asked.

"Other fifty percent…I guess we're just really good at pretending."

She snorted and shook her head. "You are fucking unreal," she muttered. "You ask me to be honest but you can't grant me the same thing."

"I just told you that I'm here 'cause I love you, Sammie! What more do you want from me?"

"Love can't be the only thing," she said. "It just can't…"

"What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I stick around 'cause of the kids? Is that what you want to hear?"

She stared at him.

"Is that what you want? You said you wanted honesty from me. There's your honesty. I love you but half the time I can't stand you. Just like you love me half of the time and the other half you're tolerating me. You think I like living like this, Sammie? You think I like how one minute things are great and we're happy and we're so much in love and then the next we're like this? You think I like it this way?"

She shook her head.

"And I know you don't like us being this way either," Flack added.

"You're right," she admitted. "I don't. I don't like feeling as if I'm walking on egg shells around you. As if the smallest thing I say or do wrong will lead to exactly what is happening right now. I hate feeling that way. And I hate that you make me feel that way. It's like you're just waiting for the tiniest screw up so you can jump all over it. Because it gives you some sense of power and control to 'fix' me. Well guess what, you can't fix everyone and everything, Don."

"I know that…" he sighed. "And I don't mean to be that way."

"And _I_ know that," Sam said. "It's just who you are. You're not doing it to be mean. You just don't know any better. But what I know is that I've lived like this for nearly eight years. For eight years I've been on edge with you. Because I know what you can get like. And that… that scares me."

"I scare you?" he asked, troubled by the mere thought.

"The way you jump to conclusions and freak out scares me," she admitted.

"I'd never hurt you, Samantha. You know that I'd never, ever raise a hand to you. Ever. I'd rather kill myself than do that. So please don't tell me that you think I'd hit you. Or the girls or Dawson when he grows up."

She looked away from him as opposed to answering.

"You think I'd do that?" Flack asked. "You think that….you know what, look at me. Look at me, Samantha."

She sighed and turned her tear filled golden eyes up to his horrified blue ones. "I know that you wouldn't mean to do it," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

He recoiled as if he'd been physically struck. Her honest words hitting hard and deep.

* * *

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry that I feel that way. I'm sorry that it hurts you to hear that."

"I'm sorry too," he managed through his own threat of tears and the emotion that threatened to choke him. Raking a hand through his hair, he tapped his foot anxiously on the hardwood as he contemplated his next move and struggled with the hurt and anger coursing through him.

"Donnie…I…"

"I need to get out of here for a bit," he cut her off and turned abruptly on his heel. "I need to just…I need to just get the hell out of here for a while."

She nodded in understanding. "How long is a while?" she asked, as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her pyjama top.

"I don't know," he replied, as he went to the dresser and yanked out a pair of jeans. "Overnight? A couple of days?"

She sniffled noisily.

"Why? You want me gone longer?" he inquired. "Like maybe for good?"

"No…" she shook her head. "I don't want you gone at all," she said. "But I get that you need to get away right now. That everything that's been said is too much to take in and that you need to just be away from it all. I get that."

"It's just better like this," Flack told her, as he pulled on his jeans and did up the zipper and button. "For all of us. 'Cause if I stick around…if I stick around things are going to get said that we're both going to live to regret. And I don't want that…I don't want…" he sighed. "I don't want this to be the end, you know?"

She nodded. "I don't want this to be the end either, Don."

He finished dressing. Pulling on a pair of socks and a Mets sweater he grabbed out of the closet. Listening as his wife sniffled noisily in the middle of the bed. Their bed. In their house. With their son sleeping just mere feet away. With their daughters, their baby girls, dreaming of sweet things down the hall. Three innocent, beautiful beings that were completely obvious to what was happening between their parents.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked, as he put together an overnight bag.

"I don't know," Flack admitted. "Maybe my parents? I just don't know, Sammie."

"You'll let me know, right? You'll let me know where you are? So I won't worry about you?"

He nodded. "I've got my cell so if you need anything…"

"I'll be fine," she assured him. Hoping she sounded more confidant to his ears than her own.

"I'm sure you will," he said, then zipped the bag closed and picked it up.

"Please come back," she whispered as he approached the door.

"I will," he promised, then doubled back to stand at the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I'm sorry that things have come to this. I don't know how this has happened or if it's just all the stress and grief from the past week or what it is. But I'm sorry and…"

He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Never be sorry," he told her. Then running his hands softly over her hair, turned her face up towards him and kissed her chastely. "We'll be okay Sammie," he promised, struggling to hold back his tears. "We just…we just need a little break…"

"You can't take a break from real life," she cried. "I'm your wife and we have a family together and we…"

He kissed her once more. Soft and lingering. "And you'll still be my wife and we'll still have a family tomorrow," he assured her.

She managed a small smile and clambering up onto her knees, curled her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.

"I just need to go for a bit," Flack told her, wrapping both arms around her. "A lot has gone down and a lot's been said and I think we just need to be alone and sort things out. That's all. And you're right. It probably is 'cause of all the grief and everything else that's gone down. But the way we're feeling…we just need this to happen, Sammie. Doesn't mean I love you any less. You know that right?"

She nodded.

"We'll fix this," he assured her, stroking her hair softly. "Whatever it takes, we _will _fix this."

"I know…" she sniffled and drew away from him. "I love you…I love you and I'll do whatever it takes to keep our family together."

"That makes two of us," he said and kissed her a final time. "I'll call you. When I get wherever I'm going. And I'll be home tomorrow some time. Okay?"

"Okay," she reluctantly agreed, and moving away from him, sat back down on the bed. Reaching out, she snagged his hand as he walked away from the bed. Pressing a kiss to his palm, she clasped his hand to her chest for what seemed like an agonizing eternity. Then finally let him go. Watching helplessly through her tears as he crossed the room and picking up his bag, opened the bedroom door.

Flack paused in the door way and turned to face her. "You and me, Tinks," he said, then gave her a small smile and wink and stepped out into the dark hallway.

The door closed softly behind him.

And just like that he was gone.

* * *

**I wasn't going to post this considering the last chapter wasn't one of my better ones, but the muse was on fire and I got it done so I thought, why not? We all have down time. LOL. A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing, and even just lurking. I appreciate all the love and support!!!! Good luck to all of those going through exams and end of the year school stuff!!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**Afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Heart2handgun**

**Soccer-bitch**

**xSamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**


	78. Closed for repairs

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO OWN SAMANTHA FLACK, AND THE FLACK KIDS. DOCTOR AUGUSTA 'GUS' BROUSSARD BELONGS TO THE FANTASTICALLY GIFTED MADISON BELLOWS WHO AS GRACIOUSLY LOANED GUSSIE TO ME.**

**A HUGE, HUGE, HUGE THANKS TO MADDY FOR ALL OF HER HELP WITH THE UPCOMING STORYLINE. I TRULY APPRECIATE YOUR PATIENCE IN ANSWERING ALL OF MY SEEMINGLY ENDLESS QUESTIONS. I AM WAITING FOR YOUR BILL ;) LOL. CAN I PAY YOU IN COOKIES?**

**THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER AND TAKES PLACE SEVEN MONTHS FOLLOWING THE LAST. A LITTLE ODD, BUT BEAR WITH ME FOLKS. I PROMISE THAT THERE'S A METHOD TO MY MADNESS. OR AT LEAST THAT I HOPE THERE IS. **

* * *

**CLOSED FOR REPAIRS**

"Say you're sorry  
That face of an angel comes out  
Just when you need it to  
As I pace back and forth all this time  
'Cause I honestly believed in you  
Holding on,  
The days drag on  
Stupid girl  
I should have known, I should have known

That I'm not a princess  
This ain't a fairytale  
I'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet  
Lead her up the stairwell  
This ain't Hollywood,  
This is a small town  
I was a dreamer before you went and let me down  
Now its too late for you and your White Horse,  
To come around.

Baby I was naíve,  
Got lost in your eyes  
I never really had a chance,  
I had so many dreams about you and me.  
Happy endings  
Now I know."  
-White Horse, Taylor Swift

* * *

As she flipped through a wrinkled and weather year old copy of People magazine, Sam shivered in the onslaught of the bitterly cold air conditioning that poured into waiting room of the child psychology department at Women's and Children's hospital on the upper east side. Outside, the mid July weather was nearly unbearable. New York City had been suffering from a suffocating heat wave for a week straight. The mercury had failed to dip below a hundred in seven days and with the temperature hovering close to ninety at night time, there never seemed to be any relief. The city had opened school gymnasiums and arenas and were using them as cooling centers for anyone that didn't have air conditioning or even a simple fan. But she knew that there'd be heat related deaths in the days and weeks to come. Mostly elderly citizens in already failing health who simply didn't have it in them to walk down a couple of flights of stairs and walk the three blocks to find relief.

She was grateful that the she had a home with central air. She'd never been a fan of the long and hot summer months and often wondered how in the hell she'd ever survived living in Arizona for so long. It was nice to have a place to head to when it was sweltering and your nerves were on edge from the weather and the havoc it seemed to play on peoples' brains. A place to hide out in and forget about the craziness of the job and insanity of the outside world.

Even if your inside world was completely crumbling around you.

The last seven months had been exceptionally difficult for the entire family, but it was the girls who were suffering the most. Things had started out remarkably well and promising. Flack had returned home the afternoon following the huge blow out. Declaring that he had walked out and immensely regretted it. For a man that always declared he didn't do weak, he had been just that. Instead of facing the problem head on and sticking out the tough times, he'd simply thrown his hands in the air and walked away. Instead of just stepping onto the front porch and catching some air and getting his thoughts and his emotions sorted out and then going back inside to calmly work things out, he'd punked out. He'd turned his back on the one person that had always loved him and had always given him another chance when he didn't even deserve one. The person that he attested time and time again that he loved more than life itself.

Now, he'd said, as he and his wife stood on opposite sides of the kitchen table together, feeling as if a couple of feet were a couple thousands miles, he was back to make things right again. He'd walked back in the door and he had no intention on ever walking back out. Hawkes' death had, in essence, brought unresolved issues to the surface. With their emotions in tatters and hounded by grief, they had been susceptible to the anger and blame that had been bubbling inside of both of them for so long. Their argument the night before, brought on by something so simple and seemingly innocent, had only served to prove that neither of them had actually gotten over the issues that had threatened to destroy them the first time around. His guilt and shame were all consuming and he didn't know how to surpass those feelings. And although Sam had forgiving him, she just could not forget. She had taken Dawson in and fallen in love with him simply because he was part of Flack. Because he shared DNA with her husband and there was no way she could let that innocent, angelic little boy fall victim to the system. But that didn't mean that Dawson, as beautiful as he was, didn't cause her to relive the entire affair every time she looked at him.

Things had worked for a little while. They'd gone away for Valentine's weekend, spending three days and two nights in a quaint, waterfront inn in Cape Cod while Adam stuck around town and watched the kids and hid it from an irate Paisley and his equally as infuriated mother. The shit had hit the fan when Paisley had arrived back home from Florida and found all of Adam's possessions long gone and three messages on the answering machine from her husband's lawyer. For a woman that had shattered and his heart and claimed to never have loved him, she went right ballistic when a process server showed up on her door step two days upon her return and slapped divorce papers and a custody order into her hand. His mother in turn, had showed up on her daughter's doorstep, demanding to know why Adam was behaving like such a child and demanding that he go home and reconcile with his wife and make things right again.

Adam would have none of it and was still waiting for Paisley to sign the documents.

Sam and Flack in the meantime, had come back from Cape Cod a new couple. Or at least they had thought they'd had. The weekend had been spent opening up to each other about their disappointments and their regrets in regards to their relationship. About the faults they not only found in each other, but in themselves as well. There'd been a lot of tears that weekend. The brutal honesty shared between them had cut and wounded deep, but in the end they'd both felt extraordinarily liberated. As if the weight of the world had been lifted off of their shoulders and the vice constricting their chests had been stripped away, enable them to breath once more. They had returned home more relaxed and open with each other then they'd had been in the entire eight years that they had spent together. Dawson's name change and adoption both went down without a hitch. They worked together on solving their problems as a couple for the sake of not only their marriage, but for their children as well. Separately, they tried desperately to fix themselves in order to make the other happy. Which in turn, had been their ultimate downfall.

Trying so hard to change for the sake of impressing each other had turned them against one another. It had made them bitter and resentful and after nearly a month of things appearing fine, their relationship rapidly disintegrated. The verbal insults that they hurled at each other were disgustingly hurtful and unforgivable. The arguing had become so intense that Adam had been forced to physically step between them on several occasions in fear that they'd push each other to the point of violence. The girls were terrified and on edge whenever their parents were in the same room together and their physical and mental health began to suffer for it. Kallison complained of chronic stomach aches and 'jack hammering in her head' and Kellan, when not wetting the bed, was inflicting injuries in the form of biting and hair pulling on both her sister and her self and tormenting other kids at school. A far cry from the meek and mild little girl who loved everyone.

It was the turning point that both Sam and Flack had both needed to realize that they were destroying their family. And it was Adam that gave them the biggest ass kicking of all, when sick and tired of being the one to comfort his bawling, uncontrollable nieces after witnessing yet another of mommy and daddy's fights, told them to get their shit together or he was calling social services and he was taking those kids out of there. He would take them and he would take care of them because what they were doing to Kellan and Kallison was nothing short of emotional abuse.

After the harsh reality check they'd been given, it had been a mutual, and for the most part amicable, decision to separate. Flack had offered to be the one to go. He didn't see the point in upsetting the kids anymore than his leaving was already going to. If Sam left and found her own place, the girls would not only lose their father, but lose the house they were used to, the neighbourhood, their school and all of their friends that were there. Their parents splitting up was enough to shatter their tiny worlds and neither their mom or dad wanted to make things worse on them. So he had agreed to leave and had waited until both girls were at school to pack all of his things and leave. He'd stayed with Scagnetti until he had the time to find his own apartment and had, the day after he'd moved out of the house, took Kellan and Kallison out to McDonalds and to explain to them that while mommy and daddy loved each other, they just couldn't live together right now. That they loved their kids too much to be fighting anymore in front of them and that it was the best for all of them if they all lived in separate houses for a while.

It had been the hardest moment of his entire life. Sitting there in McDonalds trying his best not to cry while comforting two sobbing five year olds. And then an hour later having to physically peel them off of him when he dropped them back off at the house.

Home had become a cramped two bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan a block away from where he'd once lived as both a bachelor and at the start of his and Sam's cohabitation. The girls shared a bedroom that he'd allowed them to decorate -an afternoon out at Walmart had seen them scooping up every possible Dora the Explorer item possible- and Dawson was small enough to sleep in a portable playpen.

They had, much to the relief of both of their lawyers and the court, come up with their own separation and custody agreements. Sam would keep all three of the kids with her at the house, while Flack got them every second weekend and one night a week. Which night exactly changed from week to week depending on his work schedule, but Inspector Whitmore had cleared things with the duty captain to make sure he was off the clock when it came time to be anywhere with, and for his kids. Sam had also agreed, if both of their schedules permitted, to let him come over to the house as often as he wanted to spent a couple of hours with them.

She had gone back to work full time and Mac had been more than gracious granting her straight eight to five Monday to Friday and one weekend a month. No night shift and no overtime unless she put in a request for the latter. He had pulled some strings to get Dawson a spot in the day care centre located on the twentieth floor and the twins, when not in either school or summer day camp from nine until noon hour, split their time between Lindsay's and Mari's, or even with Adam if he was off.

Financially, Flack cut a check each month to cover child support and a portion of the mortgage and household bills. Sam knew he was giving more than what the court had actually dictated according to his monthly take home. But the more she protested the amount, the higher he made it. And he was routinely sending the kids home with new clothes and toys and had shelled out the cash for camp and often tucked envelopes with small amounts of cash with Sam's name written on it in their overnight bags. Along with notes about what the money was for- Kellan wants a new pair of runners, those light up Dora the Explorer ones. Or Kallison wants some new books or new arts and crafts stuff.

Dawson, thanks to the money that Jordan had left strictly for his care in event of her death, was well taken care of financially, yet Flack never hesitated in bringing diapers and wipes and formula over. One thing he wasn't going to be known as was a dead beat father. A horrible prick of a husband maybe, but a lousy dad never.

Relationship wise, Sam and Flack themselves were at a standstill. It frightened them that they got along better not living in the same house, and surprised everyone at how effortlessly they seemed to be able handle working together even though their marriage was disintegrating. While neither intended to file for divorce and both wanted to eventually work out their issues and get back together, that time seemed a thousand light years away. It wasn't about not loving each other. That had never been in question. They in fact, loved each other tremendously -and it seemed, even more so since the split- and remained committed to each other. There were no outside relationships coming into play. Neither wanted to be with anyone else.

And intimacy still remained between them. Something that while they both knew wasn't healthy -mentally speaking- for them or for their children, they just couldn't seem to give up. A bond of sorts that kept them permanently attached to one another.

They both knew that Flack spending the night at the house and being there when the kids got up was only doing them more damage. Each time they got saw daddy in the morning, they got their hopes up that he was back to live with them again. And it always broke their hearts, and their parents' for that matter, when he left to go to his new home later in the day.

It had to stop. Sam knew that. Yet knowing it had to and having the strength and the courage to do it were two entirely different things. She craved the closeness that the intimacy provided her with. A closeness she wanted with only him. She needed to feel that he still loved her and was still attracted to her and still wanted. And perhaps, if she was truly honest with herself, she was using sex as a weapon. To keep him in love with her and to prevent him from needing and wanting someone else. Because thinking of him with another woman drove her mental. Seeing him with someone and knowing he was with someone other than her would send her off the deep end.

And maybe, deep down, he was using sex in the exact same way. So she wouldn't turn to anyone else either.

* * *

_We're just completely fucked up, _she concluded and digging into the messenger style bag on the chair beside her, pulled out a bottle of water and uncapping it, took a long sip. _We need our own brand of therapy. Or at least lessons on just how to let go. On how to just cut those last remaining ties and just move on. Because holding on this tight…it's not doing any good for anyone involved._

She didn't want to let go. She didn't want to call it quits. She wanted that happy ending. She wanted the always and forever with him despite all of the bullshit that had taken place in their lives.

She just didn't know how to get start on securing that happy ending.

_Maybe there isn't suppose to be a happy ending, _a small, nagging voice inside of her head piped up. _Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe you're not suppose to have forever with him. You've lived and you've learned and now maybe it's time for both of you to go on with your lives and to stop holding onto each other so tightly. Because if you both keep holding on, you're both going to drown. You love each other but you can't be together. You're not the first couple that this has happened to and you can be damn sure you won't be the last. _

Tears burned her eyes as the harsh words ran through her brain. She quickly shoved them to back burner and struggled to get her emotions under control. Taking another sip of water, she screwed the cap back on and shoved the bottle back into her purse. You are not going to do this here, she ordered herself. You are not going to sit here and lose it in front of a group of strangers. You're not going to be a basket case in front of other people. Do that kind of shit when you get home. But not here.

Sighing, she tried to concentrate on the magazine in her hands. Her trembling hands, she now realized. She frantically glanced around the spacious waiting area, praying that no one noticed how close she was to a breakdown. There were five clinical psychologists, all specializing in children, located in the office. Five separated receptionists, one for each doctor, took up residence at a massive, centralized sign in area. The recommendation had been made four months ago when Adam went to Mac about his concerns for his nieces and how they were dealing with their parents separation. Kallison seemed to be internalizing her anger and sadness. She wasn't sleeping through the night -waking up several times sobbing in fact- and complained of constant stomach aches and had been caught, numerous times, pulling out her hair when she thought no one was looking. Kellan, on the other had, was externalizing everything. The biting and fighting and bullying that manifested during her parents' incessant fighting was now ten times worse and causing sheer hell around the house.

Mac had made the call to the department's Employee Assistance Program, who in turn contacted the NYPD's Counselling Services Unit. Although they only handled officer related issues, they did have a list of contracted psychologists that were capable of treating children. Mental health had been one of their top priorities since September 11th, and the department had referred many a family of a fallen officer there for help.

What would have been a seven month wait for an appointment, had been turned into a four one thanks to Mac pulling some strings. His niece -Claire's sister's child - Augusta Broussard had come to New York City following Hurricane Katrina and had put her psychology degree to good use. She'd landed a job at Women's and Children's and had accepted the offer to work on a contract basis with the NYPD. Her speciality was marriage/family therapy and, for the children, play therapy. As far as Mac was concerned, no one was more perfect to treat the Flack twins than Gus. And after several phone calls, the plan for her to see Kellan and Kallison had been put in place.

It was Sam's second appointment. The first time she'd gone alone to meet with Gus. To have a sit down. A 'get to know you' as Gus had called it. And to fill out a parent intake questionnaire that now sat completed and signed in a the folder sitting under her purse. The permission forms she was still waiting on.

_And I'll be waiting forever by the looks of it_, she thought irritably and glanced down at the pink ad white beaded bracelet style watch that graced her right wrist. _Goddamn men, _she fumed, and tapped the toe of one her white sling back kitten heels on the carpet below. _I distinctly said be here for quarter to so we can make sure all of our ducks are in a row before the appointment. One forty-five. I was clear and adamant and it's damn well nearing five minutes to._

She shivered once again and rubbed at her arms, which were bare in the sundress she'd chosen to wear to the appointment. White, with swirls of aquamarine, pink and yellow throughout, it tied at the back of her neck and skimmed just below the knee. A conservative and appropriate outfit that had been perfect in the sweltering temperatures but now had her fearing she'd freeze her ass clear off.

She checked her watch again and agitatedly and nervously fingered the four rows of beads as her eyes surveyed the other families in the waiting room. Three small groups in all. Several seats away was a middle aged woman -professional and well put together in a simple black Dior pantsuit, red Jimmy Choo pumps and her Gucci bag sitting in her lap- and sitting beside her, her teenage daughter with multiple piercing and neon green hair. To the right hand side were two armed guards from a local youth correctional facility, one standing and the other side next to a dour faced young man with a brush cut in orange prison coveralls that wore shackles around his ankles and was handcuffed to one arm of the chair.

On the opposite side of the clinic sat a young couple -both tall and blond and blue eyed and clad in Dockers and Banana Republic clothes- holding hands and smiling down at their son as he played quietly and contently at their feet with a Little Tikes dump truck. He was a strawberry blond, rosy cheeked, blue eyed cherub in Osh Gosh overalls and a Mets baseball cap and Sam couldn't help but wonder what could possibly be so wrong in such a seemingly perfect family.

_Looks can be deceiving, _Sam thought and drummed the fingers of her left hand on the arm of her chair. Her ring finger bearing no more than her simple white gold wedding band. Engagement ring and anniversary band now sitting at home, tucked away in her jewellery box. There was a time, she mused, long before illness and an affair plagued them, when people thought, just by looking at her own family -a tall, dark and handsome husband, two beautiful, energetic and angelic little girls- that their lives were picture perfect. Now she was sitting in a psychologist's office seeking help for a mentally disturbed five year old and contemplating where her life was heading.

Other than down the toilet.

* * *

Her head snapped towards the main door of the clinic as it clicked open. The waiting room quickly filling with the sounds of laughing and chatting coming from hospital staff as they wandered the fourth floor. She watched as her husband strode quickly and confidently into the room, agitation and exhaustion clearly visible. His badge was still clipped to the waist of his charcoal grey dress pants and his holster, weapon and all, still graced his right hip. His face was rough and unshaven and his hair was mussed and there were patches of sweat at the back of his sunburned neck and above his ears. His dress shirt -white with pastel blue and yellow stripes- was wrinkled and the top two buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows and his solid blue tie was loosened.

The door swung closed behind him, cutting off all sound in the hallway as he headed straight for the reception desk.

"Don!" Sam called out and waved him over.

Flack glanced over his shoulder and gave a tired smile before turning on his heel and changing his chartered course.

"Hey," he greeted, and laying a hand on the back of her chair, leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "Guess they're running a bit behind?"

She nodded.

"Sorry I'm late. I got caught up in a bastard of an interrogation."

"I thought you were off today," she said, motioning for him to hand over his suit jacket.

"I am…or at least I was suppose to be," Flack handed her his jacket before collapsing into the chair on her right. "But I ended up catching a triple in Soho late yesterday afternoon."

"The call that came in just as I was leaving?" she asked, as she lay the jacket over her purse. "Three frat boys in a coffee house?"

He nodded. "There was no one else available to take it so Cap asked me to stay and work. Me, the idiot that I am, said no problem. Then he tosses out this smart ass comment about how he knew I wouldn't turn it down 'cause off all the money my ex-wife is soaking me for."

Sam visibly flinched. "What did you say?" she asked curiously.

"Told him to shut his fucking mouth before I shut I for him." Flack replied, then added "And then reminded him none to gently that you're still my wife."

She gave a small smile, noticing, as he raked his fingers through his hair, that his wedding ring still graced his finger.

_It was there two days ago when he spent the night,_ she reminded herself. _Why wouldn't it still be there now?_

Flack yawned noisily and leaning back in his chair, closed his eyes and stretched out his legs.

"You didn't have to come," she said gently. "If you're that tired…"

"I'm fine," he told her. "I said I would be here and I'm here. Did I not tell you I'd come today?"

"Yeah…but if you've barely had any sleep you aren't…"

"I'm here for Kellan, okay? I'm here 'cause one of our kids has problems. That's why I'm here. Doesn't matter if I haven't slept in twenty four hours or twenty four years. Our daughter is having issues and she needs us to help her get through them. You said be here, I'm here. So don't start."

"I wasn't starting anything. I was just saying that you're obviously really tired. You've worked a long shift and I would have understood if you'd called me and told me you couldn't make it. I'm not a total bitch, Don. I know the guys at work like to think I'm the biggest one on God's entire green earth. But I would have been okay with it if you'd told me that…"

"I am telling you that I am here for Kellan and I'd be here no matter what," he snapped. "Why do you have to do this, Sam? Why do you have to get on me all the time?"

"I'm not…"

"You start as soon as you see me. You get on my ass about every little thing I say or do that doesn't sit well with you. If I promise you I'm going to be somewhere, I'm going to be there. So just…just drop it, okay?"

"Okay…" she said quietly, surrendering peacefully. "But I wasn't…"

Flack cracked his eyes open and stared at her.

"How about we just not talk?" Sam suggested with a sugary sweet smile. "How about we just go find an empty supply closet or a room somewhere and get to the chase and just have sex. Considering that's the only goddamn time we get along."

He frowned. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"It means exactly what I just said. It's the only time we're not at each other's throats it seems. We can't be in a room alone together without wanting to kill each other."

"We're not in a room alone," he said, sarcasm oozing from every pore.

"You know what I meant. Jesus, Don…are we going to keep doing this? Are we going to keep hating on each other when we're alone? Are we going to just co-exist at work and that's it?"

"We co-exist when I come home and visit," he told her.

"Only because you're in your post orgasmic bliss the next morning and you're incapable of being in a shitty mood when you've gotten laid the night before," she snorted.

He smirked and shook his head. "You're a piece of work, Sam. You really are. Bringing all this up here. In public. You couldn't tell me this after the appointment? We couldn't go somewhere and hash this all out there?"

"Oh where are we going to go and hash things out, Don? To the house? To your apartment? Where it's just me and you and we can yell and scream and get each other worked up and then wind up completely naked and burning off all of our anger and aggression that way? Don't sit there and act like that's normal."

"You're still my wife Sammie," he reminded her.

"I _am_ still your wife. But we're also separated. Legally. And we're living apart. And part of living apart does not include us hooking up every second day for a booty call."

He laughed at that. "It's hardly a booty call. We're married. I think it's a little more personal than a booty call."

"You're impossible," Sam huffed. "You always have been."

"You married me," he retorted.

Sam bit her tongue in order to cut off the mean, hurtful comment that erupted from her lips.

"Oh just say it, Sammie…" he chuckled. "Just say it and get it out."

"Say what?" she asked,

"Whatever nasty, spiteful thing you were about to say. I know you, babe. I've been with you for eight years. I know exactly what you're capable of when you're pissed off. So just say it. Tell me that you wish you'd never married me in the first place."

"You think that's what I was going to say?"

He arched both eyebrows and stared at her pointedly. "Weren't you?"

"I've never once wished I never married you," she said. "Never. Because regardless of what you think of me, I do love you. I'll always love you. And you gave me Kellan and Kallison."

"And?" he asked.

"And what?"

"Aren't you forgetting something? Or someone? Or does Dawson not count 'cause you didn't give birth to him?"

"Oh for Christsakes," Sam rolled her eyes. "You're goddamn ridiculous. You know that? I'm the one that takes care of your kids. Your son. A son you fathered with your mistress. So don't sit there like you're so bloody innocent."

"Is this what's going to happen, Sammie? Is this what this meeting with the shrink is all about? Are you going to…"

"She is not a shrink. Gus is not a shrink and I don't appreciate you talking about her in such a derogatory way. She's a clinical psychologist and she…"

"Gus?" he chuckled. "What? You're on a first name basis with our daughter's clinical psychologist? So what's going to happen when I walk in there and you two are all buddy-buddy with each other? You're both going to gang up on me? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I've been painted with the bad guy brush already."

"No one has made you out to be the bad guy," Sam informed him angrily. "I haven't said a goddamn disparaging word about you. Our first meeting was all about me in fact. About my medical history and how my pregnancy was and all about the girls' birth and development. Stuff like that. All part of the bigger picture."

"Yeah? And what did Gus say about your time in the nut house? Or about you and all your meds and the time you say Doctor Melfi? Did she pat you on the back and feel sorry for you? Or did she think that you're probably the reason Kellan is the way she is?"

"You're an asshole!" Sam hissed. "Why did you even come if you were going to be so cynical and pissy about everything?"

"Maybe because I am cynical and pissy," Flack reasoned. "Because I'm just a cynical and pissy bastard."

"You didn't have to come today!" his wife reminded him. "It wasn't a necessity that you came! All you had to do was sign those permission forms I gave you the other day and I could have showed up at your desk and picked them up! It was your idea to come, remember? Because you thought it was a good idea that we both meet with Gus before Kellan starts seeing her. And you still thought it was a good idea even after I told you we'd have to talk about us and our screwed up marriage. You wanted to come! So don't act like someone is holding a gun to your head and forcing you to be here, Don."

"I'm just saying that I don't want to walk in there if there's some huge ass target on my back," he argued.

"There isn't! Would you just shut it and grow up already? No one is holding you accountable for all of our problems! No one is blaming you for the way we are. It took both of us to mess things up this bad and it's going to take both of us to fix things. God…why do you have to be like this? Why do you have to be the way you are? Did you even bother filing out your part of the parent intake questionnaire? She's going to want to see that, you know. She's going to want to make sure our answers and everything match up. And did you fill out the permission forms? Or did you just push it all aside and forget about it?"

"You know what, Samantha…" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, struggling to maintain his composure. Sitting up in his chair, he reached across her body and grabbed a hold of his suit jacket. "Here…" yanking a handful of rolled up papers from the inside pocket, he dropped them into her lap. "I did exactly what I was suppose to. I answered all the stupid goddamn questions and signed my life away. I wrote down everything I could possibly think of for my family history. Illnesses, disorders, all that shit. Nuclear family, extended family. I got copies of all of my records from the department and the family doctor and already had them sent over here. So why don't you do me a favour and stop riding my ass so goddamn much?"

She opened the papers in her hand and thumbed through them, a tense silence falling over them.

* * *

"I already told you a million times," Flack said a few minutes later, his voice softer, gentler. "Whatever you and the kids need, I'll do it. No matter how big, no matter how small. You just say the word and I'm on it. I'll go to the ends of the earth for you and my kids. Especially my kids. You know that."

She nodded and blinked back tears.

"Sammie…" he sighed heavily, and reaching out, laid a hand on the back of her head. "Sammie…I love you…but sometimes…sometimes I can't stand you."

"I know…" she said sadly. "And I'm sorry that things didn't work out the way we wanted it to, Don."

"With us you mean?" he asked.

She nodded.

"There's still time, babe. We're just going through some really rough shit right now. We'll get past it. Eventually."

"Eventually," she snorted. "And when is eventually Donnie? A month from now? Six months from now? A year from now? A couple of years? Do you even know? Is it going to be sometime in the next decade or when all the kids are out of the house so then we don't screw them up anymore with our bullshit?"

"We just…" he sighed and stroked her hair gently. "We just need time, Sam."

"How much time?" she asked, a desperate quality to her voice. "How much time do we need? I can't keep wondering when we're finally going to find time to try and fix us. I can't keep thinking about when you're finally going to come home and we're finally going to be a family again."

"Sam, I'd come home tomorrow. You know that. I'd come home right this second. It's not about that. It's not about me not loving you and not wanting to be with you. It's about the kids and…"

"And not messing them up anymore than they already are," she finished. "I know. I know it's not about us right now. I know we need to concentrate on helping the kids get through this. That we need to worry about them and fixing the mistakes we made with them. And I love my kids. All three of them. But I also love you and I can't keep putting myself, putting us, last. And I know that's selfish. I do. But how are we supposed to fix them if we can't fix us?"

"I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head slowly. "I honestly don't know."

"I just need to know that there _is_ an us. That I'm not just wasting my time holding onto you as hard as I am."

"Sammie…" Flack laid his hand on the back of her neck. "Look at me. Just look at me, babe."

Tear filled golden brown eyes met intense blue ones.

"There is an us," he assured her and leaned over to press his lips to her forehead. "There is an us and you just need to…we need to find us again. And I don't know how long that's going to take. I guess it'll just happen when it happens."

"If we even want it to happen," she added.

"I know I want it to happen," Flack said. "And I know you do too."

She nodded, and sniffling noisily, pulled away from him. "I swore I would never be like this," she whispered. "I swore that after Zack I would never, ever be this dependant on someone. That I would never need a man to make me feel whole. To make me happy. And now look. Look what's happened to me. How weak I am."

"Being in love with someone isn't weak," he told her.

"It is when being in love with them and them being in love with you is all that matters to you," she said.

Flack nodded slowly, allowing her words to sink in. "So what do you want to do, Sam? What is you want? If you've got some kind of answer to all of our problems, fill me in. What is it that _you _want?"

"I want to learn how to let go," she whispered.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. "You want to let go? Of me? Of us? Is that what you want?"

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I just don't know anymore," she replied. "Because I do love you and I do want my forever with you. But I can't…I can't put myself or our kids through this anymore. I can't do that to them. They deserve better then what we've been giving them."

Flack nodded in agreement. "Maybe we need to just completely back away for a while," he suggested. "Maybe we just need to be nothing more than Kellan and Kallison and Dawson's mommy and daddy."

"Maybe," she sighed. "I just don't know. Do you?"

He shook his head.

"Well when you do figure it out can you let me know?" she asked with a small laugh. "'Cause I'm open to all ideas and suggestions at this point in time. All I know is that you and I…we're not trying as hard as we could be."

"I already told you, Sammie. Whatever it takes, just let me know. I can't have all the answers all of the time. I can't constantly be the knight in shining armour that slays all the dragons and rescues you from all of the bad stuff. I just can't. Sometimes the superheros need a little help too."

"And I have to realize that I'm not some princess in a fairy tale that needs someone to rescue them all the time," she told him. "Maybe I was just really naïve. Thinking that there was such a thing as happily ever after."

"And maybe there really is such a thing and we just have to bust our asses to get it," Flack said. "And if it's worth it, if we're worth it, it doesn't matter how long it takes.," reaching out, he picked up her hand and entwined his fingers with hers and settled their joined hands on his thigh. "All that matters is that we get there in the end."

She gave a solemn nod and stared down at the band on his finger. Remembering a simpler time when all that had been going through her mind was the fantastical idea of becoming his wife. When things weren't exactly perfect, but they had love and trust and respect to fall back on. When other couples looked at them and smiled and commented about how happy they were. How much they cherished and adored each other. How if any couple was going to last the distance, it was going to be them.

And she wondered how in the hell things had ever gone so horrifically wrong.

* * *

**A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! As you all know, I've never shied away from controversial and dark topics. I've never been the kind to write my stories with rose coloured glasses on, and I appreciate all of you who have supported me and who have stuck by me through thick and thin. And I thank the lurkers, too! Without all of you, I wouldn't be having as much fun as I am! **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Madison Bellows**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**SpankyMcDoogleFace**

**Xsamiliciousx**

**Heart2handgun**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Wolfeylady**

**Soccer-bitch**


	79. Onslaught

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS. THE FANTASTIC GUS BROUSSARD IS OWNED BY THE EVEN MORE FANTASTIC MADISON BELLOWS!**

**MASSIVE HUGS AND KISSES TO MADDY FOR ALL OF HER HELP AND ADVICE! I HOPE I AM DOING GUSSIE JUSTICE!**

**BUCKLE UP FOLKS, IT'S GOING TO BE A BUMPY RIDE**

* * *

**Onslaught**

"I guess I just got lost  
Bein' someone else  
I tried to kill the pain  
Nothing ever helped  
I left myself behind  
Somewhere along the way  
Hoping to come back around  
To find myself someday

Lately I'm so tired of waiting for you  
To say that it's ok, but tell me  
Please, would you one time  
Just let me be myself  
So I can shine with my own light  
Let me be myself  
Would you let me be myself

I'll never find my heart  
Behind someone else  
I'll never see the light of day  
Living in this cell  
It's time to make my way  
Into the world I knew  
Take back all of these times  
That I gave in to you."  
-Let Me Be Myself, Three Doors Down

* * *

"Did I make Kellan the way she is?"

The words came tumbling out of Sam's mouth before Gus Broussard could suggest that the couple that had just been shown into her office make themselves comfortable. Handshakes had been exchanged and introductions made, and just as the Gus moved towards the burgundy suede love seat where her legal pad and pen awaited -she normally didn't take notes, save for initial meetings and if she was observing a client from a different room as issues with horrific therapists and a belief that note taking was impersonal and put up a barrier between doctor and patient- she was slightly taken back by the question posed to her.

"Jesus Christ, Samantha…" Flack muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, his hands planted firmly on his hips. "Why the hell…?"

"It's what you said in the waiting room," she reminded him, hurt evident on both her face and in her voice. "You said that…"

"I know what I said," he angrily cut her off. "But I didn't mean it. I was irritated and pissed off with the way you were being and it just slipped out. I just said it 'cause you were getting on my nerves."

"It doesn't matter why you said it or whether you meant it or not," she informed him. "You still said it. And you're always like that. You've always been like that. You say mean, hurtful things when you get upset and then when you cool down you think that saying sorry makes everything better. That it erases everything. That it makes it okay. And it doesn't. Words hurt, Don. They hurt and they cling to someone and you can never get rid of them completely."

"And I'm the only person whose guilty of that?" he asked incredulously and gave a dry laugh. "Oh that's rich coming from you. The supreme Queen of Mean. You don't say a whole lot of crap when you're upset? You don't go for the jugular during a fight? Or do you think that 'cause I'm a guy that the shit you spew doesn't hurt my feelings? Or is it that it's okay when you do it but it's a mortal sin when I'm an ass?"

"When?" Sam snorted. "When you're an ass? When are you ever not an ass?"

"Mr and Mrs Flack…" Gus held her hands up in both a show of surrender and a silent request for some peace. "Walking into this fighting is not going to do either of you, or your children any good. I understand that there's some strong feelings of animosity and bitterness but…"

"You called me crazy!" Sam reminded her husband. "You tossed it up in my face that I spent time under a psychiatrist's care and that I take medication for my issues! And you accused me of making our daughter the way she is!"

"I never accused you of anything. I just said that maybe she's the way she is 'cause you have some mental issues."

"Oh my God!" Sam laughed derisively. "That is not what you said! Now you're walking into this not just as an ass but a lying ass? You asked me if Gus felt sorry for me for my previous issues or if she thought I made Kellan the way she is! That is what you said!"

"And I just told you that I didn't mean it!" he ground out through tightly clenched teeth. "So why don't you just sit down and be quiet and Doctor Broussard can get the goddamn show on the road?"

"See what he's like?" Sam asked Gus. "Do you see? He's like this all the time. He thinks that he can boss everyone around. That he can rule everybody. That just because he's this bad ass cop when he's on the clock that he can treat the people in his personal life like that too. He can't turn that side of him off anymore. He used to be able to. He used to be able to separate one from the other and now…"

"And now what Sam?" Flack challenged. "And now I'm nothing but a cold hearted, insensitive mean sonofabitch? Let's not get into all of the shitty things you've said in the past eight years. 'Cause we'd hate to tarnish the good doctor's image of the innocent and perfect Samantha. We'd hate for her to actually think you're just as much to blame for this mess as I am."

"I never said that I was perfect or that I was innocent!' Sam argued. "I never once said you were the only guilty party here! I never said that you caused all of this! But you do have a bigger role in this crap then I do!"

"Oh here we go," Flack shook his head in disbelief and looked over at Gus as the pretty, blond haired psychologist simply stood watching and listening. No emotion visible on her face. "You know what she's going to bring out now?" he asked. "She's going to toss out how I'm the spawn of Satan 'cause I cheated on her. It's the card she plays every goddamn time she gets all defensive of something. When I'm right about anything when we fight, she always brings it up. 'Cause she knows how it eats at me and she knows that it's the one thing she has over me that will break me every single goddamn time."

"I don't…"

"You do," Flack cut his wife off. "You never used to. You used to be the one who'd get mad at me whenever I brought it up. Whenever my guilty conscience got the better of me and I'd talk about how bad I screwed up and how bad I felt about what I did and how I almost lost my family. You'd get all pissed with me and tell me how it was in the past. That you'd forgiven me and you didn't want to think about it anymore. That all you wanted to do was put it behind you and get on with your life. Our life. Together. Did you not always tell me that?"

"I did," Sam admitted. "And I meant it. But…"

"But? How can there be a but? How can you say all of that and then seven months ago turn around and start tossing it in my face and holding it over my head every chance you got? Every time we fought between the end February until I left you've always brought it up. And you still bring it up whenever you get really pissed about something. You either forgive me or you don't. Plain and simple."

"I thought I had forgiven you," she said quietly. "I thought I'd put it behind me and I thought that I could just push it away and act like it never happened. I can't forget what you did. I just can't. It's hard to forget when I have a permanent reminder under my nose twenty four hours a day, seven days a week."

"So that's what it comes down to, huh?" Flack asked. "It all comes down to Dawson. An innocent baby who'd never asked to be brought into all of this. It's all his fault."

"Nothing is his fault," Sam replied. "I willingly took him in. I willingly adopted him."

"And doesn't that just make you feel like some fucking martyr," Flack snorted. "Everyone bow to you and kiss your ass 'cause you took in a baby whose mother had been murdered. Everyone needs to idolize you for this supreme act of kindness and selfishness. Jesus Christ, Sam get over yourself. You're not some modern day Saint 'cause of what you did."

"I never said that I was. I just said that…"

"You keep saying it!" he interrupted. "You keep going on and on about it. Over and over again! You keep bringing it up to everybody that you did this great thing by adopting him! And you know what, it was a great thing. I am still in awe of how you just took to him the way you did. How you love him as much as you do. How you don't treat him any different then you do Kellan and Kallison. But how many times do I have to tell you how much I love and admire you for it? How many times do I have to thank you for it! Is this the way it's going to be for the rest of our lives? Every time we fight are you going bring this up? About how you're the better person 'cause you took him in?"

"Maybe I want to hurt you!" Sam shouted, tears coursing down her face. "Maybe I want to hurt you sometimes! Maybe there's times when it bothers me so bad that I just snap and I want you to feel half of what I felt when you did what you did! Where I think about you and Jordan together and it makes me sick to my stomach and it makes me want to hurt you! You betrayed me! You could have said no! You could have walked away from her! You could have just come home to your family! But you didn't! You slept with her and you did it again, and again and again! It wasn't just once! It was months! Months Don! If it had have been just one time then maybe…then maybe it wouldn't hurt as much as it does!"

* * *

A stunned silence fell over occupants of the room. The ticking off the clock above the door and Flack's harsh breathing near deafening in the aftermath of the brutal honesty and fury that had just been unleashed. Fifteen months of anguish and anger had finally culminated and had exploded out of Sam's mouth. A year and three months of holding her torment inside. Of trying to pretend that she was going on with her life and that she didn't want to talk about the past anymore. Of trying to convince herself that in some way, she'd been just as much to blame for what had happened as her husband was.

"I'm sorry," Sam's voice broke the silence as she brought both of her hands to her face. "I never should have…I'm sorry…"

"Sammie…" Flack's voice was quiet and quivered with emotion as he took a step towards her and reached out to lay a hand on the back of her neck.

"No…" she shook her head vigorously and stepped away from him. "Please don't…please don't touch me…just don't…not right now…just please don't…"

Gus gave Flack a sympathetic smile as she approached Samantha cautiously. "That's been dying to get out for a long time, hasn't it," she said in her Louisiana accent, as she placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder.

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she cried from behind her hands. "I never should have acted like that. I never should have…"

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Gus assured her, and led the petite brunette over to the sofa placed across from the love seat, a wooden coffee table -a jug of ice water and two glasses perched on top of it- separating them. "You've been bottling all of those feelings up and keeping them inside and you just couldn't do it anymore. And as harsh as what the two of you were saying to each other was, the truth is, you probably both needed to say it. And hear it. Because now you both know what the other has been keeping back for so long. What made you both so bitter and angry at each other. Both of you are hurting. No one in this room is fully to blame and no one here is completely innocent either."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Flack asked, as Sam took a seat, her face still in her hands as Gus moved to the coffee table and flipping over the glasses, filled both with water. "If you had all of that to say why didn't you ever get it out? Why didn't you just tell me all of this?"

"What was I suppose to say to you, Don?" his wife inquired. "What could I have said to you that wouldn't have started a massive fight between us? What could I have told you that wouldn't have hurt you and that wouldn't have had you storm out?"

He had no answer for that.

"I know what you're like," Sam said, and removing her hands from her face, nodded her appreciation to Gus as the doctor presented her with a glass of water. "I've known you for nearly ten years now. I know how you get when you're upset. And I wasn't…I wasn't going to take the chance that you'd walk out on us again. I couldn't do that myself. I couldn't do that to our kids again."

"And that's what you were afraid of?" Gus asked, as she stepped away from the couch and retreated to the love seat. She gathered up her pen and pad of paper and motioned for Flack to take a seat beside his wife.

"I knew he'd walk out if I started in on his affair," Sam replied, her hands trembling as she sipped at her drink. "I knew that he'd get pissed off and accuse me of dwelling on the past when I was the one so hell bent on forgetting about it and getting on with the present. And when he gets upset…when Don gets upset he does two things. He gets nasty and scary and then he storms out. It's just the way he is and the way he's always been."

"Scary in what way?" Gus inquired.

"He is not abusive," Sam was quick to defend her husband. "He's never been abusive and I've never once been afraid that he would be. He's never, ever hit me or ever made a move like he's going to. I was in an abusive relationship. A severely abusive relationship in fact. And Don isn't…my husband is not like that. He'd never raise a hand to me and he's never hit our kids."

"I would never hurt you, Sammie," Flack told her, as he cautiously took a seat beside her. The two inches separated them from shoulder to knee seeming like two hundred miles. "I would never hurt you or the kids. So I don't know what…"

"You frighten me," she admitted.

"But you know I'd never do anything to you or the kids. So how can I…"

"Emotionally," his wife clarified. "You frighten me emotionally. Because you're not capable of abusing someone. You're just not like that. Because you grew up around that and you saw that between your own parents and you witnessed what your dad to your mother…"

Flack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That's a long time ago," he said. Clearly bothered by the topic of conversation.

"…and you've always been so determined not to be like him," Sam continued. "And you're not. Like him. Not even in the slightest. But you do have a bad temper and you do react badly to things and you…when you get angry you say things that hurt. They hurt really bad and they cut deep. They do just as much damage as anything physical Zack ever did to me."

Flack blinked. Taken back by her honest words.

"And I know I'm not innocent either," Sam quickly added. "That when I'm angry I get the exact same way. That I've said some horrible things to you in the past eight years. And especially in the past year and a bit. I know that. And I wish I could take them back, Donnie. I wish I could wave some magic wand to take back all the times I hurt you."

"We have a tendency to hurt the ones we love the most," Gus mused.

Both Sam and Flack nodded in agreement.

"I know that all of this is painful for both of you to hear," she continued. "But this is going to be the starting point of fixing your relationship. I know that, from just my initial interview with Samantha alone, that both of you want to repair your marriage. That you don't want this separation to be a permanent thing."

"I want this to work," Flack told her. "I don't want to be away from my family. I don't want this to go on and on forever thinking that one day we're going to be back together, only to realize it had been a waste of time all along. I love my wife. This isn't about whether I love her or not. Because I know how I feel about it. I know how desperately in love with her I am. That isn't what the problem is. The problem is that we're like this…we fight like this…in our home in front of our kids. And I don't want them to see that or hear that anymore."

"Which has been what is happening," Gus told him. "You have been fighting and saying mean things to each other in front of the children."

"Not necessarily in front of them," Flack said. "I mean…I guess they've been in the room a few times…but most of the time they're not around us when we're doing it."

"But they're hearing it," she reminded him. "They're hearing mommy and daddy yelling at each other and they're hearing the two of you say horrible things to each other. They're hearing you tell each other that you hate one another one minute and then hearing you tell each other you love one another the next. Do you see where that could, for lack of a better word, mess them up?"

"I guess I just never thought about it," Flack admitted.

"Let's back up a little bit here," Gus suggested. "Let's get some background here. Into your relationship. I know, from what Samantha told me in our initial visit, that you met ten years ago and it wasn't until roughly a year and a half later that the two of you became intimately involved with each other. How long were you together before you moved on to the next step?"

"We were engaged in March of 2010," Sam told her. "And we got married in February of 2011."

"And we started living together at the end of February 2010," Flack added.

"And what was your relationship like then?" Gus asked, taking quick yet accurate notes. "Did you fight a lot right from the beginning? Is there a pattern involved here? Was there always a lot of tension between the two of you?"

"We had some issues," Sam replied. "I had this fear of intimacy. Not just with him. With everyone I've ever been with. I've always been afraid to…" she sighed. "I've always been afraid to completely give myself to someone."

"Which, as you told me before and from what the records Doctor Melfi sent over show, stems from the abuse you suffered at the hands of your father."

Sam nodded. "And Don…he wasn't like all the other guys, you know? He never has been. He was understanding and he was patient and he was trustworthy and he…he just never pressured me into anything. It didn't matter to him. Or at least I don't think it did."

"I mean it bothered me a bit," Flack admitted. "What guy doesn't want to be intimate with someone they're in love with? But I wasn't going to make her do anything she wasn't ready for. I may be a complete ass sometimes, but I'm not a rapist."

"And after the two of you did become intimate how were things?" Gus asked.

"You mean like how were things sexually?" Flack inquired.

She nodded.

"Aren't we here about Kellan?" he asked irritably. "If we're here about her why are we talking about this kind of thing?"

"I'm interested in getting the history of your relationship," the psychologist explained. "It's all part of the bigger picture. The more I know about the two of you and the way things have been and are, the better."

Flack nodded, then leaned forward and poured himself a glass of water.

"Things were great," Sam told Gus. "Sexually things were great. I mean, we went through the whole honeymoon stage of our relationship where that's all we did. Or at least it seems like it's all we did."

"But we've never had a problem with it," Flack said to his wife. "Sex has never been an issue. Ever. We're really good at it and we really enjoy it and that's that. So I don't get why this has anything to do with us as parents."

"Maybe because we sometimes use it against each other," Sam suggested gently.

Gus' eyebrows shot up. "In what way?" she asked.

"Sam thinks we use it to keep each other," Flack replied. "That us having sex, even while we're separated, is our way of preventing each other from finding it somewhere else. That we use it to keep each other coming back. To keep us connected so that we don't feel the need to 'branch out' as she puts it."

"And do either of you feel that you would, as you put it, branch out if intimacy no longer existed between you?" Gus inquired.

"You mean no longer existed as in forever?" Flack asked. "Married or not married?"

Gus nodded. "If you were still married but for some reason, hypothetically speaking, could no longer have sex with each other, would it force either of you to find that somewhere else?"

"I'm not with my wife 'cause of sex," Flack answered. "I'm with my wife 'cause I love her and we have a family together. I wouldn't give a rats ass if something like that happened. We're not defined by sex."

"Samantha?" Gus asked.

"I wouldn't cheat on my husband regardless of the circumstance," the brunette said. "I love him as my husband. As the father of my children. As a care taker and a provider. And it wouldn't be the end of the world if we could never have sex again. Sure, I'd miss it. I'd miss that intimacy with him. But it wouldn't stop me from loving him and wanting to be with him."

"So why is it that you both feel the need to be intimate while you're separated?" Gus challenged. "If both of you could live without it, why is it you can't resist it now?"

"Because right now it feels like that's all we have left," Sam admitted. "Because it's the one time we're connected in the most purest and deepest way possible. Where we're in sync and we're not spewing venom and hate at one another. And I just can't…I just can't lose that part of us."

"I can't back away from it 'cause I'm worried she'll go somewhere else," Flack said.

His wife stared at him, shocked at his admission.

"I am…" he shrugged and took a sip of his water. "I'm worried that you'll go and find some other guy to be with. I'm worried that if you don't see me like that anymore, that you'll find some guy you do see like that. Call me insecure, I guess. You're always talking about how conceited and arrogant I am. Maybe I just act like that so you don't realize just how paranoid I am about shit like that. Maybe I cover that part of me up so that no one knows how vulnerable I am in some ways. 'Cause I'd rather be the obnoxious ass then the self conscious weakling."

"No one said you're weak," Sam told him. "I've never once said that. Why didn't you ever tell me this stuff? Why didn't you ever admit to me that you think about stuff like that?"

"I don't know…" he shrugged. "I guess maybe I didn't want you thinking any less of me."

"What?" she breathed, and then shook her head. "I could never, ever think less of you for admitting something like that. Think less of you for being human? Don, don't you think that if you came out and told me this that maybe I'd be less…I don't know…less overbearing and less self conscious? That maybe I wouldn't be accusing you of being over protective and possessive all the time?"

"I'm only like that 'cause I know that you could easily walk away from me and find someone else," he told her.

"But I don't want anyone else," Sam said. "I want you. Only you. Don't you think I worry about the same thing with you?"

"I don't want anyone else either. Jordan was a one time thing. I did it and I messed up. Huge. And I can't take it back and I can't ever really forgive myself for it. But I don't want anyone other than you, Sammie. It's always been you."

"Do you think that it would be beneficial for the two of you to see a marriage counsellor?" Gus asked softly. "Kellan, and eventually Kallison, are my clients and because of conflict of interest, I couldn't ethically see you as a couple. If it was to discuss parenting concerns or the girls themselves…"

"We did the counselling thing after I cheated on her," Flack said. "And it obviously didn't work or we wouldn't be separated right now."

"Neither of you want to be the way you are," Gus pointed out. "And a lot has come out today that will do you both a world of good. It will do your relationship a world of good. And if you had an outlet for some of the anger and guilt inside…"

"I want to go to counselling," Sam spoke up.

Flack looked over at her.

"I want to save this," she told him. "I want to save us. And not just us, but our family. I love you, Donnie. I don't want to lose you completely. And if we don't go…if we don't go I'm afraid that that's going to happen."

He nodded slowly, taking her words into consideration before tentatively reaching out to lay his hand on the back of her neck. "I don't want to lose you either, Sammie. Not anymore than I already have. And if you think that counselling will help…"

"You need to think it will help," Sam said. "Not just me."

"Babe, at this point in time, I'm open to anything. Anything it takes to keep us together. Our family together. Okay?" he leaned across the couch and pressed a iss to her temple. "Anything, Sammie. We'll go to counselling, alright?"

"Alright," she agreed, and gave a small smile.

"This office works in conjuncture with several other therapists," Gus told them. "I can put in a referral to someone."

"That would be good," Sam said. "Thank you."

"There is a slight concern I do need to express," the other woman said. "Regarding the fact that you're separated but being intimate with each other. Are the children at all aware of what is happening?"

"They see their dad in the mornings when he stays over," Sam told her.

"And I assume that it makes things harder on them when it's time for him to leave," Gus said.

Flack nodded. "It does a number on them. 'Cause they get up and see me there and think that it means that I'm back to stay. To live with them and mommy. And then when I tell them that I have to go back to my own place…"

"They freak out," Sam spoke up. "They cry and throw tantrums. They beg him to stay. Don has to practically peel them off of his legs and has to physically prevent them from following him out of the house."

"That's pretty hard," Flack admitted, his voice solemn.

"And do you notice a change in Kellan at this time?" Gus asked. "I know this aggressive, violent behaviour and the self harm started while the two of you were still together and that it got excessive worse after the separation. Am I correct?"

Flack nodded. "She's gotten a hundred times worse since we split up," he said. "Sammie was always getting called by the school to come and deal with Kellan. She was always the passive one, you know? Then she starts knocking other kids around. Kicking them. Pushing them off of slides and swings and shoving them off of the monkey bars. Some of these kids have gotten really hurt. Broken arms…"

"Black eyes, split lips," Sam added with a heavy sigh. "And never mind what she does to herself. Yanks out her hair, bites herself until she bleeds, bangs her head off the floor when she throws a fit."

"Split the back of her head open for ten stitches," Flack said. "Last time I took her home and told her I was going to be a bit late picking her and her sister and her brother up on the Friday night. She just freaked out. Slammed her head off of the driveway. Intentionally. Busted her head open. Scared the shit right out of me."

"And is there an increase in this behaviour after you've spent the night?" Gus asked.

Sam nodded. "She's violent when he leaves," she replied. "And not just to herself. To her sister and to me. And I'm worried…" she choked up once more. "I'm worried that she's going to do something to the baby one day."

"Don't cry baby," Flack rubbed comfortingly at the back of her neck. "Don't cry…we're here and we're going to get her some help."

"I just never thought she'd ever be like this," Sam sniffled. "That either of my kids would be like this. But especially…especially not Kellan. And to be having to say these things about my own child…"

"It's hard," Gus sympathized. "But the important thing is that you're recognizing all of this and you're getting her the help that she needs. You both came here willingly, to get your child what she needs. And some parents…well unfortunately some parents don't get the help that their kids need."

"Our kids are our everything," Sam said. "We had to work so hard just to get our girls here. They're our miracle babies. There's nothing we wouldn't do for them. Or for Dawson."

"Your children are my clients," Gus reminded them. "They are my main concern and will remain my main concern. And what I'm worried about right now, is what the topsy turvy nature of your relationship is doing to them. One minute you're yelling and screaming at one another and calling each other every name in the book and daddy's moving out of the house, and then the next you're lovey dovey and daddy's there in the morning when they get up sometimes. And that's not healthy. For not only them, but for yourselves as well."

Flack sighed heavily and nodded.

"Forgive me for my bluntness, but it's time you both either shit or get off the pot," Gus said. "You've both said that you want this to work and you both have said that you love each other and will go to therapy. And you both know, I think, that you're not ready to live under the same roof again."

"We're not," Sam said. "Not by a long shot. We need to get our own issues ironed out before that happens."

"And the children do not need to be brought into it even more than they already have," Gus informed them. "And by allowing yourselves to be intimate with each other, you're messing those kids up even more. You're confusing them. Those girls don't know whether they're coming or going right now. One second daddy's spending the night and the next he's going back to his own place. Kids need routine. They need consistency. And quite frankly, you're both doing them a serious injustice by screwing them and each other around like this. And I know neither of you want to be hurting your children anymore than what you already have."

"Of course we don't," Flack told her.

"Then I think you both know what steps you need to take to ensure that that doesn't happen," Gus said. "What the real question is is you're both prepared to take those steps. For your children's sakes."

"Whatever we have to do for our kids," Sam vowed. "Whatever."

"The ball is in your court," Gus said. "So make it a good play for everyone involved."

"Never mind a good play," Flack gave a small laugh. "We're going to knock this whole thing out of the freaking park."

* * *

Less than an hour later, Flack and Sam found themselves sitting across from each other at a small table for two at the back of the hospital cafeteria, sipping at their respective beverages and barely speaking. Both emotionally shaken and exhausted from the appointment with Gus Broussard and the long pent up frustrations, secrets and anger that had come tumbling out. The hurt of what had been said still lingered, but it was mixed in with feelings of great relief and hope. The weight of the world had been lifted off of their shoulders and now they could concentrate on helping their children and helping themselves. It was going to be a long, trying road. They both knew that. But they also knew that the love they shared could see them through anything. Could climb any mountain and weather any storm.

"So I think that went pretty well," Flack broke the silence. Leaning forward to snag two packages of sugar from the plastic tray holding their drinks and a variety of food they'd picked up, he smacked them against the palm of his hand before tearing them open and dumping the contents into his extra large black coffee.

"You mean after we got past my freak out?" Sam asked, as she stirred her iced caramel cappuccino with her straw.

"Let's not talk about that, okay? All the things you said…they need to be said, alright? You'd kept all that shit inside of you for over a year. It was going to come out sooner or later. Personally I would have preferred sooner mind you. Like as in after this whole Jordan thing came out. Us in the privacy of our own home as compared to a doctor's office."

"I wish it had have been sooner too," Sam sighed. "Sure would have saved us a whole lot of grief."

"And a whole lot of money," Flack added, a grin on his face. He reached across the table and brushed some hair out of her face. "Just kidding babe," he said, as he grazed his knuckles across her smooth cheek. "You okay?"

"I don't know…" she admitted, and laid her hand over his. "I know that this is for the best. Us being apart and all of that. I know that it's what we need. And what the kids need."

"But it's hard as hell," he concluded, entwining his fingers with hers as she laid their joined hands on the table top.

She nodded.

"You know that I'm not going to be with anyone else, right?" he asked worriedly. "You trust me in that respect, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she smiled. "And you know the same thing about me, right?"

Flack nodded. "We have to do this, Sammie. We both know this is something that we have to do."

"But aren't you scared?" she asked. "Aren't you scared that the longer this drags on you won't feel the same way anymore? That being apart from me…that you're going to actually get used to it and you're actually going to like it?"

"Samantha, you're my wife. And every second away from you is one second too many. I'm still going to love you a week from now. Or a month from now. Or six months from now. Even a year from now. I meant what I said when we got married. Those vows meant everything to me. This is forever. Me and you are forever. I'm not scared. At all."

She sighed.

"Should I be scared?" he asked. "Are you trying to tell me that there's a reason to be? That you're going to fall out of love with me and like being away from me?"

"No," she replied. "That is never going to happen. Not in a million years. I love you too much, Donnie. Nothing is ever going to change that. I just…I don't want this to drag on forever. I don't want this to turn into months. I want this to be over as quickly as possible. Just how…how are we going to know when we're ready? How are we going to know it's time to get back together? For you to come back? How will we know? And what if we're not ready at the same time?"

"We'll just know, Sammie. One day we'll just look at each other and we'll know. And we'll mention it to each other right? You'll tell me when you think you're ready? And I'll tell you the same thing? I think that's the right way to do this. Don't you?"

"None of this is right." she said, shaking her head sadly. "I know we have to do it. But none of this…you can't tell me you think any of this right."

"Of course I don't. I hate being this way. I hate being away from you and my kids. But…"

She bristled at the use of the word.

"But this is for the best. For us and for the kids. And we know we love one another. That our issues are not about that. And we're getting help for them. It's just a matter of time, babe. It's not going to happen overnight. It's probably not even going to happen in a week or even a month. But it is going to happen. We're going to get our shit worked out and we'll be a family again."

"And in the meantime?" she asked. "In the meantime what are we? Estranged spouses? Friends?"

"I guess…" he replied.

She snorted and sipped at her drink. "Two friends and their broken family," she said.

"Hey…" Flack stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. "It may be broken, but it's still good, Sammie. It's still good."

She sniffled and nodded.

"And one day…one day it's going to be great again," he told her.

Sam gave a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

Flack just hoped he sounded more confidant than he actually felt.

* * *

**A huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even just lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you and I am humbled by all of the love and support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Forest Angel**

**Heart2handgun**

**xsamiliciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**muchmadness**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	80. Safety Net

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**ANOTHER FUTURE CHAPTER. THE BEGINNING OF WHICH IS DEDICATED TO ALL OF THEM PEANUT LOVERS OUT THERE WHO ASKED FOR MORE ADAM AND SAMMIE! ENJOY!**

**SPECIAL THANKS AGAIN TO MADDY BELLOWS AND TO MY DEAR FRIENDS, CASS, RACHEL AND AJ FOR LETTING ME BOUNCE THINGS OFF OF THEM!**

**AND THANKS TO CASS FOR THE SONG!**

* * *

**Safety net**

"There ain't a lot that I know, but what I do goes to show  
You know it's never enough-Oh, it's never enough  
I take it in and let it out, 'cause baby that's what it's about  
Either I'm in your way, or back in your arms again, arms again  
Let me in now

Don't hide your love  
Your pride is all that you're thinking of  
Don't hide your love 'cause there ain't time enough

Same old song in a brand new dress-I grow so bored, I acquiesce  
Tell me what can I do, to bring you back to me, back to me  
Gotta bring it back now

Oh, don't walk away-I need you to stay  
You've got to believe there's more than this  
Oh how will I know, if you're letting go  
I want what you're wanting more or less  
Today I'm out, tomorrow in-I'm feelin' upside down again  
You know it's so hard to tell, oh it's so hard to tell  
I'll try to see beyond the rain, to where we see light again  
You know it's here in my heart-Its burning bright for you, bright for you  
You gotta bring it home now."  
-Don't Hide Your Love, The Rembrandts

* * *

"_And, there we were, all in one place - a generation Lost in Space, with no time left to start again. So, come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick - Jack Flash sat on a Candlestick, 'cause fire is the Devil's only friend. And, as I watched him on the stage my hands were clenched in fists of rage, no angel born in Hell could break that Satan's spell. And, as the flames climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial rite, I saw Satan laughing with delight the day the music died." _

Samantha grinned at the sight that greeted her as she stepped into her kitchen. Her younger brother, clad in a pair of extremely baggy, well worn and faded olive green cargo shorts and a black t-shirt with Johnny Cash's name and likeness splayed across the front of it. His feet were bare, as were his legs, the horrific scar from an equally horrific childhood burn -their father had dumped boiling water from the tea kettle into the tub and as 'punishment' had dunked a then two year old Adam into the bath- that travelled from the top of his left foot to the his hip on full display. They'd never been able to afford the extensive skin grafting and surgeries that Adam would have needed in order for his leg to ever look completely normal, and he'd been well into his twenties before he'd ever gotten up the nerve to wear shorts. Even on the hottest of days.

And now, here he was, pushing thirty five and not giving that injury a second thought as he rocked out to Don McLean's American Pie as it blasted from the Bose music system attached to the underside of one of the cupboards. The broom serving as a guitar as he sang at the top of his lungs and danced wildly around the kitchen. Much to the delight of his eight and a half month old nephew who, strapped tightly into his vibrating Diego chair, kicked his legs excitedly and chuckled heartily at the entertainment he was being provided with. Dawson's blue eyes were huge and sparkling and his laughter -he'd officially let out his first belly laugh just a week before, after he apparently found his mother's cursing and antics hilarious as she jumped around the room on one foot and clutched her injured big toe after she'd stubbed it on the end of his crib- bounced off of the walls.

He has his father's laugh, Sam mused. And his smile. Look at the way that dimple in his left cheek stands out. And the way his eyes just crinkle. He looks just like him.

She tried not to let the immense sadness overwhelm her as she stood there, watching her younger brother playing rock star and her son enjoying every minute of it. While she and Flack had parted on a positive note -filled with hope for their future, a definite game plan on how to get started on working on things, and a chaste kiss he'd placed on her cheek after they'd walked hand in hand to her car- she still found her heart aching at the thought of walking into her house alone. Of spending her nights alone. Of not feeling him beside her in the middle of the night. Not hearing his soft breathing or feeling the heavy weight of his arm as he draped it over her in his sleep. Of not having this warm, moist lips kissing her awake and those big, strong hands pushing her hair out of her eyes and cradling her face ever so gently. Of not hearing that laugh or seeing that charming, boyish grin.

It was the same thoughts that had haunted her since he'd walked out the door. And despite the fact she had been supportive of him leaving and had known it was for the best for not only themselves, but their children as well, it didn't make his absence any easier to bear. She missed him. With a gut wrenching passion she'd never felt before in her entire life. And it took all of her will power -as it had many, many times in the past months- to not get on the phone and beg him to come home.

"_They were singing, bye bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing this'll be the day that I die."_

Adam belted out the final segment of the song with enough gusto to rattle the windows, his head tipped back and his eyes closed as his left hand strummed wildly at his 'guitar'. Sweat beaded his forehead and glistened on the back of his neck, and as the music faded and the song segued into a classic Elton John tune, Adam's head snapped upright and his eyes opened and he laid the broom up against the nearest counter.

"Whew…" he wiped his brow with his forearm. Then grinned down at his nephew as Dawson squealed in excitement and clapped his tiny hands together, showing his obvious approval. "Why thank you," Adam curled his upper lip and spoke in his best Elvis impersonation as he yanked up an invisible shirt collar. "Thank you very much."

"Do you take requests?" Sam asked, as she dropped her car and house keys onto the counter with a clatter.

Adam gave a small start, then glanced over his shoulder. "Well hey there pretty lady," he said in his Elvis voice. "For a foxy dame like you I can do whatever number you want."

"How about It's the End of the World As We Know It by REM?" she asked, as she scooped a stack of mail up from where Adam had tossed it earlier. "That seems to suit the way I'm feeling right about now."

Adam frowned. "That good, huh?"

Sam shrugged as she flipped through the envelopes. Bills, bills and more bills. All still in her husband's name save for her car insurance, Master Card statement, and a reminder from the pedeatrician that the kids all needed to come in sooner rather than later for check ups. "I guess it could have been worse," she said, sighing heavily as she laid the mail down once again. "I mean, we could have tossed chairs around the room and strangled each other."

"Which means that you both managed to stop at just hurling insults and screaming outrageous amounts of profanity," Adam concluded, as he bent down to snap open the clips holding Dawson in place in the Diego chair.

"Small amounts of profanity, tons of insults and a couple buckets of tears," Sam corrected. "But one good thing is that through all that nastiness, we said all of the things that have been bugging our asses for months. And you know what Peanut? It felt so damn good. It was like this huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. It was such a relief. I just wish I'd done it a lot sooner. If I did…I don't know…if I did maybe all of this wouldn't be happening right now."

"Well unfortunately," Adam said, as he scooped Dawson up into his arms. "Life is full of what if's Sammie. And we're not meant to have answers to them."

"Now is not the time for you go to all deep and philosophical on me Adam," she scolded. "Now is the time for you to just stand there and listen to me bitch and moan and whine about how much I miss my husband and how the only thing I want to do is call him on the phone and tell him to come home."

"Which isn't the right thing for either of you," Adam told her. "And as for the bitching and moaning and whining…well I am pretty good at other things you know. I'm much more than just an expert listener."

"Yeah? You mean you're more than just a pretty face and a the maker of the best damn b-52 shooters and Singapore Slings I've ever tasted?"

"Okay…so I am a kick ass bartender if I do say so myself and it's been a long time since we got polluted together…"

"Don is picking the kids up at six," Sam reminded him. "You could make a run to the booze can and secure us some provisions. I'm in the mood for a good drunk. A real good one. As in bawl my eyes out and then fall down, barf my guts out kind of drunk."

"Yeah…I could use one of those myself. And if I do remember correctly, you owe me a Chug-a-Lug rematch."

"Hey, it is not my fault that you couldn't handle your liquor at Danny and Lindsay's wedding and you ended up throwing up on that poor, unsuspecting Justice of the Peace. I bet you that man was traumatized for life. Having you toss your cookies all over him."

"It still say you were drinking water downed rye and Cokes," Adam grumbled. "No way a little thing like you can polish the stiff ones off that fast."

"I beg to differ," Sam huffed. "Get your butt to the liquor store and I'll see you your game of Chug-a-Lug and then some. I'll drink you under the table and you know it."

"Isn't it sad when we're so proud of the fact we can drink that much?" Adam chuckled. "I mean, when you're bragging about being able to drink a man under the table…"

"Peanut, I'm still dealing with the fact that my marriage is falling apart," Sam sighed. "Let me cope with that first and my booze problem second."

"I'm just teasing you Sammie," he said. "You are far from having any kind of problem. And if anyone deserves to get totally polluted, it's you."

She nodded in agreement.

"So I would be honoured to be your drinking buddy this evening. But first…I've got something I'm even better at then pounding them back. Something I think you definitely need right now."

"A swift kick in the ass?" she asked, as her brother sidled up beside her.

Adam shook his head, and shifting Dawson over onto his left hip, reached out with his right arm and wrapping it around his sister's petite body, drew her tightly into his side. "It's going to be okay Sammie," he whispered, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It's going to be okay."

She gave a weak nod, and stepping in front of her brother, curled both of her arms around his torso and buried her face in his chest. Relaxing into the warmth of his body and his familiar smell and the feelings of safety and security that he provided her with. Two feelings that had slipped away the moment that her husband had walked out the door months ago. The two things that Flack had always been able to instill in her despite the horrendous childhood she'd suffered and her infamous trust issues. He'd come into her life at a time when she'd not necessarily been looking for a boyfriend, but when she had needed someone the most. He had shown her that not all men were bad. That they didn't all inflict hurt. That love wasn't painful. And that she deserved to be adored and adore someone in return.

She'd taken it all for granted. She hadn't given him the credit he deserved or thanked him for everything he'd ever done for her. For loving her at the times she'd felt anything but loveable. For taking care of her and the girls when he was already overwhelmed with work. She'd never told him how much she'd appreciated him.

And now she worried it was too late. That she'd never get that chance again. That he was slowly slipping further and further out of reach.

* * *

"What am I going to do Adam?" she cried, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. "What am I going to do? What have I done?"

"You didn't do anything. Well, I mean, you did 'cause it obviously takes two to mess up a relationship this bad and you and Flack both have huge issues to get a handle on and it's the whole lot of shit bunched together that screwed things up majorly…"

"You are not helping right now," Sam muttered.

"What I'm trying to say is that you are not solely to blame for what's happened. You both have said and did some things that are definitely not cool. You both let all of this crap just build up and build up to the point neither of you could take it anymore. But you know what? You're also both working on fixing things. It's not a one way street. You guys stick together and everything will be gravy. Trust me."

"I pushed him away. I pushed him to Jordan," Sam sniffled. "I was sick and he was taking care of me and the girls and working insane hours on top of it. He was trying to be a home care nurse and daddy and mommy and cop all at the same time. It was too much for him to deal with. I expected too much and I dumped too much responsibility on him and he needed to get away. He had to escape. To save himself."

"Then in that case, escape to the gym after work every night and beat the shit out of a punching bag for an hour or so. You get a goddamn hobby of some kind that relieves your stress," Adam said, wincing as Dawson yanked at his hair. "You don't create a secret life for yourself and cheat on your sick wife. That's just wrong. I know you love him, but that's one thing I'll never forgive him for. I'll never forgive him for what he did to my sister."

"Maybe it's the last name Ross," Sam reasoned, nuzzling her face into her brother's chest. "Or maybe it's the Ross genes. Maybe we're cursed. We're both so screwed up, Peanut. It's like we poison everything and everyone we come in contact with. Maybe we're just not meant to be happy."

"And maybe we spent so long being miserable that when something good happens, it seems too good to be true and then we pick it apart and find all the things that are wrong and could go wrong. 'Cause we just don't know any better," Adam suggested.

Sam wiped her eyes on the front of his t-shirt and lifting her head, grinned up at him. "Since when did you become the mature, sensible one?"

"What do you mean since when? I've always been the mature, sensible one. Not to mention the disgustingly intelligent and insanely good looking one."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"Things'll work out, Sammie," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "In the end, it'll all work out."

She gave a small smile. "I hope so, Peanut. Because the way things are? I just…I love him. And I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts. And I want him to come home. I need him to come home. I just need him period."

"I know…and when the time is right, you need to tell him all of that. Because Don's the one that needs to hear it."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry," she said. "For being like this. You're dealing with your own issues and you don't need to be putting up with mine too."

"You're my sister, Sammie. That means your issues become mine. And after everything you've done for me, especially when we were kids…well let's just consider all of this paying it forward."

"God, I love that movie. I haven't seen that in years," Sam laughed, and pulling away from her brother, sniffled noisily and cleared her throat. "Maybe we should call Sid and invite him over tonight," she said.

Adam arched an eyebrow, perplexed.

"So he can tip 'em back with us," Sam explained. "He can relive that night he was celebrating his second divorce years ago. Get polluted enough that he falls down a flight of stairs and doesn't remember a damn thing afterwards. God I love that man. If I had have been into older, eccentric guys Sid would have been it."

Adam grimaced.

"I should go and get the kids' stuff ready. Linds will be bringing them home soon and…"

A tiny, saliva soaked fist reached out and grabbed a hold of a thick section of Sam's hair. And as she glanced over, Dawson gave a gurgle and wide smile.

"Ma-ma," he chirped, and leaned towards her.

She smiled, her heart melting at the sound of his voice and the sight of the charming little grin. "Look at you!" she gasped dramatically and wiped the last of her tears away before using her fingers to clear her son's chin of saliva. "You're almost drowning in drool here. Too many teeth coming in at once."

"Well at least he's not insanely grumpy with the teething," Adam said, as he passed Dawson over to his mother. "Remember what Octavia and Sebastian were like?"

"You mean other than the fact they were like never ending fountains of spit? You mean like how they chewed and bit everything that could get a hold of? Including Don's toes a few times? And how they whined and moaned constantly? All this time we've been calling my kids the spawns of Satan and in reality, yours are so much worse," Sam laughed, as she showered Dawson's face with kisses and stroked his thick black hair as his pudgy hands grabbed at her earrings and her nose.

"It's that Ross gene thing I think," Adam told her. "Makes every kid we create just plain freaking evil."

"Which is why you, my handsome little man, are an adorable little angel," Sam informed the baby in her arms, as she removed her hoop earring from his hand and turned her face as she reached for her nose once again. "Because you have no Ross in your whatsoever."

"Lucky kid," Adam quipped. "Mom called earlier by the way."

Sam groaned. "Wonderful…what does Cruella Deville want now?"

"She wants to kidnap Wiener and add him to her collection of other peoples pets she's snatched so she can skin him and use it for a rather delightful new winter coat she's planning on making," Adam said.

"That would not surprise me whatsoever," Sam snorted. "Neither would her planning on taking over the world."

"Oh she's been planning world domination for decades now," Adam gave a dramatic shudder. "Can you imagine? Mom running the planet? Finding herself some lackey to do her bidding? Some poor bastard with half a brain and a displaced loyalty to her?"

"Like a real time version of Pinky and the Brain," Sam laughed.

"That was a kick ass cartoon," Adam declared, and clearing his throat, launched into his Pinky voice. "Gee Brain, what do you want to do tonight?"

"The same thing we do every night Pinky," Sam responded. "Try to take over the world!" she gave a maniacal cackle.

Dawson giggled noisily and clasping his mother's face in his hands, planted a wet kiss on her open mouth.

Adam laughed hysterically. "That show was classic," he said, shaking his head at the fond memory.

"Ren and Stimpy was sooo much better," Sam argued. "Happy happy…"

"Joy joy!" Adam chimed in. "You know what my absolute favourite line EVER from that show was? What cracks me up even now? Don't…"

"…whizz on the electric fence!" both siblings cried in unison. Then looking at each other, burst into laughter.

Adam gave a long, content sigh and brushed tears off of his cheeks. "Classic…just classic…man, I miss those shows. Things were so…different then."

"Uncomplicated," Sam said, and laying a hand on Dawson's neck, brought his head down to rest on her shoulder. "Long before either of us thought of marriage and kids and the stress that came with all of it. When all that mattered was making ourselves happy. Doing what we wanted. When we wanted."

Adam nodded, then smiled and reached out to run a hand over his nephew's hair. "Things are complicated," he agreed. "But would we really give it up for anything in the world? I mean, I know that things are pretty shitty for both of us right now. Relationships wise. But we've got amazing, beautiful kids, Sammie. And a hell of a lot of memories of when things were good. You and Don…you are Don are going to be okay."

"And if we're not?" she asked. "If no matter how hard we try we just can't fix things?"

"Well…" Adam chose his words carefully. "In that case, you'll be okay. You're my sister, Sammie. I won't let you drown. You need me and I'm here. No matter what. You know that."

She smiled and gave her brother a wink. "You're the first guy I ever loved Peanut. Most girls say that about their fathers, right? How their dads are the first men they ever loved?"

"I've heard that…"

"It was you. You've always been more than just a brother to me. You're my best friend. My confidant. And I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."

Adam nodded slowly, tears brimming in his eyes as he cleared his throat noisily in order to clear away the lump of emotion that had settled in it.

Sam reached up and laid a hand on the side of his face as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. "I should go and get the kids' bags ready," she said. "Will you…"

"Look after the pip squeak?" he asked, as he pried Dawson out of her arms. "Like you have to ask that?"

"I just need to run upstairs and…" Sam visibly winced and taking in a sharp, hissing breath, brought her hand up to grasp at the back of her head.

"You okay?" Adam asked in concern.

"I just…those stupid, sudden pains I keep getting…" she squeezed her eyes shut and laid her other hand on the counter top. "They just jump up and bite me in the ass and it drives me insane…"

"Maybe you'd know why you're getting them if you hadn't have cancelled that last MRI," Adam remarked gently.

"I couldn't make it the appointment," she said. "I've booked another one."

"Yeah…and it's like five months away. Maybe you should call the nuerologist and…"

"And what?" Sam opened her eyes, then blinked a few times to clear her vision. "And have him tell me it's cluster headaches? Stress? I don't need him telling me what I already know. I'm just getting them 'cause I'm stressed out and I'm not always eating properly. Once I get the kids' stuff ready, I'll have something to eat."

"And you'll lie down for a bit," Adam told her.

"Peanut, I'm…"

"Fine," he finished for her. "You're fine. I know you are. But like you said, you're stressed and on top of not eating right, you're also not sleeping right and it's catching up to you. So do me a favour? After you get the kids' bags packed and you put some food in the tank? Take a nap. I'll look after Dawson and the girls when Lindsay brings them home."

"Adam, I can't ask you to…"

"You're not asking me to do anything. I'm telling you what you're going to do."

Sam sighed heavily, then held her hands up in surrender. "Yes, Doctor Ross," she quipped.

"Gotta look after my heart," he told her, and pecked her cheek. "Go on…get outta here. I've got everything under control."

"If you need anything.."

"I won't," he assured her, and nodded in the direction of the door.

"I'm going…I'm going…sheesh…" Sam laughed, and journeyed out of the kitchen. Adam could tell by the slow, tentative steps she took and the way she drifted her hand over counters and walls that her balance or eyesight, or maybe both, weren't at the top of their game at the moment.

A frown on his face, Adam waited until he heard his sister's footsteps on the stairs before turning on his heel and moving towards the fridge. Snatching the cordless phone from the top of the appliance, he juggled a squirming and whining -and exhausted- Dawson on his right hip as he used the thumb of his left hand to dial the familiar telephone number.

* * *

"Hang on for a second buddy," he spoke to the baby in a soothing, quiet voice as Dawson whimpered and rubbed at his tired eyes. "You'll go for a sleepy in a minute…just give Uncle Peanut a second and he'll…"

"Flack," the deep and exhausted sounding voice finally surfaced on the other end.

"Yeah…Don…it's me…it's Adam…you got a second?"

"This better be good, Ross. I'm trying to get some form of sleep here before I gotta come and pick the kids up."

"It's about Sammie," Adam told him.

"Okay…what about her? Is she okay? I just say her like an hour ago and…"

"I'm worried about her," Adam admitted. "She keeps having those headaches. And there's more and more of them now and I…I'm just worried about her and she won't take it seriously and thought that maybe you would. Take them seriously. 'Cause she's just brushing them off like it's no big deal. She cancelled that last MRI and the next one ins't until October and she just keeps saying it's stress. And it might be just stress but at the same time it might be something worse and I'm concerned that the longer this goes on without it being taken care of that we run the risk of it spiralling out of control and the doctors not being able to do anything about it if it is something serious and I…"

"Adam…take it easy, okay? Just…"

"She's my sister," the younger man continued. "She's my sister and the mother of my nieces and my nephew and I know you guys are separated but she's still your wife and I thought that you'd be worried about her too. Obviously I made a mistake by calling you. I thought that you'd want to know what was going on and that maybe you'd want to get involved and that you'd be concerned to and that you…"

"Ross!" Flack snarled. "Shut up for five seconds for fuck sakes!"

Adam's mouth snapped closed.

"Of course I'm worried about her. Sammie's my wife and there's never going to be a day where she's not my wife. You woke me up out of a dead sleep here and you go on and on and on and that just drives me fucking nuts. So just relax. Take a pill, alright? I am worried about her. I love her. And I'm glad that you called and told me about this. 'Cause she never mentioned a damn thing about it today."

"Of course she didn't. 'Cause she doesn't want to make things between you guys worse," Adam reasoned, as he tucked the cordless between his ear and his shoulder and carried Dawson into the living room, where Adam himself had set up the portable playpen earlier. "She thinks that by telling you about these things that she'll piss you off."

"Well for a smart woman, your sister is a dumb ass sometimes," Flack retorted.

Adam couldn't deny that. Leaning over the playpen, he gently laid a half dozing Dawson on his back and covered him to his chin with the polar fleece Happy Feet blanket that had been tossed in the far corner.

"Where is she now?" the detective asked, and yawned noisily.

"Upstairs. Packing the kids' stuff for tonight," Adam replied.

"And she obviously doesn't know you're calling me 'cause she'd have your ass if she did," Flack concluded.

"Exactly," Adam sighed and plopped down on the couch. "Look…I don't know what you can do about her. If anything. 'Cause we both she can be pretty stubborn…"

"Now there's the understatement of the year," Flack muttered, and Adam could tell, by the rattling noises emitting through the phone that his brother in law was hurriedly pulling on clothes. "Your sister is the most obstinate, stubborn and insufferable bitch on the face of the earth," the detective said. "Love her to death mind you…"

"Yeah…and the way she is…well she's going to _be_ the death of you…" Adam snorted.

"One day," Flack agreed. "But right now, I've still got enough fight in me to put up with her. And if I dare find out you repeated anything that I've said to you about her…"

"You'll kill me and dispose of my body where no one will ever find it," Adam finished. "I know the threat very, very well. I don't know what you'll be able to do about her, if anything, but I just thought that if you knew what was really going on with her, that maybe you'd be able to talk some sense into her."

"That's like asking me to part the red sea, Ross."

"Well anything is worth a try, right? I mean if man as a whole can put a man on the moon, you can succeed in talking some sense into my sister."

"I guess a modern miracle isn't too much to ask for," Flack sighed. "Alright…I'm on my way…I'll see what I can do. Okay?"

"I take it you don't want me telling her that you're coming?"

"Do you value your package exactly where it is, Adam?" Flack asked.

"Uh…yeah…"

"Then for your own personal safety and for the well being of your manhood, I'd keep your mouth shut. Kapish?"

"Kapish," Adam responded.

"Be there as soon as I can," Flack said.

"Okay…hey, Don!" Adam called to his brother in law before he could disconnect the call.

"Yeah…"

"I know things are pretty shitty right now with you guys and I know I'm probably way overstepping my boundaries here. But my sister…Sammie really misses you. And she loves you. And she…just know that she loves you and misses you, okay?"

"Just know that I love and miss her too," Flack said, then promptly hung up.

Adam sighed heavily, and pressing the end button on the cordless, stared down at the phone in his hand.

_It shouldn't be like this,_ he thought.

_Love should not be this complicated._

* * *

The curtains covering the bedroom window had been drawn straight across in an attempt to block out every speck of sun. Darkness was a blessing and a relief when the pain became too intense. When even the smallest shred of light made the agony even worse and the slightest bit of noise felt like a jackhammer doing a extensive work on your brain.

Flack himself had suffered from migraines in the past. The memory of the excessive torment and the nausea and dizziness the pain brought on still fresh in his mind. And as he let himself quietly and cautiously into the bedroom, sympathy and concern hung over him as he observed the silent, unmoving lump in the middle of the bed. Sam had, thankfully, managed to fall asleep by the looks of things, and had yanked the covers up over her head in order to block out the minuscule amount of light that was managing to sneak through the window coverings.

He journeyed into the en-suite bathroom and snatching a face cloth off of the rack by the sink, he soaked it thoroughly with cold water before ringing it out before grabbing a plastic cup from where Sam had left it by the toothbrush holder and filling it with water. Shutting off the tap, he carried the cloth and the cup in one hand and picked up the waste basket with the other and headed back out into the bedroom.

The trash can went on the floor beside the bed and he placed the glass of water on the dusty nightstand before gently peeling the covers back, exposing his wife's sleeping form. Curled up in a fetal position on her right hand side, facing the window and clad in a sweatshirt of his and a pair of sweats as opposed to the dress she'd been wearing earlier.

Sighing heavily, he reached into the front right pocket of his jeans and pulled out the prescription bottle of Percocet bearing his name before taking a seat on the edge of the rumbled queen size bed.

Sam mumbled incoherently, easily stirring in her ill state as the motion of the mattress shifting beneath her tore her from her sleep. "Adam…" she mumbled irritably. "Go away…just please go away…leave me alone to die, okay?"

"Sorry babe," Flack said, as he ran his free hand over her hair. "No dying on my watch, okay?"

Her eyes flickered open. "Donnie?" she asked, squinting as she regarded him. "What are you doing here? What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?"

"About an hour, hour and a half tops," he replied, and picking up the face cloth from where he'd set it on the night table, placed it against her forehead.

"Donnie!' she grimaced. "That hurts! A hot one! I need a hot one!"

"Sorry…" he said and got to his feet. "Used to be a cold face cloth you liked."

"Just hot now…" she told him, nuzzling her face into her pillow as he headed for the bathroom. "You never told me what you're doing here. You weren't supposed to pick the kids up until later."

"Girls are staying at Messer's and Adam's gone to my place with Dawson."

"You're confusing me," she complained.

"All you need to know is that there's no kids here and there won't be any kids here until some time tomorrow," Flack told her, as he journeyed back into the bedroom.

"But they have camp," Sam protested. "And Dawson…"

"Has daycare. Adam knows and he'll drop the baby off when he goes into work. And Lindsay will get the girls to camp. Don't worry about that kind of stuff. You just lie there and be quiet, okay? You're sick and you need to relax and get some sleep."

"I'm not sick," she said. "I just…I just have a headache. From stress."

Flack wasn't about to argue with her. He wasn't about to make things worse by letting on exactly how concerned he actually was. And he certainly wasn't going to get on her ass about the MRI appointment she'd cancelled or the fact that he didn't think she was taking her own health seriously enough.

"Here, baby…" sitting down on the edge of the bed once more, he laid the face cloth against her forehead. Smiling as she gave a long, content sigh. "Not that it will do much considering the pain is nowhere near there…"

"It's here," she pointed to the back of her head. "It's like someone is squeezing my brain over and over again. I know they're just cluster headaches, but shit…do they have to be this bad?"

He didn't respond. Everything that he wanted to say would only make the situation even worse. He didn't want to cause an argument by telling her how full of shit he thought her doctor actually was.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm here to keep an eye on you," Flack replied. "Adam called me. Said he was worried about you."

She frowned.

"And honestly, Sammie? So am I. But we're not going to talk about that right now, okay? 'Cause talking about that will only get you all worked up. And that's the last thing I want. How are you feeling now? You dizzy? Nauseous?"

She shook her head.

"What about your eyesight? How's that?"

"It's fine," she told him. "It's just my head."

"I brought you a little something for it," Flack told her, and picking up the prescription bottle, shook it and rattled the pills inside. "Our little secret."

"Doping me up, huh?" she gave a small, weak smile.

"Whatever works," he said. And combing his fingers through her hair, ran his hand along the back of her neck and across her shoulder. "Sammie…"

"Please don't say it," she begged. "I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me just how worried you actually are and that you think I should call the doctor tomorrow. Or worse, that you should take me into the ER and get looked after."

"I think that you should…"

"You didn't come here to nag did you?" she asked. "'Cause if that's what you're here to do, maybe you should just leave."

"I came here to take care of you," Flack replied, his hand drifting down her back. "That's all I'm here for, baby."

She smiled, relaxing under the warmth of the washcloth and the close proximity of his body. His familiar scent and his voice soothing her.

"And I'll be here as long as you need me to be. _If_ you want me to be that is."

"I need you here," she told him, and laid a tiny hand on his thigh. "And I want you here."

"You've got me, Sammie," he whispered, and leaning over her, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You've always had me."

* * *

**A huge thanks as usual to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even lurking. I appreciate all of the tremendous support that I, and this story, has been receiving! If it wasn't for you guys, none of this would exist and I wouldn't be having so much fun! So hugs and kisses to you all!**

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Hope4sall**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**xSamilciousx**

**wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Forest Angel**


	81. Healing Hands

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**THE FANTASTIC DOCTOR AUGUSTA 'GUS' BROUSSARD BELONGS TO THE EVEN MORE FANTASTIC MADISON BELLOWS. AND I AM HUMBLED TO BE BORROWING HER 'BABY'. I ONLY HOPE THAT I DO HER JUSTICE!**

**HUGE, HUGE, HUGE THANKS TO MADDY FOR ALL OF HER HELP! AND FOR PUTTING UP WITH AN ENDLESS AMOUNT OF QUESTIONS!**

**THANKS TO AJ (HEART2HANDGUN) FOR ALL OF HER SONG SUGGESTIONS!**

* * *

**Healing hands**

"I will always protect you  
Oh and I will even let you go  
I'll spend the sweetest time holding you  
And will let you grow

Your eyes  
My eyes  
Your smile  
My smile  
Your love  
My gain  
Your hurt  
My pain  
Your laugh  
My joy  
Every time, it's mine  
You are my child

Don't ever be afraid  
Don't ever be afraid  
Cause I am here  
And if you start to fear  
Just close your eyes  
And hear me say

Your love  
My gain  
Your hurt  
My pain  
Your laugh  
My joy  
Every time, it's mine  
You are my child."  
-My Child, Plumb

* * *

"Mommy?"

Kellan's tiny voice piped up from the back seat of her mother's gun metal grey Volvo station wagon, where she was secured tightly in her booster seat and had been, from the time they'd left their Ridgewood home until they reached lower Manhattan, completely silent as she listened to the Wiggles on the stereo and flipped through a Backyardigan's storybook.

"What baby sweets?" Sam asked, as leaned forward to turn down the volume on the stereo before casting a glance at her daughter through the rear view mirror.

The five year old looked deceivingly angelic in a blue and white gingham sundress with a thin white cardigan with little mother of pearl buttons down the front of it and white leather sandals on her feet. Her black hair -the bottom of which just barely skimmed her ear lobes- shimmering in the sunlight that cascaded through the window. To any outsider looking in, Kellan was the quintessential adorable, healthy and well behaved child. What they didn't know was that that cardigan sweater was in fact a necessity to hide the amount of horrible bite marks that she'd left all over her own arms. Over twenty in total, all hard enough to break the skin and require medical treatment. The numerous teeth impressions on her forearms alone almost identical to the still healing wounds that she'd left on her mother's skin. Damage done when trying to control Kellan in the midst of a frightening, out of control temper tantrum.

As if that wasn't enough, two days ago Kellan had once had hair down to the small of her back. Five minutes alone with a pair of scissors she'd somehow managed to procure while in her Aunt Lindsay's care while at the Messer house had found the five year old grabbing a hold of her own ponytail and giving herself a rather messy haircut. A horrified Lindsay -who'd been concerned when Kellan seemed too quiet for her own good while playing in the basement- had found her 'niece' sitting in the middle of the utility room floor, scissors in one hand, ponytail in the other.

A hair dresser had thankfully managed to at least do something presentable with the disaster that Kellan had left behind, styling it into a bob and giving the five year old full bangs that just touched the tops of her eyebrows and showed off her big blue eyes. But the incident had shaken Sam up considerably and caused a riff in her relationship with Lindsay. She'd been furious that considering Kellan's behaviour and state of mind, she'd been left alone with easy access to something as dangerous as scissors. Lindsay had said she was sorry profusely and felt horrible about what had happened, but the best friends had yet to come face to face since the incident, nor had Sam accepted or rejected the heartfelt and sincere apologies.

And it wasn't the loss of the hair itself that had shattered Sam. It had been her daughter's drastic cry for help.

"Well let's look at this from the bright side babe. We're lucky all she did with them scissors is cut her hair. Thank God she didn't stab herself or someone else, " Flack had said, when she'd brought up Kellan's incident at work the next day.

They'd managed to both sneak away from the job long enough to grab some beverages and a couple of hot dogs from the street vendor outside of the lab. A week after their initial appointment with Gus Broussard, they were making a legitimate effort to repair their relationship. They fought less and talked and listened more. They went out on dates as if they were a couple first starting out and had gotten the ball rolling on once a week therapy sessions with a therapist Gus had referred them to. As a family unit, they took the kids to Coney Island and Far Rockaway beach and for picnics in Central Park.

Yet they were still living in separate places.

Flack had spent the rest of the afternoon and the night at the house the day she'd been stricken with the horrific headache following their meeting with Gus. He'd spared no effort in taking care of her. He'd made sure that she'd gotten her rest and plenty of fluids and ate all of her portion of the dinner he'd prepared for them. Later in the evening, he'd drawn her a bubble bath and scattered candles around the bathroom. And then had had to fight desperately to prevent himself from joining her in that tub. He had, however, spent the night in the same bed with her. Their bed. And when she'd woken up the following morning, she'd blissfully pain free and enveloped in her husband's embrace. Finding herself securely tucked into his body with his big, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and his face buried in her hair.

She'd managed to wriggle out of his grasp and had turned around toe face him and watch him sleep. She'd tenderly trailed her fingertips over every inch of his face. Across his eyes and down the bridge of his nose, over his rough, unshaven cheeks and along his strong jaw line. Tracing the outline of his lips and watching as a soft smile curved his mouth. And then giggling as he grabbed a hold of her and yanked her tightly against her and claimed her mouth with his in a long, slow kiss.

It had been hard -extremely hard, in fact- to not allow a series of languid, lazy kisses and roving hands lead to something much more intense. But they had somehow managed to mutually put the brakes on things before they got out of control, and instead had laid in the silence on the room, bodies pressed tightly against each other, their foreheads touching and their eyes closed and their chests heaving from both desire and disappointment.

Flack had left before the kids had been brought back home in the afternoon. He'd made them breakfast that they ate in bed and they'd stayed wrapped in each other's arms and buried under all of the covers until he deemed it the appropriate time to leave. And somewhere in between the getting emotional reacquainting, he'd called the family doctor and expressed concerns about her headaches and had managed to get her in earlier appointment for an MRI. It was still more than a month away, but the physician had said if the pain ever got that intense again, to head straight to the nearest ER and to tell staff there that they were there on his orders.

While the headaches were a near daily occurrence now, Sam had succeeded on pushing her needs and her wants onto the back burner in favour of both working and taking care of her kids. The children needed her. They were completely and utterly dependant on their mother and she wasn't going to let them down. Her own horrific childhood and hopeless relationship with her own mother had made her determined to never, ever be like her mom was. And she didn't care what she had to do it to be the complete opposite of the crazy bitch who didn't deserve the title of mother.

"Are you going to send me away mommy? Is that why I have to go to see the doctor?" Kellan asked fearfully.

"You're going to see a therapist," Sam corrected gently. "Remember what daddy told you? About Doctor Broussard being an expert? About how she is going to try and help you feel better?"

Kellan nodded. "She's going to let me play with toys," she chirped. "Daddy told me that. That she's a really, really nice lady whose going to let me go in a room with lots of toys. 'Cause kids play better than they talk. And he said I don't have to talk if I don't want to. I can just play if I want."

"That's right," Sam confirmed, thankful that she and her husband were on the same page as far as explaining what was going to happen in the sessions and who Kellan was going to see and why. And that he'd obviously spent a great deal of time reading the same 'How to talk to your kids about therapy' brochure that Gus had given them both after their parent meeting. "Doctor Broussard is a play therapist," she told Kellan. "And she works with other little kids like you who are feeling sad or angry or who are having a hard time dealing with things at home or at school."

"But I don't have to talk if I don't want to," Kellan stressed. "Daddy said so."

"No, you don't have to talk. But if you feel like talking or Gus asks you a question, don't be scared to answer, okay? You're not going to get in trouble for talking about how you're feeling. You know that, right?"

Kellan nodded.

"Playtime will last about an hour," her mother explained. "And you'll be going there once a week in the summer and once every two weeks once you're in school. Mommy and daddy are taking you there because we know it's not easy to talk about how your feeling. And we want to try and help you not be so sad. And Gus is going to help us do that."

"I don't want to be sad anymore," Kellan said.

"I know. And mommy and daddy don't want you to be sad either," Sam told her. "Neither does Gus. We're all worried about you and we just want you to feel better soon. And she'll try really, really hard not to tell anyone else about what you say during playtime. She'll only tell someone if she's really, really concerned about you. Okay?"

"Okay…daddy said that it's patient confident…confident…he said some really, really big word."

"Patient confidentiality," Sam said with a grin. "And he's right. And it means that whatever you say during your playtime will stay between the two of you. She will only come and tell me or daddy if she's worried about you. And it's not a secret. Playtime. You can tell me or daddy about it but if you don't want to, that's okay. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I think so," Kellan responded. "Does it mean I'm bad?" she asked curiously.

"No," Sam quickly assured her. "It doesn't mean that at all. You're not bad, baby doll. You just…mommy knows that you're really upset that daddy doesn't live with us right now. And she knows that sometimes when people are upset…well sometimes when they're really upset they can't get the proper words out to explain what they're going through. That they do things to try and get people to realize what's going on inside of them."

"I don't mean to be a bad girl mommy," Kellan's voice quivered with emotion. "I don't mean to be naughty. It just happens. I don't mean to bite and kick and punch. I just do it. I don't know why. I don't mean to hurt you, mommy."

"I know," Sam cast a quick, reassuring smile into the back seat. "And I'm not angry at you. I'm not mad. And I am definitely not sending you away. Ever. I love you and I'd miss you if you went anywhere. I just want you to feel better. That's all. Why would you think I'd send you away?"

"'Cause grandma said that bad girls like me are sent far, far, far away to special places where all the bad girls belong," the five year old explained "And that the people there are really strict and that I wouldn't get to see you and daddy again. Ever. And I…" Kellan dissolved into tears. "I don't want to go far, far, far away mommy! I don't want to live somewhere else! I don't want to be away from you and daddy! Don't send me to the bad place. I'll be good. I'll be a good girl. I promise. I promise I'll be good."

Sam's heart shattered into a million pieces and tears threatened as she listened to her daughter sobbing in the backseat. This was definitely _not _a good start to the day. She had wanted to discuss Gus and therapy rationally and calmly, not get Kellan worked up into a near hysterical state. And she couldn't exactly stop the car in the middle of hectic mid-town traffic and climb into the back to offer comfort. She'd have to rely on a calm, soothing and understanding voice to help her daughter overcome her fears.

"Kellan…" she spoke softly. "Listen to me baby…can you listen to me?"

"Yes…mommy…" she managed through her sobs.

"I am not sending you away," Sam assured her. "I will never send you away. You are not bad. You're just feeling really sad and really angry and really frustrated about daddy not living with us anymore. And it's okay to feel that way, sweetie. It's okay and you just need a little help to get a handle on all of your feelings. Mommy and daddy love you and we'd never, ever get rid of you. We'd be so sad if you went away. We'd miss you terribly. You're our baby and nothing will ever change how much we love you."

"But you sent daddy away!" Kellan cried. "You sent him to live somewhere else!"

"Daddy left because…well because mommy and him weren't getting along and we were fighting too much and we didn't want you kids to see and hear that. We agreed that he'd leave so that things would be better for you guys. No one sent him away."

"Then tell him to come back!" the five year old wailed. "Tell daddy he has to come back! Right now!"

"Daddy will come back when it's the right time for him to come back, sweetie. Right now…well right now isn't a good time."

"Yes it is!" Kellan shrieked and kicked her legs angrily against the base of her booster seat. "It is a good time to tell him to come back! I want daddy back now!"

"We talked about this already baby girl. Daddy talked about this with you too."

"He hates me!" she cried. "That's why he doesn't want to come back! He hates me!"

"No…your daddy loves you. He loves you so very, very much, Kellan. He could never hate you."

"Do you hate daddy?"

Sam shook her head. "I love your daddy very much. We just can't live together right now. That's all. It's not about us hating each other and it certainly isn't about him hating you. You're his baby sweets. He could never hate you."

"He does!" Kellan insisted. "'Cause I'm bad! Grandma said so!"

"You are not bad," Sam told her. "I don't care what your grandma says. You are not bad and no one hates you and no one is sending you away. Everything is going to be okay. You're going to feel better soon and daddy and mommy and Gus are going to help you. Okay?"

"Okay…." Kellan sniffled and wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her sweater. "Is daddy going to be there too?" she asked hopefully.

"Daddy's working today," Sam replied. "He can't come with us."

"Daddy always has to work!" the five year old cried. "He's always at work!"

"Well today he's in court trying to help put a bad guy away," her mother told her. "And it's very, very, very important that he helps."

"I'm very, very, very important too," Kellan muttered.

"Of course you are, sweetie. And daddy would be here if he could. It's just that…well if this bad guy doesn't go to jail he could hurt other people and daddy can't let that happen. It's his job, remember? To make sure bad people don't hurt good people?"

"So that meanies don't hurt little kids like me," Kellan said.

"Exactly. So that's why daddy couldn't come with us today. He wants to make sure that the bad guy goes away for a long, long time. So that he doesn't hurt anyone else. He'll come to the next appointment with Gus."

"You promise?" the five year old asked.

"I promise," Sam replied.

"Okay…" Kellan sighed, and then lapsed into silence as she once again concentrated on her storybook. "Mommy?" she piped up several minutes later.

"What baby?"

"If I do good today can we go for ice cream afterwards?" the five year old asked.

"You know what? You don't have to be anything other than yourself today," Sam responded. "This isn't a test or anything. Gus just wants you to be Kellan. She doesn't expect you to be anything other than that. And neither do I. And if you don't want to do anything other than play, then that's what you do. Alright?"

Kellan nodded energetically. "You're sad too, right mommy? 'Cause daddy isn't living with us right now?"

"Of course I'm sad," Sam admitted. "I miss daddy. A lot."

"Well if you're feeling sad just like me, maybe you can go to play therapy too!" her daughter chirped. "Maybe you can get a therapist too and you can play with lots and lots of toys until you feel better. Until you're not sad anymore!"

Her mother smiled and cast a glance over her shoulder. "You know what? I think that sounds like a great idea."

"Me too!" Kellan declared.

Sam sighed and turned her full attention back to the road.

And wished that the answer to every problem was that simple.

* * *

They were half an hour early for the two o'clock appointment, and after finding the underground garage at Women's and Children's completely full, Sam instead had driven around the block and parked at the nearest city owned and operated lot. After unbuckling Kellan from her booster seat and locking the vehicle behind them -and making sure that Sam was in possession of the Backyardigans storybook 'In case Doctor Gus wanted to read me a cool story' her daughter had reasoned, and that Holly Hobby was tucked firmly under Kellan's arm- the two headed hand in hand out of the lot and down the busy sidewalk. They stopped at a bodega where Sam bought can of iced tea for herself and a small carton of chocolate milk and a package of gummy bears for Kellan before continuing on towards their destination.

"I hope that Doctor Gus has crayons and colouring books!" Kellan exclaimed, as she held on tightly to her mother's hand and skipped along happily as they crossed the street towards the hospital. "You think that she has crayons and colouring books, mommy?"

"I'm sure she does," Sam said, her purse dangling from her elbow as she reached up with her right hand to slip her sunglasses from her forehead to her face. "I'm sure she has lots of really cool things you can play with. I think I saw a dollhouse when Gus showed daddy and I the room."

"A dollhouse like mine?" Kellan's entire face lit up.

"Something like yours," her mother told her. "And she has puppets and Play Doh and a sand table you can play in."

"Like a sandbox but with legs?" Kellan asked.

Sam nodded.

"Like at school? I like the sandbox at school. It has legs too. But I like the water table better. Does she have a water table too? The water table is lots of fun. It's my favourite thing to play with at school. Does Doctor Gus have a water table?"

"I don't know. I didn't see one but that doesn't mean she doesn't have one. We'll have to ask her. Do you want to sit down out front and have your milk and some of your gummi bears?" she asked, looking down at her daughter. "We're pretty early so we have lots of time to hang out for bit."

"Yeah…that's cool!" Kellan exclaimed. "Maybe we can…" her eyes suddenly widened and a massive smile spread from ear to ear.

Sam looked in the direction of the front steps of the hospital. Feeling her own smile of both relief and happiness curving her lips as a very handsome man stood at the bottom of the stairs awaiting their arrival. Looking strong and fit in a pair of khaki cargo style shorts, Adidas runners and a burnt orange polo shirt that fit snug around the biceps. A backwards Mets cap on his recently shorn hair.

"DADDY!" Kellan cried ecstatically, and dropping her mother's hand, ran full speed ahead down the sidewalk, Holly Hobby dangling from her hand as she raced towards her father with her arms stretched wide. "DADDY!" she shrieked, and launched herself into the waiting arms.

"Hey, baby sweets!" Flack effortlessly scooped his daughter's tiny body up into his arms and showered her face with kiss. "Surprised?"

She nodded energetically, her hair bobbing up and down. "I missed you daddy!" she shrieked happily, and tossed both arms around his neck and squeezed tightly. "Mommy said that you weren't going to come today! That you had to help but a bad guy away for a long time so he couldn't hurt anymore good people and little kids like me."

"Well something came up and now I don't have to help out until tomorrow," her father told her. "So I thought I'd come here and meet up with two of my three favourite girls. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course it is!" Kellan exclaimed. "I'm happy you're here daddy! I missed you!"

"I missed you too," Flack told her, and kissed her cheek once more before shifting her to his right side, her legs locking securely around his torso. "Whitmore asked the judge if my testimony could be put off until tomorrow," he explained to Sam as she finally caught up to them. "Called it 'compassionate reasons'. I figured you wouldn't mind me tagging along. Thought you'd like the company."

"You thought right," Sam said with a smile, and allowed him to lean down and kiss her chastely. They'd been refraining from even the smallest displays of affection around the kids when they went anywhere together as a family, but it was getting harder and harder not to do _something. _There were simply too many intense feelings to ignore.

"Look at your hair daddy!" Kellan giggled as she yanked off his baseball cap. "You don't have any!"

"Just a little," he chuckled, then taking her hand, laid it on the top of his head. "Feel that?" he asked. "Feels cool, huh?"

"Like a porcupine!" Kellan cried, and laughed heartily.

"Daddy had an incident last night," Flack told her, as he grabbed a hold of his hand and placed it sideways on Kellan's head. "A bad guy threw something at him and it got in his hair and he had to shave it off."

"What kind of something?" Sam asked, as he laid a hand on the small of her back and they headed, as a family, up the front stairs of the hospital.

"Open bottle of peroxide," he replied. "Didn't go in my eyes or anything thank God, but it bleached out clump of my hairs. So I figured the army look was better than looking like a skunk. And look at you…" Flack slipped his hand up her back and over her neck and laid his hand on the back of her head. Admiring her new hair style. A cut inspired by the way the singer Rihanna had worn it years back. Short on the one side and at the back and long on the other side. Only Sam's tresses had been dyed a vibrant, shimmering red. "Looks really nice baby," he praised. "I really like it."

"For real?" she asked, looking up at him doubtfully.

"Really," he replied, and gave a sincere smile. "You make a pretty hot looking red head."

"I was going to go blond, but I distinctly remembered how you didn't like me in that blond, Marilyn Monroe wig I wore that day Mac finally caught up to Suspect X."

Flack grimaced at the memory. "Yeah…don't get me wrong. You're a beautiful woman no matter what. But blond? That wasn't…well that just wasn't right."

"Well you may have not liked me as a blond, but I liked you as a department of parks worker," she teased, and elbowed him in the side playfully as he gave a sheepish grin.

"Daddy?" Kellan spoke up. "You're sad right? 'Cause you're not living with us?"

"Of course I'm sad," Flack told her. "I miss you guys."

"Well if you're sad and mommy's sad then maybe you can be sad together and then you go both go and ask Doctor Gus if you can play with all of her toys. 'Cause playing with toys makes things all better. It makes you talk about your feelings. And if you and mommy go and play with all the toys than maybe you guys will talk and not yell so much. And if you don't get mad and don't yell, then you can come back and live with us right away!"

"I don't know if Doctor Gus will let us play with her toys," Flack said, clearing his throat noisily in an attempt to hide the emotion that choked at him.

"She lets lots of people play with her toys!" Kellan exclaimed. "If you ask her nicely I bet she'll let you play with them! Maybe she will even let you play in the sand table. You know what a sand table is daddy? It's a sand box with legs!"

"Get outta here," he said with a grin.

"It is!" his daughter nodded adamantly. "It's a sand box with legs like the one that we had in kinnergarden."

"Kindergarten," Sam corrected gently.

"That's what I said mommy. Kinnergarden. That's what it's like daddy. And it's a lot of fun. Maybe Doctor Gus will let you play in the sand box and it will make you feel better. Or maybe she'll let you colour or play with the puppets. Puppets are cool, too. The more you play, the happier you'll be."

"Daddy doesn't get to play enough, does he," Flack stated, as he bent down to deposit Kellan on a bench outside of the hospital's front entrance.

"Nope," she shook her head. "You work too much. And too much work makes you grumpy and mean, daddy."

"Well I don't want to be grumpy or mean," Flack said, and took a seat beside her. "So maybe I should play more."

"Mommy too!" Kellan exclaimed. "Maybe you guys can play together."

"Now that's daddy's favourite kind of playing," Flack muttered and then received another elbow to his side and a stern look from his wife as she plopped down on the bench beside him. "So…you want to tell me what made you go Edward Scissorhands on your hair?" he asked Kellan, as Sam opened up the carton of chocolate milk and slipped a straw into it before leaning across him to hand the drink to their daughter.

Tipping her head to the side, Kellan stared at him, blue eyes narrowed, forehead furrowed. Clearly perplexed. A look that she, and her sister, had inherited directly from him.

"What made you take a pair of scissors to your ponytail," Flack clarified.

"I don't know…" Kellan shrugged and sipped at her milk.

"You must know why you did it," he said. "You didn't just do it for no reason. Did you do it 'cause you were mad? Did Auntie Linds do something that upset you?"

The five year old shook her head.

"Did Kallison or Amanda or Dan-Dan do something to make you made?" Flack tried again. "Did they pick on your or say mean things to you? Did they ignore you or not let you play with them?"

"I just did it," Kellan told him with a shrug. "I don't know why I did it. I just did."

"Were you sad about something?" he asked, as Sam stayed silent beside him and sipped at her iced tea.

"I don't know…" the little girl replied.

"Look Kellan…I know you're really sad that I'm not living with you guys. And I'm sad about it too. So is mommy. But we don't want you to….we don't want you to be doing stuff like that to yourself, okay? Stuff like that scares us and we're worried about you. So if there's something that's really bugging you, I want you to tell me or mommy before you do something like that again. Okay?"

"Okay…" she gave a small nod. "Don't be mad at me daddy," she whispered, her lower lip wobbling and tears pooling in her eyes.

"Kellan…I'm not…"

"If you get mad at me than you'll hate me. If you get mad you won't come and visit anymore. You won't let me stay overnight at your place. And if you get mad than you won't ever come home. And then mommy will hate me for being a bad girl!"

"Hey…" Flack took her tiny face in both of his hands and forced her to look up at him. "I am not mad at you, baby sweets. I'm just worried about you, okay? That's all. Just worried. And I could never, ever hate you. And neither could mommy. And you're not a bad girl."

"But grandma said I was! She said that I was a bad girl and that's why you left!"

He shook his head. "You are not a bad girl and that is not why I left. I left because mommy and I were fighting all the time and we didn't like each other very much. And we didn't want you or Kallison or Dawson hearing us being mean to each other. I didn't leave 'cause you're bad or 'cause I hate you or 'cause I don't love you. And your grandmother…" he sighed heavily. "Well your grandmother is a wicked witch and I don't think you should be going to visit her anymore."

"But what about grandpa?" Kellan asked. "That means I won't get to see grandpa anymore!"

"Grandpa can come over to the house to visit. He's more than capable of coming there," Flack told her. "I just don't…you're not going to go and see grandma anymore. Ever. And I'm going to tell her that too. Your grandma and I are going to have a really nice, long chat."

"But I won't ever have to see her again?" Kellan inquired. "Ever, ever?"

"Ever ever," Flack promised.

"Good…" Kellan gave a heavy sigh of relief. "'Cause she's a mean old bitch."

Sam nearly spit a mouthful of iced tea all of herself. "Kellan…" she coughed and sputtered noisily. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"I know…but it's true. She is. And daddy said that it isn't mean to call someone nasty names when it's true. Just that if we call someone nasty names like that, do it behind their back so you don't punched in the face."

Sam glared at her husband.

"Okay…that is not what I said," Flack defended himself. "I said that it wasn't nice to say things like that about anyone and that you'd get punched in the face if you did."

"No daddy," Kellan shook her head vigorously. "That's not what you said. It's not good to tell lies. You said that it wasn't mean to call someone nasty names if it was true. And that if I called someone a bad name, not to do it to their face or I'd get punched out. That's what you said, daddy."

Flack sighed heavily and biting his bottom lip, shook his head.

"Busted," Sam laughed. "By a five year old."

"I didn't think she'd actually remember all of that," he said.

"She's a sponge Don. She's been like that since she was a toddler. Everything bad you've ever said she's always repeated. You really think you'd have learned your lesson by now."

"I think I need to get some kind of manual. Parenting for Dummies. Or take some kind of 'An Idiot's Guide to Be a Better Daddy' course or something."

Sam shook her head and rubbed his back softly. "You don't need anything like that," she said. "You just need…."

"Not to talk so much," he concluded. "Not to open my mouth for the sake of hearing my own voice."

She just smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Okay….so when it comes to being a daddy, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. I say some pretty dumb things sometimes."

"Yeah…" Kellan agreed. "But you make up for it with hugs and kisses daddy."

Both Sam and Flack's eyes widened as they looked over at their daughter, taken back by her honest and heartfelt words.

"And with your cupcakes and banana pancakes," the five year old added quickly.

Flack chuckled, and wrapping one arm around his daughter and the other arm around his wife, he gathered them into his sides. Dropping a kiss to Kellan's hair, he turned to his wife and pressed his lips against her temple before resting his chin on the top of her head.

_One step closer,_he thought, and looked in the direction of the hospital front entrance. _One step closer to this nightmare being over._

_And to me taking back my life._

* * *

The playroom was spacious and cheerfully decorated. White walls were lined with posters from Disney movies and masterpieces that had been created over the months and years by other children. Brightly coloured scribbles, sheets of paper smeared with fingerpaints, collages made from stickers and images cut from magazines and newspapers, and artfully done drawings and water colour paintings. Toys of various shapes, sizes and genres neatly took up residence on several wooden bookshelves that were painted in primary colours. Art easels with fresh paper and paintbrushes and paints stood at ready, as did a towering five floor, fully 'stocked' dollhouse in one corner and a sand table in the other. A simple wooden adult sized chair sat alongside of a white wood children's table with small blue chairs placed neatly around it. The floor in the middle of the room was lined with multicoloured sponge alphabet and number 'tiles' that fit together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. The exact same tiles that decorated all three of the kids' rooms at home.

"Isn't that cool, Kellan?" Flack asked his daughter, as he nodded down at the floor. "Just like your room. That's pretty neat, huh?"

She nodded. Her blue eyes were wide and terrified. Nervous. The five year old that had been bubbly and talkative while sitting outside with her parents and while riding the elevator to the fourth floor and who'd practically skipped down the hallway towards the clinic, had abruptly vanished the second they'd stepped foot into the waiting room. Her mouth had instantly clamped shut and no matter how hard her parents tried or how much they encouraged and prodded, she hadn't uttered a word since. She'd shown no interest in the toys in the waiting room and refused to play with the other kids. She had promptly climbed into her father's lap the moment he sat down and had kept one tiny arm locked around her doll and the other wrapped tightly around his neck and her head on his shoulder.

And when her name had been called and she'd been told that either mommy or daddy could go and help her get comfy in the playroom while the other talked to Doctor Gus before her playtime, Kellan had announced that she wanted daddy to come with her. So he could check the room for monsters and get rid of them for her. Sam in turn went to talk to the therapist about what the session would entail. Both parents would watch and listen from behind one way glass, but had been told not to tell Kellan that they'd be observing. In fear that she would shut down completey and all trust in Gus would be destroyed even before it had a chance to get off the ground.

"This place is neat, huh?" Flack asked his daughter and ran a hand over her hair. "There's lot of cool toys here. You see anything you want to play with?"

Kellan shook her head and tightened the one armed hold she had around his leg. Holly Hobby was tucked under her other arm and her thumb was firmly planted in her mouth. A habit she hadn't practiced since she was a toddler.

"There must be something here you like," Flack said. "You want to go and play at the sand table?"

Kellan shook her head yet again.

"What about the dollhouse?" he tried again. "You love your dollhouse at home. You wanna go over and check it out?"

Another vigorous shake of black hair.

"Okay…well there's some fingerpaints if you want to do that," her father encouraged. "And I saw a huge bucket of crayons and markers on the table and I bet if we look around we'll find some paper. You can draw some pictures to take home? Make something for daddy's apartment so he can put it on the fridge with all yours and Kallie's drawings? Or something he can put on his desk at work? You wanna do that?"

"No daddy," Kellan whispered as she plucked her thumb from her mouth. "I don't want to do anything. I want to go home. Can you take me home daddy?"

"Why would you want to go home?" he asked. "Look at all these toys. More toys here than at home. You and Doctor Gus are going to have an awesome time."

"I'm scared daddy…" Kellan moaned. "My tummy hurts."

"Come here…" Flack implored, and taking a seat in the big chair, picked Kellan up and settled her in his lap. "There's nothing for you to be scared about," he assured her, as he curled his arms around her tiny body and kissed her cheek. "Doctor Gus is really, really nice. Mommy and I wouldn't bring you here if she wasn't. And remember what I told you? About how you don't have to talk if you don't want to?"

Kellan nodded.

"If you just want to sit and colour, Doctor Gus will understand. She's not going to force you to do anything. No one is. And mommy and I will be waiting outside for you, okay?"

"You can't stay in here and play with me daddy?"

"This playtime for you and Doctor Gus," Flack told her. "After we'll go somewhere and we'll play together. Sound good?"

"Can we go to the zoo?" Kellan asked.

"Sure…we'll go and get Dawson and Kallison from Auntie Mari's and…"

"No daddy. Not them. Just us. Me and you and mommy."

"Tell you what…while you're busy with Doctor Gus, mommy and I will talk about going to the zoo, alright?"

"And ice cream," Kellan said. "Mommy said in the car that we could go and get ice cream later."

"Ice cream too," he promised, and kissed the side of her head.

"But you'll come and rescue me, right daddy? If I get too scared and upset?"

"Of course I will, baby sweets," he said and ran a hand over her hair.

The door to the playroom clicked open softly and two sets of identical blue eyes zeroed in on Gus, clad in a chocolate brown pantsuit and a pale yellow blouse under her jacket, as she stood in the doorway.

"Is there a Kellan Flack in here?" she asked playfully, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

Kellan cautiously raised her hand.

"Your mommy and daddy told me about how pretty you were," Gus drawled, as she closed the door softly behind her and journeyed into the room. "I wasn't expecting to walk in here and find a princess."

Kellan managed a shaky, yet brave smile.

"I'm Doctor Broussard," Gus introduced herself as she crouched down in front of the table. "You're here to have a play date with me. Do you know why you're here Kellan?"

She nodded. "'Cause I'm deprest," she answered simply. Those three words causing tears to brim in her stoic father's eyes and a lump of emotion to form in his throat.

"And because your mommy and daddy are worried about you," Gus told her. "They love you very, very, very much. You know that, right?"

"I know…I don't want to be deprest anymore Doctor Gussie."

Gus blinked, taken back by the term of endearment bestowed upon her. "Well, you see all of the toys around you?"

Kellan glanced around the room and nodded.

"All of these toys are going to help me to help you feel better," Gus told her.

"I don't feel like talking," the five year old said.

"That's okay. You don't need to talk. Just if you have something you want to tell me, you can. Okay?"

Kellan nodded.

"Your mommy said that you really like these," Gus reached held out her right hand, in which was the unopened package of gummy bears. "And that they might make you feel a little better."

"I'm nervous," the little girl admitted ad accepted the bag of candy.

"That's okay," Gus assured her. "It's okay to be nervous, sweetheart. And your mommy also told me that you like to colour."

Kellan nodded.

"Well I have lots and lots of crayons and markers," the therapist said, and reaching for a blue plastic pail sitting in the middle of the table, set them down in front of the five year old. "And I have a very, very special colouring book just for you," she added, and sat the small book in her left hand on the table. Entitled 'A Child's First Book About Therapy'.

"I don't have that colouring book," Kellan said, and shifted in her father's lap in order to get a better look. "I got lots of Barbie and Dora and My Little Pony ones but not one like that. Can I take it home with me?"

"Sure," Gus chirped. "Now who's this handsome fellow with you?" she asked, giving Flack a wink. "Is this your boyfriend?"

"No," Kellan giggled.

"Brother?" Gus tried again.

"No," the five year old shook her head.

"Hmmm…your uncle?"

"No silly!" Kellan giggled even louder. "This is daddy!"

"And what's your daddy's name?" Gus inquired, using small talk to ease the child's nerves.

"Donald," Kellan answered. "You know, like Donald Duck? But I call him daddy and mommy calls him Don or Donnie. And you know what everybody else calls him?"

"What's that?" asked Gus.

"They call him Flack. That's our last name. I don't know why they call him that. It's stupid if you ask me. Daddy's a policeman. A defective. Did you know that?"

"A detective," Gus corrected gently. "And yeah…your mommy told me that. What's your mommy's name?"

"Samantha…but I just call her mommy. Daddy says it's not nice when little kids call their mommies and daddies by their first names. That it's rude. Daddy was s'pose to be in this place called court today. To help put a bad guy in jail. But they said that he didn't have to come until tomorrow to do that. So that he could come here today instead. With me."

"And I bet that made you really happy," Gus commented.

Kellan nodded energetically. "Yeah…'cause I love my daddy and I miss him. He doesn't live with us right now…but I don't want to talk about that," she added quickly. "'Cause it makes me deprest."

"Well how about we just play for a while?" Gus suggested. "Just the two of us. Does that sound okay?"

"I guess…" Kellan bit at her bottom lip nervously. "But if I get scared daddy can come and rescue me, right?"

"Absolutely," Gus assured her, then offered a helping hand as Kellan wriggled off of her father's lap. "Why don't you find something you like to play with or colour some pictures and I'll walk your daddy out, okay?"

Kellan sighed heavily. "I guess so…." she said, then stood nervously wringing her hands together as she watched the therapist and her father walk towards the door. "Don't leave daddy!" she called. "Please don't leave!"

"I'll be out there when you're finished," Flack promised her. His heart heavy, his nerves on edge.

"She's in good hands," Gus assured him, as she pulled open the door. "She's going to be just fine."

He took in a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly.

"And you're going to be fine, too," the therapist promised. "I know this is hard. And if she decides to talk, some of the things might be hard for you to hear. But this is for the best. For all of you."

"I know…" Flack said. "I just never…how'd this ever happen? How did things get this far out of control? How'd we get to the point of our kids needing therapy? How'd we ever screw up that bad?"

"The important thing is that Kellan is here and you and your wife are here for her. That's what is the most important thing."

"Just…just take care of her, okay? She's my baby and seeing her like this…"

"She'll be okay, daddy…" Gus promised.

He gave a solemn nod and stepped out of the room.

The weight on his heart nearly unbearable as the door closed behind him. Cutting off all contact to one of his three miracles.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even just lurking! I appreciate all of the love and support and I can't thank you enough for all of your kind words and awesome reviews! I am thoroughly enjoying writing for you guys! And for myself, of course!**

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	82. Works in Progress

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I AM MERELY HAVING FUN WITH THEM AND KEEPING MYSELF SANE WHILE DOING IT. LOL.**

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* * *

**Works in Progress**

"I run from hate  
I run from prejudice  
I run from pessimists  
But I run too late  
I run my life  
Or is it running me  
Run from my past  
I run too fast  
Or too slow it seems  
When lies become the truth  
That's when I run to you

This world keeps spinning faster  
Into a new disaster so I run to you  
I run to you baby  
And when it all starts coming undone  
Baby you're the only one I run to  
I run to you

We run on fumes  
Your life and mine  
Like the sands of time  
Slippin' right on through  
And our love's the only truth  
That's why I run to you."  
-I Run to You, Lady Antebellum

* * *

"I like blue," Kellan announced, breaking the silence that had been hanging over the play room for nearly twenty minutes.

The moment that her father had exited the room, leaving her alone with Gus, the five year old had quickly shut down. The playful twinkle in her blue eyes had rapidly disappeared and a pout took over her lips that had once been curved into a smile. She'd shyly, and nervously, slipped into one of the kiddie chairs with her new colouring book and had neither looked at Gus or said anything to her as the therapist slid into the wooden chair alongside of the table.

Gus had done little more than sit and observe the cherubic little girl before her. Noticing how her adorable bob haircut framed her pale, smooth face. How impossibly long and black her eyes lashes were, and how her finger and toe nails had been painted a cotton candy pink. Most of all, she noticed the sadness and loneliness that darkened the child's eyes and face. She hadn't spoken to Kellan or asked about the pictures she was colouring. She had simply sat patiently and waited for the child to speak to her. And if that didn't happen, well then that was just fine. It wouldn't be the first time that it took a child longer then the first visit to open up. Gus almost expected it with each client she saw. And she would have been genuinely surprised if Kellan had have just started spilling her guts out to her.

"Is it your favourite colour?" Gus asked.

Kellan nodded and bit her bottom lip in concentration as she worked intently on the picture below her. "It's daddy's favourite colour too," she said. "We like lots of things the same. We like to watch Tom and Jerry together. Every Saturday morning we watch it. Before mommy and Kallison and Dawson get up. Well…that's what we used to do when daddy still lived with us."

"What else do you and your daddy like?" Gus inquired.

"Lots of stuff," Kellan replied, and putting the cap on the blue marker clutched tightly in her left hand, surveyed her colouring before giving a nod of approval and exchange the blue marker for a red one. "We like spaghetti and meatballs and hot dogs. And pizza. But not all at the same time. And chocolate cupcakes. Daddy makes really good cupcakes. And pancakes. Banana ones are my favourite."

"Do you and your daddy to a lot of stuff together?"

The little girl nodded. "We play lots together. When mommy's working. Daddy has tea parties and plays dress up with Barbies and My Little Ponies. And we go to the park down the street from our house. Daddy's really good at pushing the swings. He pushes really, really, really high. I like to go really, really, really high and daddy always lets me. He taught me how to hang upside down from the monkey bars, you know."

"He did?"

"Yeah…from my ankles. One day he put me upside down like that and I laughed really, really, really hard. So hard that I was crying! And then every time we went to the park, he let me do it. But he made sure that he was standing right behind me. So I wouldn't fall. But he didn't touch me 'cause I said I wasn't a baby and I didn't need him touching me."

"It sounds like you and your daddy have a lot of fun together," Gus observed. "Do you do other things with him?"

"Sometimes we go to the movies. And we share liquorice and popcorn and he always lets me drink pop. Mommy never lets me. She says that it's bad for my teeth. But daddy…" Kellan giggled. "Daddy just rolls his eyes and says it's our little secret. Not to tell mommy. It's fun having a little secret with my daddy."

"Does your sister do lots of things with your daddy too?" Gus asked.

"Sometimes," Kellan replied. "But most of the times she does stuff with mommy. She loves mommy bestest and I love daddy bestest. That's just the way it is. That's 'cause I'm a daddy's girl. Do you know what that means?"

"I do," Gus confirmed.

"Kallison and I are twins, did you know that too?"

Gus nodded.

"Identical twins," Kellan informed her. "I have a little brother too. He's just a baby. His name was Hunter and now it's Dawson. He had a different name when he first came to live with us."

"Do you like having a little brother?"

"Yeah…he's lots of fun. He sits up on his own and crawls all over the place. And he laughs a lot. And poops and pees a lot," Kellan added with a giggle. "He wasn't in mommy's tummy though. Not like me and Kallison were. He didn't come from mommy's belly like we did."

"Well where did he come from?" Gus asked.

"Daddy had a girlfriend. He came from her tummy," Kellan sighed heavily and looked up at Gus, her lips set in a firm line. "I hate her," she declared.

"Who do you hate?"

"Daddy's girlfriend. It's her fault that mommy and daddy started hating each other. It's her fault that they fight and yell and say mean things all the time. She took daddy away from us. She made him do bad things. I'm glad she's dead. She deserves to be dead. It makes me mad. That she took daddy away."

"And how does it make you feel when your mommy and daddy fight?" inquired Gus.

"I don't know…" Kellan shrugged, and set her red marker down in favour of a yellow one. "Makes me scared. 'Cause they yell really, really loud. Especially daddy. Daddy frightens me when he yells. He makes me cry when he says mean things to mommy. 'Cause mommy cries and it upsets me. I don't want to see mommy cry. Mommy is a nice mommy. Daddy shouldn't yell at her like that. He shouldn't call her names and tell her he hates her. One time, he told her that he wished he never met her and that he never had kids with her."

Gus nodded slowly. "How did that make you feel?" she asked.

"It hurt my feelings," Kellan replied. "It hurt right here," she said, and laid a hand over her heart. "Do mommy and daddy hate each other?" she asked.

"Do you think they hate each other?" Gus countered.

"I don't know…" Kellan admitted. "I don't think so. They always make up after they fight. They always tell each other sorry and say I love you. But that doesn't make the ouchies in my tummy and in my heart go away."

"It's hard when mommies and daddies fight," Gus stated.

Kellan nodded. "I wish they wouldn't fight anymore. 'Cause that's why daddy doesn't live with us. 'Cause they fight all the time and daddy and mommy said that they don't want me and Kallison to be sad 'cause they fight. If they just didn't fight then we wouldn't be sad. Why do they do it, Doctor Gussie? Why do they fight if they know it makes us sad?"

"Well…" Gus chose her words carefully. "Sometimes adults, when they get really mad at each other, can't control what they say to each other. They're so mad that the words just slip out. They don't really mean to say them and afterwards they feel really bad about it. And your mommy and daddy realize they shouldn't be fighting all the time and that's why they're not together right now."

"I don't like it," Kellan declared. "It makes me sad. I want daddy to live with us. I don't want him to live somewhere else. I don't get to see him very much and I don't like that. 'Cause we don't get to snuggle together and watch Dora in the morning anymore."

"It must be hard," Gus sympathized. "To be without your daddy when you love him so much."

The little girl nodded. "It makes me mad," she said. "I get mad when he doesn't call when he's s'pose to or when he can't come and get us."

"What happens when you get mad?" Gus asked.

"What do you mean?" Kellan inquired.

"Well…how do you feel inside when you get upset? What do you do when you get mad?"

"My tummy gets really, really sore and I feel really hot," the five year old explained. "Sometimes I even feel dizzy and I can't breathe. And then…" Kellan looked around the room suspiciously as if to make sure no one was watching or listening, then turned her big blue eyes up at Gus. "..and then I do really naughty things," she whispered.

"You do really naughty things to yourself?"

Kellan nodded, and setting the marker down, pushed the sleeve of her cardigan up to show Gus the bites that decorated her right arm. Some were still relatively raw and painful looking while others had covered up with scabs and some had already healed and had left faint bruises behind. "I don't know why I do it," she said. "I just get so mad and I can't stop. I hurt my head a couple times too. Because I was angry and I hit my head on the ground and daddy had to take me to the hospital to get stitches. It hurt to get stitches. I had to sit in daddy's lap while the doctor did it. But afterwards I got a popsicle. A cherry one."

"Do you remember what made you so angry?" Gus asked.

"Yeah…'cause daddy brought me home and I wanted him to stay forever and he said no," Kellan sighed and picked the yellow marker back up and continued colouring. "Am I bad, Doctor Gussie? 'Cause I hurt myself?"

"No. You're not bad. You're angry and frustrated and sad. And we're going to find other ways for you to get those feelings out so you don't hurt yourself."

"Sometimes I hurt other people too," Kellan admitted sadly. "My sister and my Auntie Linds. And the kids at school and at camp. And my mommy," tears sparkled in her eyes. "I don't want to hurt them. I don't want to hurt my mommy. My brain just tells me to do it"

Gus gave a sympathetic smile.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Kellan suddenly declared, her lips set in an angry line as she scribbled furiously at her picture. "It makes me upset and I don't want to be upset. I'm thirsty. May I have something to drink, please?"

Gus nodded and standing up, made her way over to a small bar fridge by the one way glass. Opening it, she studied the contents before glancing over her shoulder at Kellan, who had stopped colouring and was aggressively chewing at her bottom lip and digging her nails of her left hand into her exposed right forearm as she rocked vigorously in her chair.

"Kellan…" Gus called gently to her. "Why don't you come here and pick out what kind of drink you want," she suggested, hoping to distract the five year old and stop her from hurting herself.

"Okay…" the little girl slid off her chair and hurried over. "Are you sure it's okay?" she asked. "Did mommy and daddy say it was okay?"

"I'm sure that your mom and dad don't mind you having something to drink."

"I had chocolate moo juice outside. I only get chocolate moo juice when I'm really good," Kellan said, as she reached into the fridge and selected an apple juice drinking box. "Is this one okay?" she asked, holding the drink aloft.

"Whichever one you want," Gus replied.

"Could you do this for me please? I don't know how to do the straw yet. I'm not that good."

Grinning, Gus took the drinking box and tearing the straw off the side, ripped it open and jabbed it into the top of the drink.

"Thank you muchly," Kellan chirped and took back the drink. "Can Holly and I sit on the alphabet mat?" she asked.

"Sure…who's Holly?"

"She's my dolly," Kellan told Gus, and racing over to the table, scooped her beloved doll off of one of the small blue chairs. "See? This is Holly. My uncle Shelly gave her to me a long, long time ago. He's an angel now. A bad guy killed him dead. I miss him a lot. Daddy said that Uncle Shelly is in heaven. With God. Our hamster died too. A long, long time ago. His name was Pepper. You know what happened to him?"

Gus shook her head and lowered herself into a sitting position on the floor as Kellan plopped down and settled Holly lovingly in her lap.

"Daddy killed him," Kellan told her. "By accident. Pepper got out of his cage and went missing. We couldn't find him anywhere! And you know what happened next?"

"What happened?"

"Daddy stepped on him. In the bathroom by the kitchen. He didn't see Pepper and he smooshed him. Stepped on him and squashed him. Poor Pepper. 'Cause daddy's really tall and big and has huge feet. Daddy didn't mean to kill him though. But it made me sad. Daddy too. Daddy wrapped Pepper in one of mommy's bestest face cloths and put him in a box and buried him in the backyard. Daddy said that Pepper went to heaven. And now uncle Shelly is there too. Do you think they're friends? Maybe uncle Shelly is playing with Pepper? Do you think?"

"I don't know," Gus replied. "Maybe…"

"Aren't you s'pose to know?" Kellan asked as she sipped her juice. "Daddy says you're an expert. That you know everything. My uncle Peanut, he knows everything too. He's really smart. And super funny. He does all kinds of cartoon voices. He's cute too. Mommy says uncle Peanut is adork-able."

"Who's uncle Peanut?" Gus asked.

"My uncle," Kellan replied a matter-of-factly, as if she'd just been asked the dumbest question ever.

"Is Peanut his real name?"

Kellan giggled. "No! His name is Adam. Adam Ross. That was mommy's name too before she married daddy and then her last name became Flack. Like mine. But uncle Peanut says that daddy should have changed his last name 'cause he's whipped. 'Cause mommy owns him."

Gus couldn't help but grin.

"Uncle Peanut lives with us," Kellan continued. "'Cause the wicked witch kicked him to the curb uncle Danny said. That's okay though. I don't care. She was mean and stupid anyway. Do you have a boyfriend, Doctor Gussie? Are you married? Do you have kids?"

"I…"

"You'd like uncle Peanut. Maybe you can come over to our house and meet him. He'd like you. You're pretty and smart. Like mommy. Maybe you and uncle Peanut can go on a date. You can wear a dress and uncle Peanut can wear good clothes for a change and comb his hair. There can be wine and candles and nice music. Then you can play kissy face afterwards. That's where babies come from you know. And when mommies and daddies have tickle fights under the blankets."

* * *

"Dear God," Sam muttered, as she sat in a bank of chairs in front of the two way glass in the observation room and covered her face with her hands as her husband laughed heartily.

"Your daughter's telling Doctor Gus all of our sex secrets," Flack chided, as he stood by the glass, a hand on the wall beside it, listening and watching as an animated Kellan was telling her therapist about how she'd walked into mommy and daddy's room once and mommy was making funny noises and daddy was under the blankets. _Way_ under the blankets.

"Why is it they're my kids when they do something wrong?" Sam asked.

"'Cause it means the Ross genes are going haywire," Flack teased, and moving away from the glass, took a seat beside his wife.

"Yeah…'cause the Flack genes are just so pure and perfect," she snorted, then removing her hands from her face, grinned at him and leaned into him. "Because you only kicked in everything that makes them insanely adorable."

"Pretty much," he agreed. "I guess that's the one good thing I did in the last eight years. I helped make some beautiful babies."

Sam gave a sad smile and laying her hand on the space between his shoulders, rubbed his back soothingly. "You did a lot of good things, Donnie," she said. "A lot of amazing things, actually. We just…I think we need to concentrate on all of those amazing things and think less about the crappy stuff."

He nodded in agreement and reaching out to place a hand on the back of her head, pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"I can't believe she's talking about all of this random stuff," Sam commented, and moved away from him. Uncomfortable with their close proximity with each other. Not because she didn't want to be that close, and even closure, with them. But because they were trying so hard to take things slow that she was worried she'd give in to her feelings and her emotions too soon and screw everything up.

"I guess we should just be happy that she's opening up at all," Flack said, slightly offended by her obvious rebuff and reminding himself that she wasn't acting that way because she wanted to hurt his feelings. But because she wanted to protect herself. And him.

"I guess," Sam sighed.

Flack sighed, and removing his ball cap and tossing it in the chair beside him, ran his hands over his head and down to the back of his neck. "Some of that was pretty harsh," he said, obviously troubled by what he'd heard. "Some of what she said…"

"It was hard to hear," Sam admitted, her voice quieted, her eyes riveted on the scene playing out before them. Kellan and Gus sitting across from each other in the middle of the room as Kellan commented about how much she liked the way Gus talked. In Kellan's accent -a mixture of both Brooklyn and Queens her parents figured- the word came out sounding like 'tawk'.

"I like the way you talk too," Gus responded with a wide, bright smile.

"Daddy talks funny," Kellan said. "But not as funny as mommy. Daddy says that when mommy gets really excited or really upset, he can't understand her. Like she's talking some foreign language that he needs a 'trepretor for."

Flack gave a laugh and shook his head. "Is there anything she doesn't remember me saying?" he wondered aloud.

"You know how she is. Every word daddy speaks is law around the house," Sam told him. "You know how much she adores you, Don. She's always been closest to you. She's always thought the sun rises and sets on you. And nothing is ever going to change that. You can do no wrong as far Kellan's considered. And me…" Sam sighed. "I'm the evil one because I made you go away."

"She never said that Sammie. She said that…"

"She said that I'm the one that made you leave. She may not have said that to Gus but she says it all the time at home when she's in one of her moods."

"She's five. She doesn't know what she's saying when she gets upset," Flack reminded her. "She just freaks and all kinds of things come out of her mouth. She doesn't mean them. She just says them 'cause she's pissed."

"Remind you of anyone you know?" Sam asked.

"Reminds me of both of us," he replied. "Don't be turning around and making it sound like I'm the only nasty one when we fight."

"I never said that…" she took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly before exhaling slowly. "Let's not do this, okay? Not here. We've been doing so good with each other, Don. We've been arguing less and talking and listening to each other more and I don't want…I don't want us screwing this up. We can't screw this up. For ourselves and our kids."

"I don't want to screw anything up," he said. "I'm trying really, really hard Sammie. We're both trying really, really hard. Just sometimes…I don't know…sometimes it seems like we just say things to wind each other up. Like we get off on pissing one another off."

"Either that or we're both just so on edge that we can't control it," Sam reasoned. "All I know is that I don't want to do this with you. I don't want to argue with you. Not here. Not anywhere, actually. I just want us to…I just want us to get along. To love each other. That's all I want."

He gave a small smile and capturing her left hand in his right, entwined his fingers with hers and placed their hands on his thigh. Then giving a small frown, he turned her hand over to get a look at the top of it.

"What?" she asked.

"You put your engagement ring back on," he commented, as the diamonds sparkled up at him.

"Well you did give it to me," she reasoned. "And we are going to get back together. So I just figured…"

"We're not going to get back together Sammie," he said.

Her face blanched and she yanked her hand out of his. "Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? We're not going to get back together? You're telling me this here? Right now? You picked your daughter's therapy session to tell me that you're giving up on us? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Whoa…whoa…" Flack held his hands up in self defence. "That is not what I was going to say. You are totally jumping to conclusions here."

"I can't believe you'd pull this shit," Sam huffed, and crossing her arms over his chest. "You're a real winner, Don. So what's all this crap you've spewing at the counsellor? About wanting our marriage to work and wanting us to be a family? About how much you miss me and how much you love me?"

"I do miss you. I do love you. And if you'd just be quiet for a second and.."

"And what? Listen to you say I miss you and I love you but not enough to be with you? Whatever. Is that the real reason you came here today? To tell me this? You couldn't have done this some other time? Some other place?"

"Sammie, you are way overreacting. Can you stop being…can you stop being yourself for five seconds and let me talk here?"

Sighing heavily, she turned sideways in her seat and stared at him pointedly.

"Babe…I do miss you and I do love you. Don't ever doubt that."

"But?" she asked irritably.

"There's no but. All I was trying to do was correct you for Christsakes. All I was trying to say is that we're not getting back together. We already are back together."

Her eyes widened, then her cheeks flushed crimson. "Oh…" she said, and turned back towards the glass. "Ooops."

"Ooops?" he laughed. "That's all you can say is ooops?"

She bit her lip pensively, and then turned her face towards him. "I'm sorry," she said.

A grin tugged at his lips. "I bet that just tore you right up to say that," he teased.

Frowning, she reached out and laid a hand on his chest and pushed him playfully. "Don't push your luck," she said. "Now is not the time for you to be a smart ass."

"You're right," he agreed.

She smirked and reached up to pat his cheek softly.

"And yes. Before you say it, it did just tear me right up inside to admit that you're right about something," he chided. Then laying his hand over hers, pressed a kiss to her palm before once again entwining their fingers together and placing their hands on his stomach. "I just figured we are back together 'cause we're dating. Or whatever the hell it is we're doing. Married but courting? Does that make sense?"

"Nothing makes sense," Sam sighed.

Flack couldn't argue with that.

A companionable silence fell on the room as they both turned their attention back to the playroom, where Kellan, with her legs and arms stretched out in front of her, was wriggling her fingers and her toes and telling Gus about all the fun she'd had the day before when mommy took her and Kallison with her to the hair place to get her toes and nails done. And how the nice lady at the hair place did their toes and their nails too.

"Kallison got silver sparkle polish and I got pink!" Kellan cried excitedly. "And mommy got black!"

Flack glanced down at his wife's toes and then at her hands.

"It's purple actually," Sam told him. "It just looks black."

"A funky new hair cut? Red at that? And black…sorry…dark purple nails? You going Vampire girl on me or something? Do I need to start calling you Bella? Or Elvira?"

A grin played at the corners of her mouth. "You're a smart ass, Donald Flack Junior."

"Yeah…I guess I am. You miss that about me, don't you." It was more a statement then a question.

Her fingers tightened around his. "I miss a lot about you," she said. "I just miss you period."

He nodded slowly and smiled. "I miss you too, Sammie."

* * *

"Doctor Gussie is really, really nice!" Kellan exclaimed a half an hour later, a cherry flavoured lollipop in her mouth as she skipped happily in between her parents, holding each of their hands as the family made their way out of the front entrance of the hospital. Sam's free hand in possession of Holly Hobby and Flack's holding the colouring book that Gus had given to their daughter earlier. Half a dozen cellophane wrapped suckers tucked in the back pocket of his shorts. "Do you think that she liked me?"

"I think that she loved you," Sam said.

"What's not to love?" Flack asked. "You come from daddy don't you?"

"Uh-uh," Kellan shook her head vigorously, her hair swinging back and forth. "I come from you _and_ mommy," she corrected. "It takes two, daddy."

Sam grinned at her husband. "She told you."

"You're not suppose to know about stuff like that," Flack said to his daughter.

"What's there to know?" Kellan asked. "Everyone knows that it takes a mommy and a daddy to make a baby. You and mommy just got lucky 'cause you made two at once."

"Yeah…" Flack smiled at his wife. "We got very, very lucky," he said and winked at Sam.

"I had lots and lots of fun at Doctor Gussie's," Kellan told her parents. "Do you think that I did good daddy?"

"I thought you did great. And as long as you had fun and you liked her, well that's all that matters. You weren't there to be tested or anything, Kellan. Mommy and I told you that already. You were just there to meet Doctor Gus and to get comfortable with her. And we're just glad that you like going to her as much as you do."

"She's not mean at all," Kellan said. "I was scared that she'd be really mean but she wasn't. She was super nice. And she's really pretty and she smells really, really nice too. I don't think she has a boyfriend or a husband. Or kids."

"Well that's really none of our business," Sam told her daughter.

"If she doesn't have a boyfriend and she's not married, maybe she can come over to our house and meet uncle Peanut!" the five year old chirped. "Do you think that they'd like each other, mommy? 'Cause she's pretty and uncle Peanut is cute. And they're both crazy smart! Do you think they'd like each other?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sam replied. "I guess. But I don't think…well I don't think she's allowed to come over to our house and visit."

"How come?" Kellan inquired. "Doesn't she like us?"

"It's not that she doesn't like us," Flack answered. "It's just that…remember that confidentiality thing I told you about a couple of days ago?"

His daughter nodded.

"Well that means that she can't just hang out with the people that she sees in her job. She can't come to our house 'cause you're a patient of hers. And that's breaking some of the rules she has to follow. And if she gets caught breaking the rules, she'd get in trouble. And we don't want her getting in trouble, do we?"

Kellan shook her head. "Maybe uncle Peanut can go to her house," she suggested. "Uncle Peanut needs a girlfriend."

"I don't think he's looking for a girlfriend," Sam laughed.

"He needs one mommy. 'Cause auntie what's-her-face did him dirt."

Flack smirked, then caught the furious glare his wife shot at him. "Hey…that did not come from me."

"Uncle Danny said that she doesn't deserve a name," Kellan informed her parents. "That's she's not fit to carry my lunch box. What's that mean?"

"It means that Uncle Danny has some explaining to do when daddy sees him next," Flack said, as Kellan hopped down the front steps of the hospital and they headed down the sidewalk.

"He says that she's auntie what's-her-face now and that she deserves to be shot and pissed on for what she did to uncle Peanut," Kellan continued.

"That's not nice!" Sam scolded. "At all!"

"Hey…I didn't say it…" her daughter defended herself. "Uncle Danny did. Don't shoot the messenger, mommy."

Sam sighed and shook her head and looked over at her husband, who was staring straight ahead as he walked, biting on his bottom lip as he attempted to reign in his laughter.

"What?" Flack asked and let out a chuckle. "Come on…it's funny. Really, really, really funny actually."

"Danny knows better than that," Sam muttered.

"I'll talk to Danny," Flack promised. "But you got to admit. He's nothing if not honest. He speaks the truth. He's only saying out loud what we're all thinking."

Sam couldn't disagree with that. "So where do you want to go?" she asked Kellan, anxious to change the subject.

"I want to go to the zoo!" the five year old cried. "And to get ice cream! And to Toys R Us in Times Square! But not with Kallison and Dawson. Just us! Just me and you and daddy."

"Well daddy might have other plans," Sam said. "You can't just assume that…"

"Only plans I have is to spend every second possible with you two," Flack interjected. "And then, when we're finished doing all our stuff, go and see Kallison and Dawson. If mommy says it's okay, of course."

"Of course it's okay," she smiled. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

He just shrugged and reached out to press the button for the crosswalk.

"Will you stay for a while daddy?" Kellan asked hopefully. "Will you stay for supper? Will you tuck me in and read me bedtime stories?"

"Sure," he replied. "If your mommy says…"

"Mommy says that's a wonderful idea," Sam interrupted him.

"Will you sleep over?" their daughter asked. "If you sleep over than you can take me and Kallison to camp tomorrow! We can watch Dora in the morning like we used to do all the time! And you can make pancakes for breakfast. Can you sleep over daddy?"

"You know what, I don't think that's a good idea," Flack told her. "It's not that I don't want to sleep over," he added quickly. "'Cause I do. It's just that…your mommy and I…"

"Daddy needs to be up really early for work tomorrow," Sam explained. "So he wouldn't have time to make pancakes and watch Dora. So maybe if he's not working much on the weekend he can stay over then and you guys can do all sorts of stuff together."

"I think I can get the weekend off," Flack said. "I think Scagnetti owes me a favour or two."

"Will you stay daddy?" Kellan asked. "Will you come over for the weekend?"

"If your mommy wants me to," he replied, and glanced over at Sam.

"I want you to," Sam confirmed.

He smiled and gave a nod. "Sounds like fun than," he concluded.

"Maybe this time you won't have to go back to your new place," Kellan said. "Maybe this time you can stay forever and ever."

"I don't know about that," her dad told her. "That's something that me and your mommy are going to have to talk about."

"Well talk about it soon, okay? 'Cause I miss you daddy. So does Kallison and Dawson and Wiener. And so does mommy. Mommy misses you a lot. She cries at night because of it."

"She does, does she?" Flack looked over at his wife, who kept her eyes focused straight ahead.

"Yeah. You being gone makes mommy really, really said," his daughter informed him. "So you guys have to talk soon, okay? So you can come home and no one will be sad anymore."

Flack didn't respond. He simply nodded and they continued on their way towards the public lot Sam had parked in.

"You know," he said, breaking the silence that had fallen on them. "One of my guys had his building sold out from under him. I guess the new owners want to turn them into condos and he can't afford the asking price. He's got to be out in two months and seeing as I signed a year lease, I just can't move out whenever I feel like it. But I could talk to him and see if he wants to sublet from me."

"You could," Sam said, and dug her keys out of her purse as they entered the busy lot.

"I mean, that gives us two months to get our sh…our stuff together," Flack said, as he scooped Kellan up into his arms to keep her safe from the constant flow of cars. "Two months of going to seeing Doctor Quinlan every week. That's eight appointments, right?"

She nodded.

"We could get a lot worked out in eight appointments," he told her. "We could ask her to give us more of that homework crap she likes tossing at us. We could even buy some books or whatever to help speed things up. Go to some of those advanced marital classes she's always going on about. You know, the ones that are like AA for couples in trouble. We could always do that."

"If that's what you want to do," Sam said, and used the key chain remote to turn off the alarm and unlock the doors on her car.

"I want to do whatever it takes to make things right again," he responded. "And I think in two months…I think in two months things will be right again. Or at least really close to it."

Sam popped open the passenger side back door of the station wagon and stepped aside as Flack leaned in to place Kellan in her booster seat and buckle her in tightly.

"Did you drive here?" she asked, as he backed out of the car and she closed the door and headed around to the rear of the vehicle. "Or…"

"Took the subway. There's a method to my madness. I knew if I took the subway you wouldn't be able to say no if I asked you to give me a ride home."

"You were hoping I'd offer another kind of ride," she teased.

"I'll neither admit or deny that," he laughed. Then grew serious. "I mean it, Sammie. I really think we could work things out in two months. I don't want this bullshit lasting any longer. It's been hell. On all of us. And I don't think…I can't be away from you and my kids for too much longer. And I think we can…"

She reached out and placed two fingers over her lips to silence him. "I think we can too," she said.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her fingers.

"And I think you can…"

Reaching out, he laid a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her tightly into his. His mouth capturing hers in a long, intense kiss that left both of them breathless and their heads reeling.

"Okay…" she sighed heavily and placed her forehead against his chest. "Yeah…I guess I…I guess I missed that just a bit."

"I missed that a lot," he said, and wrapped his arms tightly around her slender body.

For a moment they stood there, their arms enveloping each other in warmth and promise. A million and one thoughts -and for once positive and exciting ones- surging through them. Sam had forgotten, in the midst of all the bitterness and angst how got it actually felt to be in her husband's arms. To think about nothing other than how wonderful he smelled and how his heart sounded as it beat deep within his chest. How secure and safe those big, strong arms felt. And it was the first time that she realized how much she had missed him. And how much she missed _of _him.

She finally pulled away and smiled up at him. "You realize that the third time is it right? We've done this breaking up and getting back together thing twice now. This is it for us, Don. Three strikes and we're out. If we screw it up this time…"

He quieted her with another kiss. "No screwing up this time," he promised, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

She gave a nod and broke out of his embrace. "I think we should get going," she said, and laid her keys in his hand. "We've got two months to make things right. And I don't want to waste any time."

"Me either," he told her and closing his fingers around the keys in his palm, walked around the driver's side of the car. "Hey, Sam…" he said, looking at her over top of the roof, his voice stopping her before she could slip into the passenger seat.

She looked at him and waited for him to continue.

"I just want you to know that I love you."

She smiled. "I love you too," she said.

"And that this time…well there won't be a next time. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Forever starts over again right now," he told her. "Right this second. The second we get in this car, that's when our forever kicks in."

She gave a bright smile. "Well you better get in than," she said, and disappeared inside.

* * *

**As usual, massive thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even to those that are just lurking! I am glad that you are all continuing to enjoy this and I thank you all for your support and your kind words. Especially during such a difficult personal time. **

**Please R and R folks!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Ms. Lori Reznor**

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**wolfeylady**

**Hardylover7477**

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**xSamiliciousx**

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**Delko's Girl 88**


	83. Honest, to a fault

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**LITTLE SHORTER CHAPTER THIS TIME FOLKS, ONLY 'CAUSE I HAVE A SAM AND FLACK 'DATE' PLANNED AND I DIDN'T WANT TO SMOOSH IT INTO THE END OF THIS CHAPTER AND NOT TO OUR COUPLE JUSTICE!**

* * *

**Honest, to a fault**

"It's something I said, or someone I know.  
Or you called me up, maybe I wasn't home.  
Now everybody needs some time,  
And everybody knows  
The rest of it's fine  
And everybody knows that.

Come on now, sugar,  
Bring it on, bring it on, yeah.  
Just remember me when you're good to go  
Come on now, honey,  
Bring it on, bring it on, yeah.  
Just remember me when."  
-We Used to Be Friends, The Dandy Warhols

* * *

"Borderline intermittent explosive disorder," Danny read from the computer print out in front of him, a doubtful eyebrow arched and scepticism creeping into his voice. A manila folder sat opened in the middle of the table as Flack thumbed through them, their ice cold glasses of Coke and their menus all going untouched.

It had been seven months since Flack's marriage had begun to disintegrate right before his, and everyone else's, eyes. Five months since he'd moved out of the house and filed for legal separation and just shy of two since he and Sam had begun not only seeking therapy for their children, but themselves as well. While they were still living at different addresses, they'd been working non stop at repairing their relationship. Everyone who knew them -friends, co-workers and family alike- were genuinely and immensely surprised at the steps they were taking in order to make things right again. Marital counselling every two weeks, group therapy sessions with other couples in crisis four times a month, and individual sessions with psychiatrists in an attempt to get to the heart of their own problems and issues. To narrow down exactly why it was that they lost control on each other so easily. Why they couldn't help themselves from arguing and saying cruel, vicious things to each other in the heat of the moment. Why, in some instances, Flack reacted aggressively and violently, resorting to putting his fist through a wall in order to prevent himself from doing much, much worse. Something that both concerned him, and terrified him.

In the last seven months, he and Danny had barely spent an hour alone together. There were times that Flack had honestly wondered if their friendship was waning. The easy going rapport that they had possessed for years had suddenly seemed to be vanish. When they worked cases together and questioned suspects, that back and forth bantering and those witty and sarcastic comments seemed to falter the moment they left both men's lips. The words hanging in the air between them and the tension thick and nearly unbearable. The separation itself hadn't helped matters either. While Flack and Sam remained, as they had since the day he walked out the door, professional and courteous to each other while on the clock -some were even amazed at how well they got along given the circumstances, and often wondered if being apart personally was better for both of them in the long run- it had caused rifts with their friends. Those around them had been unwillingly dumped into the middle of the Flacks' personal problems. Caught in between wanting to be loyal to both of them but having to take sides at the same time.

Danny hadn't been able to fairly jump on either side of the bandwagon. While he understood why Flack did what he did by walking out -it wasn't fair or healthy for the kids to see and hear their parents going at each other on a constant basis- he couldn't just agree with his best friend a hundred percent. As far as he was concerned, Flack had started the proverbial ball rolling when he'd fucked around with Jordan Gates. Danny had kept his mouth shut and his opinions to himself the second the cat was let out of the back on that one. And while he'd ranted and raved to Lindsay about how in the hell Sam could ever take Flack back after what he'd done especially after finding out he'd fathered a baby with another woman, he'd also been quick to remind himself that he'd had his share of massive screw ups too. Neither of them could be excused or forgiven for the mistakes they'd made in the past. The fact of the matter was, there was no reasoning in the world to begin to justify what had gone done. And it was Danny's own guilt for his past mistakes that had prevented him from being able to support either Sam or Flack through their problems.

Fight or flight, as the old saying was. And in essence, Danny had chosen flight. Instead of firmly and diplomatically planting himself in the middle of his embattled friends and listening to both sides of the story and dispensing, if needed, less than stellar advice, he'd backed away and essentially closed himself off from both of them. Doing little more than engaging in mindless chit chats with Flack while at a crime scene or with Sam while they were on the road or in the lab working a case together. He was thankful that he worked during the day and Lindsay was in charge of looking after Kallison and Kellan because he just didn't have the heart or the stomach to discuss the downfall of their parents' marriage with two vulnerable and emotional five year olds. He didn't have the answers the girls wanted and he wasn't up to dishing out empty promises to them that things were going to perfect again between their parents.

And while he loved and missed the Flack kids -all three of them- he was selfishly relieved that they hadn't been around in a month. Not only were Kellan's moods hell on earth to deal with when she got herself riled up and down right vicious, but the little girl had unknowingly caused a massive riff between her mother and best friend. Sam was pissed that Lindsay hadn't kept a proper eye on Kellan considering what kind of mental state the five year old was in and what the violence she was capable of inflicting on herself and others when she got into one of her rages. To which Lindsay, hurt because of her friend's accusations of negligence, had responded that if Sam and Flack hadn't have fucked up their kids so bad, Kellan wouldn't be the way she is and wouldn't be such a burden on everyone.

A totally unjustified fight on both of their parts of course. But one that still had tempers sizzling and emotions raw. And Sam and Lindsay screening any calls that came into their homes on behalf of the other.

Flack and Danny had been unceremoniously dumped into the middle of their wives' spat. Neither man would ever betray the woman that they loved or take sides against them, and it caused an even larger wedge to form in their relationship. Flack may have been separated, but he was completely and utterly devoted to, and in love with, his wife. And there wasn't anyone that he would choose over her. Under any circumstance.

Danny admired, and always had admired, -save for his best friend's one massive fuck up - Flack's unwavering devotion for his family. There wasn't anything that Flack wouldn't do for his wife and his kids. Even if it meant taking unpaid leave to take care of things at home or having to work a disgusting amount of hours to make sure that the bills were taken care of and their finances were in the black. And he was glad that things seemed to be looking up for the Flacks. Rumour had it that Flack was in the process of moving back into the familial home in a matter of a month. That one of his younger detectives was going to sublet his place. Of course, Danny didn't know what was actually going on. Flack didn't talk much about his personal life anymore and Danny had been too busy trying to prevent himself from getting sucked into the middle of husband and wife that he'd turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to all the whispering and gossiping going on around the lab.

So he'd jumped at the chance to grab a late lunch with his best friend. To hopefully get to the bottom of what was going on with Flack and his life, and to fill him in on what was going on the Messer side of things. He'd known that Flack was seeing a department psychiatrist for anger management issues, but that hadn't stopped him from being genuinely surprised when, after the waitress had brought their drinks, Flack had opened that folder he'd brought with him and dropped a physician's report on the table.

"That's the official diagnosis," Flack said in disdain as he sipped his pop. "Based on his expert opinion and notes and what not from my past stints in anger management and some 'incidents' I've had over the years on the job. Explains why I am the way I am when I get pissed off. Why I totally freak on Sam and say nasty ass shit and then not remembering saying it ten minutes later."

"A psychological condition characterized by sporadic episodes of aggression, violence and destructive behaviour," Danny read off of the paper in front of him. "Are you kidding me? Come on. This is not you. This is not you at all."

"Hence the word borderline. I'm not fully there yet but I'm well on my way," Flack said. "And think about it Dan-o. Really think about it. Explains why sometimes when I'm out in the field and some perp says something stupid that should just roll off my shoulders I just snap. Remember Petrix DeRosier? Dealer I shoved off the swings just 'cause he got lippy?"

"Yeah…but…"

"No buts, Mess. I should have been able to just shake my head and turn the other cheek. Not get so offended by what some little piece of shit was saying. But I let him get under my skin and I let him gnaw away at me and work me into a state. I never should have done what I did. Especially in front of witnesses like that. I should have been the bigger man, right?"

Danny just shrugged.

"Also explains why I lose it at home so easily," Flack continued. "Why I'll freak out and put my fist through a wall or a door when Sam really gets on me."

"Better than putting it through her face," Danny reasoned.

His best friend frowned. "You think I'd actually do something like that?" he asked. "You think I'd actually smack my wife around?"

"I never said that," Danny replied. "I was strictly making an observation that it's better you bash a wall or a door than a human being. That's all I meant by that. I don't think you'd hurt your wife, Don. You're not like that. You'd never lay a hand on her and we both know it."

Flack gave a nod, his lips set in a grim, intense line. "That better have been all you were doing," he muttered.

"I'd never suggest you'd beat your wife," Danny said. "You don't have it in you to be like that. And I don't care what some goddamn shrink says about you. You do not have this…" he jabbed the tip of his index finger at the piece of paper in front of him. "…this Intermittent Explosive Disorder. That's just bullshit. You don't display any of these signs whatsoever."

"The key word here is borderline," Flack pointed out. "Borderline IED. He's not saying that I'm totally out of control and that I'm exhibiting every symptom on that list. Just that I do have some issues that are concerning and that he doesn't want getting completely out of control."

"You have a temper," Danny argued. "A bad temper. You've got your old man's Irish temper in fact."

"Yeah…and my old man wailed on his wife and kids when the mood struck," Flack reminded his best fried.

"You are not your father, Don. You are far from being anything like your father. And lots of us have bad tempers. I know I got my old man's Italian temper and Brooklyn's always been her fiery little self. Just 'cause you got a temper does not mean you got this IED crap. And that's just what it is. Crap. You do not have this disorder. And I'll go toe to toe against any shrink who tells me otherwise."

"Be my guest. Maybe you can also convince him that the moon is made of green cheese and that pigs fly. And that the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus are all real. 'Cause you saying that I don't have IED? Well you keep living in serious denial my friend."

"So say you do have this thing…this intermittent whatever the hell it is…what can the shrink do about it? So that it doesn't get worse?" Danny asked.

"I just keep going for therapy," Flack replied with a shrug. "I keep going to talk to him and I keep going to anger management and I learn how to calm myself down before I explode and I learn to get my anger and frustration out in more productive, non violent ways."

"Non violent ways," Danny snorted. "Yeah…right…even beating the shit out of a punching bag these days is considered too violent. Whatever happened when we could act like men and not get chastised because of how masculine and aggressive we are?"

"I don't know about you. But I don't need to be violent and mean to be masculine," Flack said. "But you're the last one to talk. We all know what a girl you turned into around mid 2008."

Danny frowned, and picking up the piece of paper, tossed it onto the pile in front of Flack. "I don't give a rat's ass what this says. You do not have any kind of psychological disorder."

"Well, my family doctor and my shrink say otherwise," Flack sighed. "As does a prescription with a years worth of repeats on it for Prozac."

"Department know you're on that stuff?" Danny inquired, and curiously plucked a second sheet of paper from the folder.

"It was the department shrink that wrote the scrip," Flack told him. "And you know what? I actually feel pretty good since I started taking it. I'm less on edge, my nerves aren't as shaky, my temper and my moods are more even. I feel more…I feel more in control of myself. And that's good for me and my family, Mess. Me being like this? Well it makes Sam more at ease when she's around me."

"So your wife only likes it when you're doped up?"

"No. My wife likes it when she's not walking on egg shells around me and she can speak her mind without me jumping down her throat. What the hell is wrong with you? What are you so negative about? I thought you'd be happy that things were finally looking up for me."

"I am…" Danny said. "I am happy that things are on the up and up for you. I just…this whole thing between Linds and Brooklyn is just grating on my nerves, you know? If Sam would just call her up and apologize…"

Flack frowned as he raised the glass of Coke to his lips. "What the hell does Sam have to apologize for?" he asked irritably.

"She was totally out of line with Linds," his best friend replied. "That whole thing with Kellan? Sam did not have to go off the deep end like she did."

Flack snorted, and shaking his head, took a long, refreshing sip of his pop. "Are you really that clueless, Messer?"

"I'm just saying that it's been over a month and…"

"Everyone knows how vulnerable and emotional Kellan is right now. How she's going to therapy to work out how she's feeling and to get a handle of herself. And everyone knows about how she hurts herself when she gets really upset. And how she's more than capable of hurting other people when she's in her moods. And Lindsay left her alone…"

"Kellan asked if she could watch t.v. and play in the basement and Lindsay let her and…"

"…and she was alone and she managed to get a hold of a pair of scissors. And she chopped nearly all of her hair off."

"It's just hair, Flack. Just hair. She didn't hurt herself or…"

"But she could have, Danny. She could have hurt herself. Or someone else. And thank God she didn't or we wouldn't be sitting her arguing about who fucked up and what happened 'cause of it. She was left alone when she was in a mood and she got hold of those scissors and she cut her hair. But it could have been worse and you know that."

"But it wasn't," Danny argued. "It wasn't worse and Brooklyn needs to just make amends already. Not hold grudges and overreact so much."

"You've seen Kellan's arms," Flack said. "You've seen Sam's arms. All the bite marks. All the bruises on Sammie and on Kallison 'cause Kellan kicks and punches them when she gets in a state. She threw herself on the sidewalk and intentionally bashed the back of her head off of it. So maybe Sam is holding a bit of a grudge. But she damn well sure ain't overreacting. I've got her back on this. A hundred percent."

"Look…" Danny sighed heavily and drummed his fingertips against the tabletop. "I don't want to fight about this with you. You know how bad I feel about Kellan being the way she is. No little kid should be going through that. But you and Sam…you and Sam brought this on by being the way you two are. All the fighting and the name calling and all the nastiness. That jump started all of this. And it shouldn't have taken this long to get her some help. That's all I'm saying."

"You think we intentionally held off on getting her to see someone?" Flack laughed dryly and shook his head. "We were on a goddamn waiting list for nearly four months. If it wasn't for Mac, we'd probably still be waiting. I'm sorry that my family can't be picture perfect like yours and you can't possibly understand what this is like. But don't sit here and bad mouth my wife and kids, Danny. 'Cause I got a lot of ammo of my own. A lot I could say about you and your wife."

"Fair enough…" Danny held his hands up in surrender. "If that's the way…"

"You know, I thought that by asking you to come here so we could hang out that we could try and fix whatever it is that's wrong between you and me," Flack said. "But apparently…apparently we've both just changed way too much and there's nothing we see eye to eye on anymore. I thought you'd be happy that Sammie and I were getting back together."

"You are?" Danny arched both of his eyebrows. "Since when?"

"Come on…don't act like you haven't heard the talk going around. One of my guys is taking over my lease in three weeks and I'm going back home. Everyone's talking about it. You can't tell me you didn't hear it."

"I did hear it. And you know what Flack? I shouldn't have had to hear it through the office grapevine. You're my best friend and I should have heard it from you."

"We haven't exactly been on the best of terms lately, Mess. What did you want me to do? Pull you aside and have a heart to heart with you about it? We've been dumped into the middle of what's going on between our wives and we're either Team Sam or we're Team Lindsay. Not saying that it's wrong. 'Cause we're obviously going to side with our wives no matter what."

"Obviously," Danny agreed.

"But I wasn't going to go stepping on any toes just to tell you that Sammie and I are getting back together. But I'm telling you now and I was hoping for a little support here."

"A'right…so then you don't mind if I'm honest with you."

"When are you not?" Flack asked.

"I think you and Sam are making a huge mistake," Danny told him.

The detective blinked.

"I think that by going back this soon, you're only setting yourself up for a huge fall. You're my best friend and your well being is what's the most important to me. You and my nieces and my nephew. And you and Sam can barely stand being in the same room with each other…"

Flack shook his head. "That was before," he argued. "Before I figured out what was wrong with me and I got on the right track to making things better. Before I…"

"What's wrong with you?" Danny asked. "What about what is wrong with her? Sam's not completely innocent in all of this. Look, I know you fucked up You fucked up huge. But Brooklyn…" he sighed heavily and raked his hand through his hair. "I just don't think that you and Sam getting back together while the kids are going through their issues is the right thing to do, a'right?"

"The kids are going through these issues 'cause we're not together," Flack pointed out.

"They started going through them before you walked out and you know it," Danny said. "You leaving just made it worse. And what's going to happen to those kids when you walk back in and things are good for a couple of weeks or a couple of months and then they just go down the shitter again? What's it going to do to them when mommy and daddy start hating on each other again?"

"Not gonna happen," Flack declared confidently.

"You don't know that. How can you…"

"I do now that, Danny!" the detective snapped. "I do know it 'cause both Sam and I have been working our asses off to make things better. We've been going to that counsellor and those group sessions and we've been seeing our own shrinks. We're dealing with our shit as a couple and our shit as individuals. We've worked damn hard at it and things aren't going to go back to the way they were. 'Cause we're both determined to not be like that again. To not do that to ourselves or our kids."

"And you think that everything's going to better when you walk back in the door? That you're not going to have the same old issues hanging over your head?" Danny asked. "Come on. Don't be so naïve Flack. Don't sit here and tell me that things are going to be perfect. That all of your problems are solved just like that. Have you ever thought that maybe you just aren't meant to be together?"

"I love my wife," Flack spat.

"And she loves you! I know how much the two of you love each other. How crazy you are about one another. I know all of that. But sometimes…sometimes two people can love each other to the ends of the earth but they just can't be together. And maybe that's you and Sammie."

"And maybe you're totally underestimating us," Flack argued. "Maybe I am going to walk back in that door and things are going to be perfect. I know that I'm not the easiest person to live with. And I know that Sammie…well she's downright insufferable sometimes. But I also know that I love her more than I ever thought I could ever love another human being. And I know that she loves me the exact same way. And that whenever I've needed someone, Sammie was there. Right from the beginning. Through thick and thin. No matter what. She's always believed in me, Danny. She's always given me a second chance whether I deserved one or not. And I can't just…" taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and ran his hands over his face. "I can't just walk away from her. I've never been able to. And I don't want to. I love her and I love my kids and this time…well this time it will work. I will make this work," he punctuated each of the last five words with vicious jabs of his fingertip against the table top.

* * *

Danny nodded slowly, letting his friend's determined words sink in. "Okay…" he said and leaned back in the booth they occupied. "Fine…but I'm worried about you, Don. And I'm worried about those kids. And I don't want this continuing. I don't want them girls coming to me anymore crying about how mommy and daddy hate each other and how they're scared you and Sammie aren't going to be together anymore. I don't want to be the one having to explain to them why they're parents are doing that to each other, and them, over and over again. I just can't do. So you and Sam either shit or get off the pot. Kapish?"

"Now you're the one doling out the threats?" Flack smirked. "Hasn't that always been my job? Haven't I always been the one putting a foot up your ass about Monroe?"

"I'm serious," Danny told him. "My nieces…my nieces mean the world to me and if you and Sammie fuck them kids up even more…"

"Sammie and I love our kids and we want to be a family," the detective said. "And we deserve that chance."

"You do," Danny agreed. "But if you fuck this chance up…"

"You'll royally kick my ass," Flack finished for him. "Gotcha. Hear ya loud and clear, Mess."

"A'right…" Danny said with a nod, and leaning forward, once again reached for the piece of paper sitting on the table top. "Darien Lake?" he asked, arching a quizzical eyebrow as he read the information in front of him.

"Sammie and I are taking the girls the weekend before school starts," Flack explained, and finishing off his pop, pushed the empty glass aside. Resting his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together. "Going to be a madhouse there but I already made some reservations for a camping site. We're going to leave Dawson behind. Adam said he'd watch him for the three days we'll be gone for."

"Nice little family outing," Danny commented.

"The girls won't be able to go on most of the rides 'cause of how small they are, but they've got a lot of kids things to do there," Flack reasoned. "And it gives us a chance to just get a way for a little bit."

"Must be nice," his best friend mumbled.

"You and Linds and the kids are welcome to come along if you want," Flack said. "It was just a quick decision on our parts. There's a lot of camping spots left if you all want to tag along. I don't know if we'd get anything close by to each other or…"

"That's the weekend Linds' parents are coming down," Danny told him. "So even if we wanted to…well even if we wanted to we couldn't."

"Linds' parents haven't been done in a while," Flack commented. "She must be excited about seeing them."

The CSI nodded. "She is. Kids are ecstatic too. But that's not the only reason why we wouldn't have been able to tag along."

Flack frowned. "Everything all right?" he asked. "You sound a little…"

"Lindsay's pregnant," Danny blurted out. "We just found out three days ago."

Flack's eyes widened and he nodded slowly.

"After Dawson came to live with you guys and that whole surrogate thing was pulled off the table, we just got to thinking that maybe, just maybe, another baby wouldn't be such a bad idea. And then after Hawkes died…well after he died it really put a lot of things into prospective, you know? Really made us appreciate each other and our family more and we decided that we were going to give it a try. And things were going pretty slow and we weren't having much luck and then three days ago…."

"What are you rambling for?" Flack asked with a laugh. "You're starting to sound like Adam. It's awesome news, Dan-o. Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks…I guess I just…I guess I was just a bit concerned about telling you because of how things happened with you and Sammie. After the girls. And Linds…Linds is worried about how to break the news to Brooklyn 'cause she's worried B's going to get all upset and…"

"Why would Sammie get all upset?" Flack inquired. "Sammie will be just as happy for you guys as I am."

"We were just…we were just thinking about it sympathetically. About how it tore her up to have to have that miscarriage and how you guys couldn't have anymore kids…"

"It happened," Flack said with a shrug. "It wasn't the end of the world. And she may have been a little jealous when you guys got pregnant with Makenna, but she got over it. She's going to be ecstatic for you guys. Trust me. You know how much Sammie loves babies. Can't get enough of them."

Danny nodded in agreement. "We just…we were just concerned is all."

"I appreciate that," Flack said. "And I'm sure Sammie will too. But we got over that a long time ago. It hurt at first. Hell, it hurt a lot for a long time. But we dealt with it. Those were the cards that God gave us and there was nothing we could do about it. We got our little girls. Our miracles. And when the shock and the hurt and the disappointment wore off…well we realized just how blessed we actually were and we were able to concentrate on what we had right in front of us instead of what we could have had. And Dawson…"

Danny arched both eyebrows and stared at his best friend, waiting for him to continue.

"Dawson wasn't the outcome of the best of circumstances," Flack admitted. "And he wasn't made out of love. But he…but he _is_ loved. By both of us. We're his mommy and daddy and we wouldn't give him up for anything in the world."

Danny smiled.

"He's my boy," Flack concluded. "Regardless of what circumstances found him in this world."

"Yeah?" Danny gave a laugh and a shake of his head. "Well you just make sure that you keep that boy of yours away from my baby girl, a'right? "Cause I don't want to have to be chasing your son down my front steps with a shotgun, you hear me?"

"How do I know it's not going to be your girl seducing my boy?" Flack chided.

"Good point. I forgot how easily seduced you Flack men are by beautiful women. And no…that wasn't a cheap shot at you about Jordan. I was making reference to you and Brooklyn. She had you the second she looked at ya, didn't she," he stated.

"Actually…she had me the second she bent over the trace lab during that whole scuba diving thing," Flack said with a grin. "She was this massive, ornery little bitch with this huge chip on her shoulder but man…when I saw her bending over and I got a look at that tattoo and a peek at that thong she was wearing…I was a goner."

"And let me guess," Danny laughed. "Instead of making yourself out to be a total pig in front of her, your wife still thinks that the first thing you noticed about her was her eyes and her smile. And that it was her bubbly, feisty personality that hooked you."

Flack nodded. "That's a secret I'll take to my grave," he declared. "I think it's safer for my manhood that she believes the whole eyes and smile thing."

"I think so too," Danny agreed. "So things are going good? With you and Brooklyn?"

"Things are going really good," Flack confirmed. "Really, really, really good. We got a date tonight, actually."

"A date, huh? As in a family thing or…"

"As in a mommy and daddy thing. Alone. Just us. In the privacy of my apartment."

Danny grinned. "I'd say use a condom but seeing as you two are already married and you can't exactly get her pregnant…"

Flack smirked.

"Good to hear that things are working themselves out," the CSI said.

"We're getting there," Flack told him "We're not quite at hundred percent yet, but we will be. What doesn't kill us will make us stronger, right? I gotta believe that. I gotta believe that all of this…all of this insanity came at us for a reason. Maybe we were meant to go through all of this to show us how much we meant to each other. To make us realize how much we loved each other and can't live without one another. It all happened for a reason. I gotta believe that."

"You know what I believe?" Danny asked his best friend.

Flack shook his head.

"I believe that the two of you truly love one another and that if you put your minds to it, you'll get over this. You'll look back on all of this twenty years from now and laugh about it. Well maybe not laugh about it 'cause there's something so sick and twisted about getting off on your own misery, but you'll look back and wonder how in the hell you'd ever found yourselves in such a mess. And that's when you'll realize just how damn lucky the two of you are that you found each other all those years ago."

A smirk tugged at the corners of the detective's mouth.

"Go on…" Danny sighed heavily. "Go on…laugh. I know you want to."

"It's not that," Flack chuckled. "It's not that I want to laugh. It's just that…it's just that I find it so hard to buy this romantic crap when it's coming out of your mouth, Messer. It just doesn't seem right hearing you wax poetic about life and love like this."

"What can I say?" the CSI shrugged. "I'm a study in contradiction."

"No..." Flack argued. "You just became a goddamn girl just like I said."

"Shut up," Danny grumbled, and reaching across the table, directed a swat at the back of Flack's head.

The two friends both laughed in earnest and leaning back in the booth, lapsed into a comfortable, companionable silence.

Danny picked up his glass and toasted his friend. "Good to have you back Flack," he declared.

The other man smiled and nodded. "Good to be back," he said.

* * *

**As usual, huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! And even those just lurking! I appreciate all of the wonderful reviews and words of support that you all have been heaping my way! Words can't express how much all of you mean to me!**

**Please R and R folks!**

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**Delko's Girl 88**

**Soccer-bitch**


	84. Two weeks notice

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK KIDS.**

**SO MY SELF IMPOSED HIATUS DIDN'T LAST LONG. I'M NOT EXACTLY BACK FULL TIME AND THINGS ARE STILL UP IN THE AIR, BUT THE MUSE CAME OUT TO PLAY FOR A LITTLE BIT AND THIS CHAPTER WAS THE RESULT. SHORTER THAN MOST AND NOT MY BEST, BUT I WANTED TO GIVE YOU GUYS SOMETHING. I'M ALSO WORKING ON SOMETHING JUST FOR FUN THAT HAS MY FULL ATTENTION AT THE MOMENT AND AN OLD CHILDREN'S STORY OF MINE THAT HAS CAUGHT THE ATTENTION OF A PUBLISHER. SO THINGS ARE A LITTLE CRAZY AT THE MOMENT IN RL. **

**A MASSIVE, MASSIVE HEARTFELT THANKS TO ALL OF THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE SENDING ME THEIR LOVE AND SUPPORT:**

**MICHELLE, DORI, CASS, HEIDI, CAITLIN (PADFOOT Cc), SAM (SPANKY), CHERYL (AXELLIA), MADISON, CRAZYMOO AND SO MANY, MANY OTHERS.**

**HUGE WELCOMES TO: WOLVES2D AND X3SUNNYDAAY**

**AND TO MY FELLOW HOCKEY FANS (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE): THE PENGUINS ARE STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS! WOOT! NEVER THOUGHT I'D LIKE A TEAM NAMED AFTER A BIRD THAT CAN'T EVEN FLY….BUT THE HOTNESS THAT IS CROSBY JUST MAKES IT ALL BETTER. SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING A PEN NAME CHANGE THAT PAYS HOMAGE TO MY NEW OBSESSION.**

**SLIGHT CROSSOVER THIS CHAPTER. COOKIES TO WHO GUESS WHAT CHARACTER AND WHAT SHOW HE CAME FROM**

* * *

**Two week notice**

"So while I'm turning in my sheets  
And once again, I cannot sleep  
Walk out the door and up the street  
Look at the stars beneath my feet  
Remember rights that I did wrong  
So here I go

Hello, hello

There is no place I cannot go  
My mind is muddy but  
My heart is heavy, does it show  
I lose the track that loses me  
So here I go."  
-Same Mistake, James Blunt

* * *

Scrawling his name to the final DD-5 report of the day, Flack flipped the folder closed and tossed it onto the pile of several on his desk, and clicking his pen closed, tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket as lay draped across the back of his chair. Clocking an astonishing amount of overtime in the past week alone had both infuriated the brass and secured him an early quitting time, and upon returning from lunch with Danny, he'd found his way to his desk with a strong cup of coffee and gotten down to business. Going through reports that had been sitting on his desk for a couple of days and were in desperate need of his approval before being sent to Whitmore for her to officially sign off on them.

"I want them signed, sealed and delivered by the time the clock hits four thirty," Whitmore had stressed over the phone that morning. "You don't walk out of that station house without making sure those reports are stunningly accurate, complete and ready for my signature. You've been slacking, Detective. And if you want to keep your Sargeant stripes, I suggest you concentrate more on work and less on home. Or your lack there of one. Understand me?"

He went through the corresponding log books, looking for inaccuracies between notes taken at scenes and what was written down on the reports. And thankfully finding no glaring problems. Any call that came in he handed off to the young detectives working underneath him. Despite the often glaring, heavy responsibilities that came with the title of Sargeant, one of Flack's small joys in his professional life was being able to shrug off the shit jobs and pass them along to someone else. If it was a slow day and he had some people to spare, he sent them to scenes in favour or keeping his ass parked behind his desk and making it look as if he was hard at work. If he didn't feel like making his way over to the lab or to the ME's office, he had someone else do it for him. A personal forensic valet service. And sometimes, when he was in a particularly lazy and shitty mood, he sent a uniform to grab him coffee. A move that wasn't popular among other detectives. Especially Scagnetti, who would always frown and ask him what the hell had ever happened to him. Who the hell had ever pissed on his cornflakes that morning.

"You gotta stop letting your personal shit affect you like this," Scagnetti had growled on several occasions, after yanking Flack outside for a smoke break. And to mostly rid his ass about what a miserable prick he was becoming. "You bring crap like this to work? This isn't you, Junior. You've never been like this. Ever. And if you want to keep your job, I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and shove the personal shit aside while you're on the clock."

That was easier said than done, Flack had learned. For the past eight years, he'd been able to keep a respectable edge between the two aspects of his life. At work, he was all business. There wasn't much to him past the badge and the gun and the icy glares and the smart ass comments. Off the clock, the second he stepped out the precinct door he was a husband and a father. The guy who took the garbage and the recycling out and who fixed things around the house. Who provided for his wife and kids and tried his damndest to make life as comfortable as possible for them. Even when Sam was so sick, he'd been able to -despite how difficult it was- leave the stress at home and concentrate on the job and nothing but when he was clocked in.

Jordan Gates -or the destruction of his 'relationship' with her- had been his ultimate demise. Suddenly his personal business became the talk of the precinct and the lab. Even guys in other stationhouses in other boroughs knew about what had happened. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Sam had snapped and made news of his affair public knowledge. He'd deserved it of course, but it had also shattered a chunk of the trust he had in her and had kick started his animosity and bitterness. Things have never been the same after that. Despite repairing his marriage and Sam and the girls moving back into the house, things had been different between them. While the love and the easy going bantering still remained, they had both found that they got under each other's skin quicker than before. That the more time they spent together, the less they could stand one another.

Of course, it hadn't been until they legally separated and sat down with a therapist that they actually realized all of that. That they'd been able to finally dig deep and get to their root of their problems. And the brutal honest and the ranting and raving had been oddly therapeutic. Bearing their souls to one another had not only opened the flood gates, but had broken the barriers in communication they'd been confronted with. They'd been able to start anew. Slowly building their trust and respect in each other with each step on that rocky, twisted path.

Nothing could ever change the way he felt about her. Flack knew that. There wasn't a damn thing or a single person that could ever diminish the love that he felt for her. A love that their separation had seemed to make even stronger. Impenetrable. He was a hundred percent devoted to her. And only her. And he routinely dodged offers of coffee and dinner from single women around the precinct and laughed off suggestions from his guys when they commented that they had a friend or a cousin or even a sister that Flack might be into. He didn't know how many times he had to tell people he wasn't interested. That he's main priority in his life was getting his marriage back on track. And that even if things totally fell apart and he found himself single, he wasn't in the market for a girlfriend. Or a second wife. Or even an easy lay. It was as simple as that.

Powering down his computer, Flack pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He gathered his suit jacket in one hand and the stacks of reports in the others and hurriedly made his way to the duty captain's office. He was anxious to get the hell out of there. Sam wasn't expected to show up at his apartment until seven, but he had small errands to run to make sure that their night alone was perfect and he wanted to take a shower and freshen himself up before she came knocking on his door. There was no way in hell that he was going to ruin his third chance. He knew that if he fucked things up this time, that was it. She wasn't going to allow him back into her life in order to stomp all over her heart. This was the last ditch effort and he was going to put his all into it. His sanity depended on it.

His life depended on it.

* * *

"Got a hot date or something?" John Sullivan, the grizzled veteran with twenty too many pounds on him and a chronically annoyed voice asked from behind his desk as Flack strode purposely through the door.

"With your daughter," the young detective replied, and smirked at Sully's furrowed brow and disgusted frown.

"You're not her type Flack," Sully retorted.

"Thank God…" he said, and stepping up to the older man's cluttered desk. "'Cause I'd really hate to have to cover her face with a paper bag just so I can bear being in the same room with her. Never mind the fact she'd crush me if she ever…."

"Keep your smart ass comments to yourself," the duty captain growled. "Judging by the way you keep your ladies, you'd be lucky if my daughter even gave you the time of day."

"Sully, your daughter is enough to turn me gay," Flack shot back. "Here's those reports that gotta get out to Whitford," he dropped them noisily onto the desk. "I'm getting the hell out of here. I've got plans and I can't afford anything messing them up."

"Brunette, red head or blond?" Sully asked, and leaning forward in his seat, snatched the first report off the top of the file and flipped it open

"Red head. Formerly a brunette. Looks smoking hot either way. Need anything else from me?" he asked as he headed for the door. "'Cause if not I'm…"

"Whitford's looking to transfer you," Sully called out, just as the detective had one foot out the door.

Flack blinked, taken back by the announcement. "She's what?" he asked, and stepping back into the office, closed the door behind him.

"She thinks that all of your personal problems are getting to be a little too much for you to handle," the older man said, as his eyes skimmed through the DD-5. "And I gotta admit, after seeing the way your numbers of solved cases have just dropped like flies..."

"Blame that on the lack of evidence and the craftiness of the perps," Flack said. "It's got nothing to do with the way I'm doing my job. I can't catch the crooks if I'm not being given anything to work with. Wanna blame someone? Go up to the crime lab and ask why the hell they're not giving me much to go on and then come and bitch to me about how I do my job."

"You're not on your game Flack," Sully told him. "And the department needs you to bring you're A-game each and every time you strap on that gun and put on that badge. We can't afford you to bring anything but your best. And lately…" he looked up from the reports and focused her dark eyes on the young man standing before him. "…lately you're not doing that. And that's unusual for you."

"Like I said. The lab…"

"The lab nothing. You're letting your personal shit ruin you. You're letting it get under your skin and burrow itself there and you're letting it affect the way you do this job. You're a damn good cop. Probably one of the best. And when I see your numbers just going down the shitter and I see the dust ups you're having with perps and your own colleagues…"

"I've got that under control," Flack informed him. "I'm seeing the department shrink and I'm on meds and I'm…"

"And Whitford feels that maybe this isn't the best place for you considering your issues," Sully cut him off.

"My issues?" Flack snorted. "What the hell does that mean? My issues?"

"It means that you're a fucked up mess at the moment and this is not the ideal place for you," the duty captain informed him. "In case you haven't noticed, your life is completely falling apart."

"My life is getting back on track," Flack argued. "It's taking longer than I expected to get it to where I want it to be, but things…things are finally going good, Sully. My wife and I…we're doing good and we're getting back together and we're going to be a family again. And once that happens and shit settles down, things will pick up around here. You know they will."

"And if things don't work out at home?" the older man asked. "What then? If despite your best of intentions you find out that your marriage just isn't going to cut it? What then? How worse are things going to get for you professionally? You sink any lower Flack and you're going to be at the bottom of the Hudson. Do you not realize how bad you've been lagging behind lately? How horrific you've been handling your cases and the people below you? Or are you hiding out under some fucking rock?"

"Look…I know that I haven't been at my best, but…"

"Your best? You have been so far from your best you've been off the fucking map!" Sully fumed. "I don't think you get just how bad you've been! I've seen rookie detectives do a better job than you! And I've been trying, Flack. Lord knows I've been trying. I have been patient and sympathetic. I have listened to you bitch and moan about your personal problems behind closed doors. I smoothed shit over with Whitmore and Gerrard when it came to your diagnosis and the meds you're on. I assured them that you had things under control and that you can handle whatever is thrown at you…"

"And I can. I can…"

Sullivan held his hand up to silence the younger man. "I have bent over backwards to accommodate you and your crap, Flack. And God knows I love you like you're my own. But you…" he sighed heavily. "You're time around here is running out. You're stepping on the wrong toes and pissing off the wrong people. And I never thought that I'd see you the way you are now. And trust me, it kills me that things are as bad as they are for you. That you and your wife are having the issues you are. And that your kids are suffering. But Don…I have to worry about my squad room now. I can't be putting everyone else behind you. I can't be running the place according to your moods and your problems. Understand what I'm saying?"

Flack nodded.

"Whitmore thinks the best thing for you is to ship you out of here. So that you're not working in the same place as your wife. Especially if things go south."

"Things aren't going to go south," Flack informed his superior officer angrily. "Things are far from going south, Sully! Sam and I are working damn hard to fix things! And things aren't going to belly up again. You have my word."

"And normally that word would be good enough for me," Sully said. "But I can't…I can't take the risk, Flack. And I can't sit back and watch you bottom out even more than you already have. I want to do what is best for you. And the best for you is not keeping you around here. Some people can handle workplace relationships, some can't."

"Are you kidding me?" Flack laughed. "Are you honestly kidding me? Sammie and I have been together for eight years now! And for eight years we've coexisted around here peacefully. We kept our personal shit out of here and we've dealt with our marriage and our kids and whatever else came up at home. Away from here. Has there ever been a time when we brought our crap into this place?"

"Other than Jordan Gates you mean?"

"That was a monumental screw up," Flack agreed. "I messed up huge. And you know what? I'm still making amends for that. With a lot of people. And with myself. But Sammie and I have always been able to keep our shit together and work just fine with one another. And we're doing fine now. We work the same scenes, we do witness interviews together, we interrogate together. So what in the hell is the issue?"

"The issue is that you're a quarter of your former self!" Sully snapped. "That's the issue! You are not the same person Don! You're not the same cop! And you are better than that. Way better. And the only thing that's going to save you is getting you the hell out of here and away from the instigator of the problems."

"My wife?" Flack fought to keep his temper in check as he bit at his bottom lip and paced the width of the office, his hands on his hips, his furious eyes locked on the older man. "You talking about my wife, Sully? You saying shit about my wife?"

The other man sighed heavily, and leaning back in his chair, held his hands up surrender. "Look, Don…I know that you've worked out of this precinct for years now. That you've been doing your thing alongside of the crime lab for a long time…"

"Nearly thirteen years," Flack said. "I've been working alongside of those people for thirteen years of my life. They're not just my colleagues. They're my friends and my family. And we've all solved a hell of a lot of cases together and we're part of each other's lives and…"

"And maybe that's the problem," Sully interrupted. "You've gotten too close to people. You've let things became way too personal. And I'm happy that you and your wife are working things out. That you're both getting your shit together. I am. But I can't take the risk of how bad things will get if they fall apart again. So I think that this transfer…well I think you going to work somewhere else is a good idea."

Flack nodded slowly, allowing time for the news to sink in. "So is this a done deal or what?" he asked.

Sully sighed, and leaned sideways in his chair, yanked open the top drawer of his desk. "This is a copy of Whitmore's request that she put into Sinclair a couple of days ago," he said, as he straightened into a sitting position and held the paper out towards the detective. "I was told not to say anything to you. Sinclair wanted to tell you personally. After he signed it."

"And you didn't say anything to them?" Flack inhaled sharply and shook his head as his eyes skimmed the paper in his hands. "You didn't vouch for me? You didn't get any of my guys or even Scagnetti to stick up for me? Put their two cents in?"

"Oh I did," the older man admitted. "And all of them told me the exact same thing. That you've been slipping big time and that a change of scenery will probably do you a world of good."

"Vice and drugs?" Flack asked. His eyes widening in anger and surprise as he flipped the paper around in his hands and storming to the desk, leaned over and shoved the information in his superior officer's emotionless face. "Are you fucking kidding me? Vice and drugs?!"

"They figured a total change of pace would be the best thing for you," Sully said.

"I've worked homicide for a hell of a long time! I've worked my way up the ladder and I've shed blood, sweat and fucking tears for this department! And this is how I'm repaid for that? This is how I'm treated when for the first fucking time I'm letting shit slip a bit?"

"Don…I know you're upset…"

"This is fucking bullshit!" Flack raged, and slammed the paper down on the desk. "One time! The one time I let myself be a human being and I let my heart rule my head this is what happens?! I'm declared unfit to serve within the homicide department?"

"No one said that, Don. We're looking out for your best interests here. We're concerned about you and no one likes what they've been seeing in the past few months. A change will be good for you. Being around different people, not working with your wife…"

"My wife has nothing to do with this. Things are going great with us and we've been working just fine together and you fucking know it! So what is this really about? Tell me what the real reason is here."

"We're concerned about you," Sully repeated. "We just want you to be at the top of your game and it's quite obvious that right now, homicide just isn't the place for you. Vice and drugs has an opening and they'd love to have you. Same pay rate, still a sergeant. Nothing changes there."

"Homicide is my life, Sully! This place has been my life for years and now I'm being shipped off like nothing I've ever done has mattered? All my busts, all my collars, all the murderers and the scums of society that I've helped bring in and none of that matters?"

"Of course it matters. You've gone good work with us Don. But…"

"But the second I become damaged goods you don't want me anymore," Flack finished. "Second that diagnosis came down it was game over for me. And don't you goddamn sit there looking at me like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"What do you want me to say Flack? You want me to sit here and tell you what the brass really thinks about you? What they really think about what the psychiatrist said?"

"You mean do I want you to be honest? That's a start. A real novel fucking idea."

"They think you're a loose canon," Sully admitted. "They think that you're one step away from doing serious damage to someone. Or even to yourself. That being in this line of work is only going to irritate your condition and make it harder on your mental health. That's how they feel Don. They feel that you dealing with this every day…with gore and death and evil…that it's just going to mess you up and make you totally useless to the department. To your family. And no one wants to see that happen. We don't want to see you snap. What good would you be to your wife and kids if that happened?"

"Give me a break," Flack snorted. "Since when did the department start giving a shit about my family? All they care about is if I'll go mental and embarrass them. That's all they care about."

Sully shook his head. "We care about you, Don. We care about you and your family. And doing this…doing this is for the best. And I think deep down, you know that."

"All I know is that this is the biggest sack of shit I've ever heard," Flack declared. "Not once have I ever shown to the department that I couldn't handle being here. All the insane, disgusting shit I've dealt with throughout the years and not once have I ever freaked out on someone. And now all of a sudden I'm public enemy number one? You think I'm going to go loco one day and start busting heads? Start putting bullets between peoples' eyes?"

"Don, you're overreacting."

"So maybe I am," Flack shrugged and back away from the desk. "Maybe I am overreacting. But I've put my fucking heart and soul into my job. I've done whatever I could for this department. I've put it before my wife and my kids. I've done nothing but sacrifice for this place and this is how I'm repaid in the end? Tossed out like yesterday's trash."

"We can go on and on about this, Don. We can keep going around in circles. This is what's going to go down and I just felt like I should give you the heads up. So it didn't just jump up and bite you in the ass."

"Well isn't that just so goddamn gracious of you," Flack snorted. "Considering you've only been sitting on this news for a few days now."

"I was only doing my job," Sully told him. "Whitmore asked me to keep it back 'cause Sinclair wanted to speak to you personally. He wanted to be the one to tell you."

"He's just a goddamn modern day saint," Flack muttered, and commencing his pacing of the office, ran his hands over his head and down his face.

"I know this is a lot to digest," the older man said. "I know it's a lot to take in at once. But isn't it better to hear it from me than to walk into Sinclair's office when you're summoned and get the bomb dropped on you there?"

Flack just snorted in response.

"Transfer will take place two weeks from Friday," Sully told him.

The detective sighed heavily. "And there's nothing that I can do about this? That you can do about this?"

"I'm sorry, Don. What's done is done. In this case…we're just looking out for you, okay? That's all we're trying to do here. We've got your best interests at heart."

"Sure you do," Flack grumbled. "Department's best interests at heart are more like it."

"Go home," Sully ordered gently. "Go home and have a few stiff drinks. Get some sleep. You'll feel better about this in the morning."

Taking in another deep breath, Flack released it slowly and then turned abruptly on his heel and headed for the door. "You know," he said, as his fingers closed around the handle. "All of this would have avoided if we'd gone to New Jersey like we planned."

"No Flack," Sully shook his head sadly. "All of this would have been avoided had you been a bigger man and just said no when some trifling bitch crossed your path."

The detectives shoulders and back tensed and his hand tightened around the door knob. Leaving Sullivan preparing for a verbal -or even a physical- onslaught. Instead, the younger man simply turned the handle in his grasp and yanking the door open, stomped out into the busy bullpen. Slamming the door with enough fury to shake the glass.

Captain John Sullivan sighed heavily and looked down at the wrinkled and tattered paper before him. _It's for the best, _he thought. _We're doing this for him. And only him. It's definitely for the best._

His brain firmly believed those words.

But his heart refused to follow suit.

* * *

**Well, I thought I'd do a shorter chapter in order to get my feel back for my stories. Things are pretty damn shaky at the moment. But I think I might be getting my groove back. A little at a time. So a huge thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. I appreciate each and every one of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Padfoot Cc**

**Wolves2D**

**wolfeylady**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Madison Bellows**

**x3sunnydaay**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Forest Angel**


	85. Do things really come in threes?

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS/FLACK OR WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL HER. AND THE FLACK TWINS. SO DON'T SUE ME. AND PLEASE DON'T SUE ME SIDNEY CROSBY OR THE PITTSBURGH PENGUINS. I ADORE YOU AND YOUR SKILLS, YOU'RE HOT AND HAVE THE BEST BOOTY I'VE EVER SEEN ON A GUY AND IT'S NOT ME BASHING YOU. IT'S THE CHARACTER OF FLACK. ALRIGHT? DON'T SUE. YOU HAVE WAY MORE MONEY THAN I DO. NOW THAT WE'RE ON THAT TOPIC, THINK I COULD BORROW A FEW BUCKS? LIKE A HUNDRED THOUSAND OR SO….**

**OKAY, SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FOLKS. THE MUSE TOOK OFF TO CABO WHEN SHE GOT TIRED OR ALL THE HATE AND DOWNRIGHT BLATANT BULLYING GOING ON AROUND THIS SITE. WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH SOME PEOPLE? SERIOUSLY. PROZAC AND STRAIGHT JACKETS FOR THEM ALL! AND SOME LESSONS ON HOW TO SEPARATE FICTION FROM REALITY. **

**NEVER JUDGE A MAN UNTIL YOU WALK A MILE IN THEIR SHOES. I DO THIS TO KEEP MYSELF SANE AND HAVE FUN. AND I HAVE MET SOME AMAZING FRIENDS WHO KNOW WHAT RL HAS BEEN HANDING ME AS OF LATE. AND IF SOME OF THE HATERS WOULD LIKE TO SWITCH SPOTS WITH ME FOR A WHILE, THEY'RE MORE THAN WELCOME TO. **

* * *

**Do things really come in threes?**

"Please come now I think I'm falling  
I'm holding on to all I think is safe  
It seems I found the road to nowhere  
And I'm trying to escape  
I yelled back when I heard thunder  
But I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say  
Let me say

Hold me now  
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking  
That maybe six feet  
Ain't so far down

I'm looking down now that it's over  
Reflecting on all of my mistakes  
I thought I found the road to somewhere  
Somewhere in His grace  
I cried out heaven save me  
But I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say  
Let me say."  
-One Last Breath, Creed

* * *

Flack was in a foul mood as he stepped off the elevator and onto the fourth floor of his apartment building in lower Manhattan. The twenty minute subway ride had felt like twenty hours with all the rage and disappointment that coursed through his body. He was furious with the department's decision to move him into a field that he had virtually little to no experience in. Save for the raid years ago on the Wilder Gang - a raid he'd been allowed to head because it was his CI that had tipped the department off in the first place- he'd taken part in three raids his entire career. He was homicide. He dealt with the messy, grotesque crime scenes and delivering the bad news to family members. He worked damn hard at putting the pieces of the puzzle together and delivering justice to the scum that inflicted pain and torture on innocent parties. He didn't go storming through doors clad in Kevlar from head to toe and armed to the teeth in search of weapons and drugs. And he most definitely did not do undercover.

It was the latter that worried him the most. The prospect of the department putting him on an undercover assignment away from his wife and his kids. Assignments that were gruelling and last months upon months at a time. He'd seen damn good cops go crazy being undercover. Guys that couldn't handle being away from home and not being able to talk to their wives and their kids to at least let them know that he was okay and to give some sort of empty reassurances that everything was going to be okay. That he was going to be home soon. He'd seen other guys develop dependencies to alcohol and drugs. Cops that had falling into the lifestyle they were pretending to possess and had ended up addicted to heroin or coke or crack. All to get their man.

Undercover had ruined their lives. And while he knew that he was emotionally strong enough to follow into habits that would destroy him, Flack knew that that the mere stress of being sent undercover would fracture the already delicate state of his marriage. There was a lot to consider before making his next move. He knew that nothing would change Sinclair's decision to transfer him out of homicide, but he also knew that didn't necessarily mean that Sinclair wouldn't consider a different department. In the morning, Flack was going to show up at the Chief's office and plead his case. Lay all of his cards out on the table and state his case about not going to drugs/vice. What would happen after that, he had no idea. But he had to decide what road he'd taken if Sinclair refused to send him somewhere else. Would he just throw his hands up in surrender and just accept the cards he'd been dealt? Or would he simply hand in his resignation and find a job somewhere else.

All scenarios to think about. Ones that his throbbing head just didn't even want to bother itself with at that point in time. All he wanted to do now, as he headed down the hallway towards his apartment, keys jingling as they dangled from his right hand, was take a few minutes to himself and relax. To take a shower and change and crack open that bottle of white wine clutched in his left hand. To think about whether or not he should just call his wife and tell her that he had to cancel their plans for the night. With the mood he was in, it wouldn't turn out to be the quiet and romantic evening they'd originally planned and had been looking forward to. Talk would turn to shop and he'd rant and rave about what had gone down that day, and the entire night would be ruined. And that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to be taking out his professional problems on his already overburdened wife.

Yet at the same time he knew that just coming clean and being open and honest about everything would be his best course of action. Sam would be pissed if she went into work the next day and heard about his transfer through the office grapevine. She'd be furious that he hadn't had enough respect for her and their family to go to her and tell her what was going on. And that would just in turn but unbelievable strain on their relationship. A relationship they were finally getting back on track.

_I'll take a shower and have a drink before I decide anything, _Flack thought, as he stepped in front of his apartment door and his fingers selected the proper key. Slipping it into the lock and then pausing before turning it, a frown on his face as he heard the sounds of life coming from his place. The radio in the kitchen tuned into the local Top 40 station. A knife softly banging against a wooden chopping board. The shuffling of feet and the clinking of dishes.

_Either I've got a really courteous robber that's making me dinner before cleaning my place out, or someone arrived early and decided to let themselves in,_ he mused, as he snapped open the lock on the door and removing and palming his keys, pushed his way into his apartment. He locked the dead bolt behind him and toed off his shoes. Leaving them by the side of the door before slipping out of his suit jacket and hanging it off of the door knob. He loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons on his shirt, along the those on his cuffs, and journeyed through the small foyer and into the small eat in kitchen. A grin curling his lips at the sight of his wife busying herself at the counter by the sink. Picking strawberries out of a container beside her before dropping them into a bowl of cold water and then drying them off on a paper towel before chopping them into quarters and placing them in a dish. She'd taken a shower after she'd arrived. Her hair was still damp and small plastic barrettes held the longer right side of her tresses away from her face. But what really captured his attention, was what she was wearing. Or what she wasn't wearing. Her bare legs were shapely and tanned and her hips and ass curvaceous in a pair of black lace boy shorts. On top she wore a black t-shirt that was gathered at the waist and held together with a hair tie. And the back boasted in big white letters, the last name CROSBY and the number 87.

Flack distinctly remembered teasing her about that t-shirt when she'd bought it eight years ago after the underdog Pittsburgh Penguins had won the cup over the favoured Detroit Red Wings. He'd been mortified when Sam had come home with that plastic Starter bag in hand and had proceeded to, a massive smile on his face, proudly show him what she'd purchased. As a die hard Rangers fan, he simply could not wrap his head around the fact that his girlfriend would ever buy something like that. And when he expressed his extreme disgust in what she'd done, she'd shrugged her slender shoulders and had slipped her new t-shirt over her head.

"I only bought it 'cause he's totally hot," Sam had reasoned. "'Cause I'd give a million bucks to corrupt that little momma's boy. Just call me Mrs Robinson."

He'd been horrified by her apparent lack of taste in hockey players and men in general. And for the past eight years he'd been dealing with her parading around in that shirt. The one piece of clothing she refused to part with no matter how faded and tattered it was becoming.

"I should be kicking your ass on out of here for wearing that," he said, as he dropped his keys on the microwave and sat the bottle of wine on the counter next to the small appliance.

"I would have thought having my ass on display would have made up for the shirt itself," she retorted, smiling at him over her shoulder.

"It almost makes up for you being such a traitor," he teased, and rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows, walked to the sink. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the back of her head. Inhaling the welcoming scent of her vanilla honey shampoo and the faint scent of the bar soap he kept in the shower stall. "What'cha doing here?" he asked, placing a kiss to the back of her neck before curling his arms around her waist.

"I'm making us dessert," she replied, and picking up a strawberry, took a bite out of it before holding it over her shoulder towards his mouth. "Fresh strawberries on sponge cake with powdered sugar and whipped cream," she said, gesturing towards the ingredients in question with the knife in her hand.

"Sounds amazing," he praised, and captured the strawberry and her fingers in his mouth.

Sam looked back at him once again, her eyes sparkling in both amusement and barely veiled desire as he sucked the berry from between her fingers and licked and suckled at her fingertips. Her heart rate sped up and her stomach fluttered. It was erotic in a simple, unassuming way. His blue eyes locked on her golden brown ones the entire time. She swallowed noisily, slightly unnerved by his intense gaze and her crumbling will power. She'd been struggling. Lord knows she'd been struggling. There were moments where she could barely stand being in a room alone with him. Where she just wanted to say to hell with the therapists' ideas and suggestions and just give in to the overwhelming, all consuming passion that he still managed to provoke in her. She needed, and wanted, that intimacy with him. To have that closeness and to feel that he still wanted her and still found her attractive. Not the act of love making itself, but those blissful, quiet moments afterwards. Wrapped in his arms and listening to his heart beat deep within his chest. Her eyes closed and her entire body tingling as he stroked her hair or glided his fingertips across her shoulders. Those private, tender moments that she wouldn't trade in for anything in the world. Where they were connected both physically and emotionally and it seemed as if nothing could ever tear them apart.

"Tastes pretty good too," he said, his voice low and tinged with his own mutual desire. His large hard curled around her dainty wrist and his tongue explored every inch of her thumb and forefinger.

"I think you need to…" her words came out as pathetic squeaks and she cleared her throat and fanned herself with her free hand. Hoping both actions would work in tandem to combat her blazing hormones. "I think you need to pour me a glass of that wine," she finally managed, pointing towards the bottle with the knife.

He laughed, and releasing her hand, pressed a kiss to her temple before settling his lips next to her ear. "No more dessert before supper?" he asked, as both hands came to rest on her hips. His fingertips brushing back and forth against the skin just below the hem of her panties before his hands slid slowly down her thighs.

"I don't want to ruin your appetite," she replied, biting her bottom lip in a vain attempt to compose herself.

"Actually, if anything I'm looking to increase my appetite," he said, as his hands slid over the front of her thighs, across to the sides and then around to the backs. "Think you could help me with that?" he asked, as his tongue traced the outer edge of her ear.

"I think that…" God, she wanted nothing more than to just give it to what she was feeling. To just re-discover him. And herself. Yet at the same time she was afraid that indulging and taking that step would only hinder their healing. That it would somehow stall, or completely halt, their progress. "I think that you need to just go stand on one side of the kitchen and I'll stand on the other."

"Quit playing so hard to get," he whispered. "It's been a hell of day. A brutal day. And I come home and find you here…like this? Wearing just underwear and a t-shirt and you expect me to not want to do anything to you?"

"I just don't think we're ready for that," she argued meekly. "I don't think it's the right time for us to be doing something like this."

"You know what I think?" he asked, and reached around the front of her to yank the hair tie off of the front of the shirt, the black fabric tumbling down over her hips and ass and nearly reaching her knees. "I think you need to get that poor excuse for a shirt off of you. Can't have a Crosby lover in my place. Sorry."

"It's just a shirt," Sam argued. "It's just…"

"If it's just a shirt, then obviously you don 't have a problem with getting rid of it," Flack said, his hands insistently pulling up the bottom of the tee.

"You just don't take no for answer, do you?" she asked exasperatedly.

"I didn't hear a no," he replied. "I heard a couple of half assed reasons for why you're not just giving in to what we both know you're feeling. To what we're both feeling. But I didn't exactly hear you say the word no."

She sighed heavily, and dropping the knife onto the cutting board with a loud clatter, turned around to face him. "Maybe because when it comes to you I just don't know how to say that," she quietly admitted. "And maybe in some way…maybe that's caused some of what's wrong between us."

"There's nothing wrong between us," he said, his fingers toying with the edge of her t-shirt. "We've been doing good, Sammie. Really good. And I just…call it weak or call it pathetic, but I can't stop myself from wanting you. There's never been a time I haven't wanted you. And after the day that I've had…after the day that I had and then walking in and finding you like this…"

"It's not weak or pathetic to need someone Don," she informed him. "It's not weak or pathetic to want someone."

He nodded as he considered her words, then removing one hand from the bottom of her shirt, laid it on the side of her face. "I want you, Sammie…I need you…" he said, his eyes searching hers, his thumb trailing lightly over her lips.

She smiled and placing her hand over his, turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss to it. "I need you too," she whispered. "And I've always wanted you."

He leaned in to kiss her, their lips briefly touching before she abruptly jerked her face away. "Sammie…" he sighed heavily, and closing his eyes, rested his forehead against hers. "What more do you want from me, babe? I'm trying here. Really, really trying. And the day I've had…you've always been the one to see me through things like this. Don't shut me out now. Don't turn away from me and shut yourself off like this."

"I'm not shutting you out," her hands rested on the side of his face as she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'm not…I'm just…there's some things that we need to talk about, Donnie."

"Things? What kind of things? Like things with the kids? Things with us? What…?"

"Things with me," she told him. "And I need you to…I just need you. In every possible way. But I just…"

"You're not making any sense," he said, and pressed feathery kisses along her jaw line. "This is the most cryptic conversation we've ever had."

She turned his face towards her. "I need to know that this effort that you're making, when it comes to us…I need to know that this is the real deal. That this time no matter what happens between us, you're in this, our marriage, for the long haul."

"I'm in this for forever," he told her. "You know that. I wouldn't have done all of this, put myself and you and our kids through sheer hell if I didn't want this to work out. If I didn't want us to be together. I would have just given up a long time ago and cut my losses. So what…?"

She silenced him with a kiss. Apparently pleased, and accepting of his answer. Her hands slid along his cheeks and travelled to the back of his neck where they locked together tightly as her tongue pushed aggressively and hurriedly into his mouth. One of his hands tangled in her hair as the other settled on her hip. His heavy body pushing her back against the counter as her fingers now combed through his hair and her nails scraped against the back of her neck.

He broke out of the kiss when the need for air became overwhelming, and as mouth found the side of her neck and his hands slid down her hip and under her shirt to caress her silken skin, he felt her shudder against him and both of her hands sneak between them to yank his shirt from the waist of his dress pants.

"Let's get this ridiculous goddamn shirt off of you," he said, his hands grabbing the bottom of the item in question and yanking it up and over her head. Letting it fall to the kitchen floor in a puddle of black fabric. "And…" his fingertips grazed against her smooth stomach, one dipping below the waist of her boy shorts. "..I think we should get rid of these things too."

She simply smiled, then closed her eyes and sighed as his large, strong hands peeled the shorts off of her tenderly, his palms gliding down the backs of her thighs as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of her. Shivering at the sensation of his warm, moist lips against her stomach and his fingers travelling down the backs of her legs and down to her ankles. Every sense, every emotion was on high alert. Her body was tense and throbbing and her mind swimming. Her legs moved on their own accord as she lifted one foot, then the other, enabling him to peel her panties off the rest of the way. His breath was warm on her bare skin and his touch scalded her as his hands began their ascent up her legs once again. His lips blazing a torrid path along one thigh. She tunnelled her fingers in his hair and leaned back against the counter, afraid her trembling limbs would give way underneath her.

Flack's hand hands settled on her ass. He pressed a kiss to her fluttering stomach and looked up at her. "Still want to talk first?" he asked curiously.

Her eyes flickered open and she shook her head.

"I want you to make me feel alive again," she whispered.

* * *

The bedroom was bathed in sunlight and silent save for their harsh breathing and the pounding of their hearts. Flack lay staring up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. His naked body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his chest heaving from excursion. Somehow they'd manage to stumble out of the kitchen and through the living room and down the narrow hallway, both of their greedy, anxious hands working at divesting himself of his clothes. They'd pushed their way into his bedroom, lips and tongues locked in a frenzied battled, breaking apart only when they'd tumbled backwards onto the unmade bed.

He wasn't ashamed to admit that it had been over in a matter of minutes. The months of self imposed abstinence conspiring against then and making for a less than memorable moment of reconnecting. It had been desperate and fast, yet wholly fulfilling. Leaving them both gasping for breath and their joined bodies convulsing and their hearts threatening to burst out of their chests. It was the start of something new. As quick and intense as it had been, there'd been a bond formed between them. Something solid and impenetrable. Rediscovery that had led to something far more profound and long lasting.

He listened to the breathing beside him. Watched out of the corner of his eye as her back rose and fall with each gulp of air her lungs took as she lay on her stomach. Perspiration glistening on her skin and thoroughly soaking her hair. Rolling over onto his side, he propped himself up on his elbow, and reaching out, ran a gentle hand along her back. His fingertips slowly and deliberately traced the massive tattoo on her lower back. Covering every square inch of colourful and intricately designed art that graced her body.

"Baby?" his voice was quiet and concerned as he ran his knuckles up her spine. "You okay?"

She nodded, and turning her face towards him, smiled gently.

"I wasn't too…rough?"

"You were," she confirmed. "But it's okay. I wanted you to be. And I know you wanted to be."

He couldn't deny that. "I shouldn't have been like that," he sighed. "I didn't want our first time in months to be like that. I shouldn't have treated you like that."

"It doesn't matter how we do it Donnie," she said. "Because it's always between two people that love and respect each other. It's not like we're complete strangers meeting for the first time or something."

He gave another sigh.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Rolling over onto her side to face him, she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. "You look…I don't know…you just don't look like yourself."

"It was just a really shitty day," he told her. "Exceptionally shitty, in fact."

"A tough case?"

"Just a few little things all bunched together to make one huge crappy ass thing," he said.

"And let me guess…you're not in the mood to talk about it right now."

Flack grinned. "You know me so well."

"Better than you know yourself most of the time," she mused.

He nodded in agreement and combing his fingers through her hair, kissed her softly. "Does that make you upset?" he asked. "That I don't want to talk about it?"

"Is it that you don't want to talk about it ever or that you just don't want to talk about it now?" she countered.

"I just don't want to talk about it right now," he replied. "I just…I want us to just not worry about anything that has to do with work right now. Think we could do that? Just lie here and not talk shop?"

She smiled and nodded.

"You never told me why you came over so early," he said. "I mean, other than you using the spare key I gave you to get in and make us dessert."

"I just wanted to be here when you got home from work," Sam told him. "Adam had the day off today and my parents stopped by so I…"

"So you needed to escape from them," Flack concluded.

"In part. But I wanted to be here when you got off. I just wanted to come here and pretend like we're a normal couple starting out all over again. Like we're just some couple starting the whole dating thing. Forget all about separations and therapy and Kellan's issues. Just come here and think about us. Concentrate on us for a change."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"So Adam told me to take off. To just escape for a while," Sam continued. "And…well…here I am."

"Here you are," Flack said, and buried his face in the hair at the top of her head. "I'm glad you're here baby," he whispered.

"So am I," she told him and pressed her lips against his Adam's apple. Giving a long, content sigh, she snuggled in tightly. Nestling her head under his chin and wrapping an arm around her torso and draping a leg over his thigh.

"So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, after several minutes of companionable silence. "Is it something serious or…"

"It's something serious," she confirmed.

"Okay…something to do with me and you or…?"

"Something to do with me," she told him.

"Something to do with you and work? Or…"

"Something to do with me and my personal life," she said. "Or should I say, my well being."

Flack frowned. He didn't like the sounds of that. "Are we going to keep playing this little game?" he asked, stroking her hair softly. "Twenty questions? Are we going to keep going until I figure out what's wrong with you?"

"I had to go in to see Doctor Baker today," she told him.

"The neurologist? Why?"

"Apparently he'd put a rush on my MRI results," she said.

"Okay…" he swallowed noisily as his heart hammered in his chest. "So what did he say?"

"The initial spot? The one on the brain stem?"

Flack nodded.

"He said that it hasn't gotten any bigger and that it looks like it may have shrunk a little bit."

"That's good news babe," he enthused, rubbing her shoulder. "Amazing news. So that means it's probably not something majorlly serious, right?"

"Right. But…"

Flack sighed heavily. "Why's there always got a be a but when we're involved?"

"He found something else," Sam's voice was eerily calm, a stark contrast to her trembling body. "Another spot…a mass….on the pituitary gland."

He felt his entire body tense and his heart and lungs constrict as the full weight of her words hit home.

"He says that's why I've been the way I am. The headaches, the double vision, how I'm gradually losing my eyesight." Sam continued. "Because the pituitary gland controls so much and is charge of so many hormones in the body that…"

"How in the hell did he not see something like that?" Flack asked, struggling to keep calm. "How in the hell….?"

"He doesn't know. He said that it's most likely been there for a while. For at least six months to a year."

He laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of that. "Six months to a year? Are you fucking kidding me? That long and he never noticed a damn thing in all the MRIs you've had?"

"He says that they were probably so intent on the spot on the brain stem that they didn't look at any other part."

"Well that's just fucking great," Flack snorted and rolled over onto his back. "A half ass brain specialist doing a half ass job of looking after you. Nice. Isn't it his goddamn job to notice everything?"

"Donnie…" she sighed and reached out to rub his chest softly. "Don't…"

"Don't what?" he asked angrily. "Don't get upset? Don't be pissed that your doctor is a fucking tool? Don't worry about you?"

"I never said…"

"So what now?" Flack inquired. "What do they do now? What do we do?"

"A biopsy is the first thing," she explained. "To see if it's malignant or benign. Benign means that it's not life threatening and can be taken care of easily and malignant means that…"

"I know what those words mean!" he snapped. "I know what it means when something is malignant! That it's cancerous and it'll spread and it will most likely kill you. I know that!"

"There's treatments, Don. There's chemotherapy and radiation. Things to battle it. And there's surgery to remove it if it's not too large and taking it out won't cause some kind of permanent damage."

"Jesus Christ…" he muttered, and ran his hands down his face. "This is fucking nuts. How in the hell can you be so calm about this?"

"Because someone needs to be," she said. "I mean you're already freaking out and…"

"I'm freaking out because you're my wife!" he bellowed. "I'm freaking out 'cause my wife and the love of my life is telling me that she's got a goddamn tumour in her head! And you expect me to not freak out about this?"

"I know it's a shock, Don. And maybe that's why I'm so calm. Because I'm so shocked. But I…" she fought back tears. "But I'm always really, really scared and the one time that I needed to feel safe and secure and to make you make everything better…"

"I can't make this better, Sammie. I can't kiss this away. I can't wrap my arms around you and make it disappear."

"No…you can't. Be you can let me be scared and you can wrap your arms around me and tell me everything's going to be okay. Even if you don't honestly believe it."

He sighed heavily. Then closed his eyes briefly in an effort to compose himself.

"I need you, Donnie," she said. "More than I've ever needed you in all the years that we've been together. I need to feel that…I need to feel that no matter how bad this might get, you'll always have my back. That this time if I do get sick…that this time you won't bail on me. That I can count on you."

His eyes snapped open and focused on her. On her terrified face and her trembling body. On that scared little girl trapped in a the body of a woman trying so hard to be strong and brave.

"I need you," her whisper was tortured. And broken.

"I got you baby," he said, and reaching out, wrapped both of his arms around her slender body and drew her into his tight, protective embrace. "I got you…I'm not going anywhere…we'll do this…we'll get through this…together…"

She sniffled noisily and curled her arms around his torso and buried her face in his chest. Finally giving in to the tears that now trickled down his bare skin.

"We'll get past this," he promised, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Hoping that his hallow words didn't betray the sheer terror that threatened to shatter his heart.

* * *

**I want to extend my huge, heartfelt thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing. And even those that are just lurking. I truly appreciate all of the support and kind words at a time when bullying and hate seem to be consuming the entire CSI:NY board. It's a huge boost to know that so many people love this story and will continue to support me regardless of what a select few have to say.**

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

**afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**CSINYMinute**

**CrazyMoo97**

**x3sunnydaay**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**Hardylover7477**

**Forest Angel**

**Wolves 2D**

**xSamilciousx**

**wolfeylady**


	86. If tomorrow never comes

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. ALL CHARACTERS FROM THE SHOW ARE OWNED BY CBS. THAT INCLUDES DANNY MESSER AND LINDSAY MONROE OR WHATEVER SHE'S CALLED THESE DAYS. CBS OWNS THEM. SO UNTIL CBS TELLS ME THAT I ( AND ALL THE OTHER AUTHORS ON THIS SITE) CAN'T WRITE THEM ANYMORE, I WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO. I ALSO DON'T OWN THE CHAPTER TITLE. THAT BELONGS, ORIGINALLY, TO GARTH BROOKS.**

**I DO OWN SAMANTHA FLACK AND THE FLACK TWINS AND BABY DAWSON.**

**I WAS GOING TO DO A HUGE RANT ABOUT HATE AND IGNORANCE AND THE CRAP THAT IS GOING DOWN ON THIS SITE, BUT I DECIDED INSTEAD TO BE THE BIGGER PERSON AND TAKE THE HIGH ROAD. I JUST SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE TIME OR THE TOLERANCE FOR IT AND INSTEAD, WISH TO CONCENTRATE ON THE POSITIVE. ON ALL OF MY FANTASTIC READERS, SUPPORTERS AND FRIENDS. WHO CONTINUE TO ENJOY THIS STORY AND WHO HAVE GIVEN ME SUCH A CONFIDENCE BOOST. SO TO ALL OF MY INCREDIBLE FOLLOWERS AND FRIENDS, I LOVE YOU ALL AND THANK YOU SINCERELY FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.**

* * *

**If tomorrow never comes**

"If I were to die today my life would be more then okay  
For the time that I spent with you  
It's like a dream come true  
If this was a last goodbye  
No more tears to dry  
I would say it one more time  
It's been more then fine  
How could've known  
How could've shown

Say what you will before it's too late  
Say what you will  
Say what you will before it's too late  
Say what you will

If you were to walk away  
Know you couldn't stay  
Think of all the times we've had  
All the good and bad."  
-Say What You Will, Damhnait Doyle

* * *

"I haven't told anyone else," Sam said, as she absentmindedly drummed her fingernails against a tall, frosty glass of pink lemonade.

They'd stayed in bed for an hour following her confession. Wrapped in each others arms while bathed in the warm, ethereal rays of sunlight that streamed through the window. No further words had been spoken. Whether it be about the state of her health or the fear and uncertainty of what now lay ahead of her and their family, or about the news that Flack had himself had been handed before storming out of Sullivan's office. The mortal shock that his wife had delivered had erased all disappointment, anger and frustration that he had had before stepping through the front door of his apartment. His transfer simply did not matter anymore in the grand scheme of things. A move to vice/drugs had at that moment held a minuscule amount of importance as his life was concerned. And as the force of her news hit, the anger and the frustration he'd harboured for Whitmore, Sinclair and even Sullivan had shifted solely onto the doctor who'd so massively screwed things up.

For that hour he'd once again taken on the role of monster slayer and protector. For a few minutes, he'd said the right things and had given the appropriate words of comfort, support and confidence before they'd lapsed into silence. He'd held her tightly in his arms and had stroked her hair and her back. He'd held her teary face delicately in his hands and pressed feathery kisses to the top of her head. To the bridge of her nose. To each eye and cheek in hopes of clearing the salty tears away. To her trembling chin and lips. To her furrowed brow. In that sixty minutes, they'd been brought closer together than they'd ever thought was possible. Words hadn't been needed. Everything he felt and thought, every emotion and every fear flowed out of his body through his lips and his gentle finger tips.

And when the moment had passed, when she'd been empowered by his strength and the safety and security his mere presence provided her with, she'd untangled herself from his arms and had sat up and had given him that brilliant, glowing smile that had been absent from his life for so long. It was heart warming and genuine and…angelic. Sitting there, with the sunlight cascading through the window and casting a glow on her pale cheeks and that pure, innocent smile on her face, she had seemed almost other worldly. As if a part of her had found a sense of peace and serenity wit the cards that she'd been dealt. That she had come to accept all that now lay ahead of her. Whatever the outcome.

An acceptance that Flack simply was not prepared to embrace. Because acceptance meant surrender. It mean conceded defeat to whatever was beyond his control. And he was not about to lose control. Over himself, over the illness that plagued his wife. Over their future or that of their children. He would not and could not lie down and just let her slip away.

For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.

To death do us part.

And nothing in the world could cause him to break the vows he'd made. He'd betrayed her once. He wasn't going to do it again.

It had been Sam's idea to go out for dinner. Their original plan -long before pent up aggression and emotional and physical need had taken precedence- had been to order in some Thai or Chinese, light some candles and down a bottle -or two- of wine and simply sit back and watch where the night took them. While their thoughts never strayed far from their children, it was somewhat therapeutic to be alone. To do couple things. As if they were just newly starting out and getting to know each other all over again. He'd initially hedged at the idea of an evening out at first. After the bomb she'd dropped on him, the last thing he'd felt like doing was venturing out into public and seeing people happy and hearing them laugh and watching them enjoy life when his own was in such upheaval. But one look into those sparkling eyes had convinced him that while though challenged, his life as he knew it was far from over.

They'd taken a shower, and after towelling themselves off and getting dressed - he in a pair of khakis and a short sleeved navy blue, white and yellow striped shirt, unbuttoned and un-tucked over a simple white t-shirt and she in an orange sorbet coloured soft cotton sundress with a halter back that skimmed the tops of her knees that she'd left at his apartment during her most recent overnight stay with the kids- they'd left the apartment hand in hand. After a leisurely stroll along the edge of the lower east side of Central Park, they'd found an empty table for two on the busy outdoor patio of an Italian restaurant they'd always loved to frequent when they were just a couple eight years ago.

"I honestly don't know what to tell people," Sam continued, her eyes hidden behind a pair of large framed sunglasses. Menu open yet ignored in front of her. "We don't exactly know what's wrong with me and I'm worried that if I do tell them about the spot…I just don't want to be anyone's pity party, Donnie. I don't want them to talk about me behind my back as soon as I leave the room. Or when I'm walking down the hall. 'Oh there goes that whiny, cry baby Samantha Flack. Bringing her problems down on everyone else. Guilting us into making people feel sorry for her'. Who needs that shit?"

"No one is going to say that," Flack told her, his eye observing his wife from behind his own shades. He noticed how she frequently massaged her right temple with the tips of her index and middle finger and how her left hand shook each time she raised her glass to her lips. And he wondered how much of each behaviour could be blamed on her frayed nerves and fright, and how much was directly caused by what was going on inside of her head. "People that really love you and care about you don't think things like that, Sammie. They'll worry about you and ask questions. But only because they care. You really think anyone that's close to you will say shit like that?"

"You mean other than my mother?" she asked.

"Your mother's just a waste of valuable breathing space," Flack replied, and taking a sip of his pint of Guinness, sat it down on the beer coaster on the table. "Who cares what she says? Although I'm sure she's pissed that you and I are working things out. Considering how she so badly wanted to throw a 'Ding Dong the Asshole's Dead' party when we split up."

"I'm past caring about what my mother thinks or says," Sam sighed. "About anything."

"The people that matter most aren't going to say things about you," Flack assured her. "Danny and Lindsay, Mac and Kelli, Mari, Scagnetti, your brother. Not one of them are going to get mouthy. Anyone beaks off and Monroe will have their ass. Trust me on that one. She's like this protective, ferocious pit bull when it comes to you. She's slightly terrifying, you know."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I'm just glad that we worked things out," she said.

"All friends and even family have shitty times," Flack reasoned. "You know how many times I've wanted to lay Messer out in the past fifteen years that I've known him? If I was to write down instances, details, dates, times…I'd fill up ten log books. Yet we're still boys. And who gives a crap about people that don't like you? That's their prerogative. Life would be way too boring if we were all universally loved."

"Maybe. But a life without hate would certainly be easier," she said.

Flack shrugged. "Sure…but come on Sammie? When have I ever backed down from a challenge? Or from someone causing me grief? You and the kids grief for that matter? Notice they don't get very far when your bodyguard steps up to the plate, huh?"

"Yeah…no one wants to mess with the big, bad homicide detective," she grinned, and raising her drink to her lips, frowned and turned red from embarrassment when her trembling hand caused her glass to smack hard against her teeth hard enough to send lemonade splashing over the edge. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't…"

"Don't worry about it," Flack said, and leaning across the table, wrapped one hand around the glass and placed the other under her chin. Enabling her to take a drink before taking the glass away and setting it on the table for her. "Don't ever apologize for stuff like that," he told her, and removing the silverware from on top of the cloth napkin at his place, used the corner of the soft red fabric to gently wipe the sticky beverage off of her chin. She was embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed crimson and tears threatening in her eyes. "Baby…" he hooked a finger under her chin and turned her face up towards him. "Don't ever feel like you have to say sorry, okay? Especially to me. It's no big deal, alright?"

She gave a shaky smile and nodded.

Setting the napkin down, Flack glanced around at the nearby tables, and spying an unwrapped straw left by a customer on the table behind him, twisted his body around and scooped it up. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said, as he turned back around in his chair, and peeling the paper off of the straw, popped it into her drink before crunching the wrapper into a tight ball and dropping it in the table.

"What is happening to me?" she whispered. "What is going to happen to me?"

"Nothing," he assured, and laid a large, strong hand over her tiny, shaking one. "It's going to be okay, Sammie. Whatever this thing is…it's going to be okay. We'll get whatever you need to fight it, alright? You're not going to go through this alone. I promise you. I'm not going anywhere."

"What do we tell the girls?" she asked. "I mean the biopsy is no big deal, but if they need to and can remove it…" she sighed. "Donnie the thing is like three centimetres. They already told me they can't take it out the easy way. They'd actually have to go through the skull. That's major surgery and…"

"And if that's what they need to do, then we cross that bridge when we get to it," he gently interrupted. "Right now, we concentrate on this whole biopsy thing. We do that first and worry about everything else later. Have they scheduled it or…"

"Three weeks from Friday," she told him. "Nine in the morning at Cedars Sinai. I'll have to be in for a couple of days. Maybe more. It depends what the results say and if they feel they need to remove it right away. If they can get a neurosurgeon in on the weekend, they'll do it than."

"I'll put in for some personal time," Flack said. "I'll take a few weeks off. I've got left over vacation time and I can use that for compassionate reasons. I mean, if that's what you want me to do. If you want me to come home and look after you and the kids. I know Adam is there and I'm sure your folks would…"

"Don, you're my husband. You're the only person that really matters. I love Adam but…I love you. You're my forever. You're the only person I want with me while I go through this."

"And I'll be there, Sammie. Every step of the way. You don't have to worry about that, okay?"

She nodded. "But the girls. What…?"

"We tell them that you've got something in your head that the doctors need to take care of," he said. "We tell them the only way the doctors can get to it to make you feel better is to have you stay in the hospital for a bit so you can have an operation and get well enough to come home."

"But they'll have to shave my hair off," she fretted. "That might traumatize Kellan and Kallison. What will that do to them? To see me like that?"

"Sammie, our daughters will understand, okay? If that's what has to be done, then it gets done. Plain and simple. The girls…you're still their mommy whether you have hair or not."

"But how will they be able to look at me? How will you be able to look at me? How…" she self consciously touched the back of her head as she spoke.

"It's just hair," he told her. "Just hair. It doesn't bother me and it won't bother them. You know what will do? We'll buy you all sorts of bandanas and scarves to wear over your head. Every colour, every pattern imaginable. It's only hair, baby. It will grow back."

"And what if it is something worse," she said. "What if the biopsy shows that it's something horrifically bad and they do remove it successfully but I need further treatment. Hard core, aggressive treatment. I'd probably have to be in the hospital a lot longer. What will the kids do if I'm gone that long? That won't be good for them and I…"

"Sammie, the kids will be fine. I'll be there. Your brother will be there. Your parents…" his jaw clenched at the mere thought of her mother having such an active role in their lives. The woman was a mean, spiteful and ignorant bitch. And he knew that Sam being sick wouldn't change the vicious and condescending ways in which her mother treated her. In fact, he was pretty sure that Lynne would capitalize on her daughter's vulnerabilities and become ten times worse.

"My parents don't have to have anything to do with this," Sam told him. "At least not my mother. There must be something we can do to keep her away from the hospital while I'm in there. Some kind of court order or something from hospital security that says she can't be there or…"

"I'll take care of your mother," he vowed. "Don't you worry about her. Don't worry about anything or anyone else other than yourself. And as far as it being something worse and you needing some kind of aggressive treatment…we're just getting way ahead of ourselves thinking like that. We're just getting ourselves all worked up and we don't even know exactly what's wrong with you. So let's just take things one step at a time. The biopsy first, everything else after that."

"But what will happen to me if…" she chewed her bottom lip nervously. "I mean I know what will happen to me. But the girls and Dawson. You. What will happen to all of you if…"

"Let's not talk about that okay?" he stroked the top of her wrist with soft fingertips. "I don't even want to think about that. Al that I want to worry about right now is finding out what's going on. That's all I want to think about, babe. Ad it's all I want you to think about, alright?"

She nodded and used the straw to stir the ice in her drink noisily. "You'd be okay. You know that, right? If something was to happen to me…"

"Samantha, come on…" he huffed, and yanking his hand away from hers as if he'd been scalded, leaned back in his chair. "Don't talk like that. I don't want to …"

"You're a strong person, Donnie. You're the strongest and most tenacious person I've ever known. And you'll be okay. And you'll take amazing care of our kids and you'll go on with your life and you'll.."

"Don't talk like that!" he snapped. Then noticing the curious diners that turned in their seats at his outburst, Flack leaned forward in his seat once more and lowered his voice. "Listen to me, Sammie," he sighed and removing his sunglasses, dropped them onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Nothing is going to happen to you. This…this is not you. This isn't you talking. I've spent eight years of my life with you. And if it was possible, I'd spent the next eighty with you. But I'm not going to sit here and listen to this complete stranger basically giving up on her life. On our life. On our family. Because that is not the person I fell in love with and married and had kids with."

"I'm just thinking about you and the girls and Dawson," she explained. "About how you'll take care of them and do fine on your own and…"

"We're in this together," he told her. "Together," he stressed the word. "I screwed up once before. I thought and acted like a single guy with no responsibilities. This time…this time it's me and you. To the bitter end. Regardless of how things turn out."

"I just want to prepare you for.."

"I'll prepare myself for whatever comes when it comes," Flack said. "I'll deal with it then, and only then. But right now? Right now I just want to get to the bottom of what's going on. And at this very second? On this night? I just want us to be together. I just want us to spend time together and have fun together. That's all. Can we do that? Even if it's just for this one night?"

She gave a smile and a small nod. Then laid her tiny hand over his and entwined their fingers together as she turned her attention to the menu open in front of her.

Flack picked up his beer and took a sip. "Remember the last time we came here?" he asked, as he returned the glass to its coaster and surveyed his own menu.

"Father's Day six years ago," she quickly replied. "I was still pregnant with the girls. Hugely pregnant in fact. People thought I was nine months and ready to pop and really I was only six."

"You were beautiful," he said, smiling softly at her. "I remember you had on this yellow eyelet sundress that just showed off your belly and every time people asked how far along you were your face just lit up and you rubbed your stomach and just went on and on about us having twins. Identical twins."

"I remember you couldn't get that goofy, 'Hey look what I did!' grin off of your face," she laughed. "You just always looked so pleased with yourself whenever someone asked us about the babies. Like you were just so proud."

"Of course I was proud," Flack told her. "You blame me? Look what I managed to create. That's a huge deal."

"Well I wish more guys were as in awe with it as you were," Sam said. "Most just plant the seed and that's that. But you…you were just so different. And I remember how I would always think about how lucky I was. That I'd managed to find a guy that wanted to be so hands on right from the get go. And I remember I was pretty shocked about that fact too."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"It just seemed…I don't know…out of character for you? I just didn't expect you to be like that, I guess. But I remember being so glad that you were. That you worried as much as you did and wanted to be part of everything. I mean, I guess there were times I found it a little overbearing. That whole overprotective way you get about you sometime. But for the most part…for the most part it's one of the things that I love most about you. You've always made me feel safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen to me. And I've always…needed that, I guess. Craved it."

He nodded slowly as he allowed her words to sink in.

"I'm working on my whole, 'never let things go unsaid' philosophy I've adopted since we started going to the therapist," she explained. "I'm trying, Donnie. I really am. But there's so many things inside of me that I've never said to you. That I should have said to you. And I just…"

"Hey…" he squeezed her hand lightly. "We've got the rest of our lives to say the things we need to say," he told her. "'Cause trust me, there's a lot of things I've got bottled up too. Things I'm just not ready to get out in the open yet."

"Aren't you worried that we might never get the chance?" Sam asked. "That something might happen and those things…those things will never get said. And it will be too late to tell each other? Don't you worry about that?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But then I think about all the years I know are still left ahead of us and I realize that I don't need to be in a rush to get everything out there. We've got a long way to go, Sammie. We've got three kids to raise together. We've got first dates and proms and first jobs and drivers' licences ahead of us. High school graduations. College graduations. Weddings and grandkids. All of that amazing stuff that our kids are going to go through. That we're going to get to see. Together."

"I know…" she sighed heavily and drummed her fingers against her glass again. "I just…"

"You know what else I remember about that night?" Flack asked, anxious to change the subject. Eager to stay away from morbid. "I remember that first father's day gift you gave me. Girls weren't even born yet and I remember you giving me this small box wrapped in shiny silver paper with this blue bow with silver stars on it."

She smiled at the memory.

"And I remember how I nearly cried in front of the whole damn place when I opened it and I found that pewter picture frame with the words, We love our daddy, written on it. And that 4-D ultrasound picture inside."

"You always have been a sap when it comes to your kids," she mused.

"Not just my kids," he corrected her. "When it comes to you. You've always been my weakness, Sammie. You've always been the only person in the entire world able to bring me to my knees. And no. There's no perverted connotation anywhere in the sentence. I just…all I know is that up until you, no woman had ever defeated me. Emotionally. And you…this tiny little, innocent looking Brooklyn girl just walked right in and single handily broke me."

"Who knew the big bad, six foot two, two hundred pound homicide detective was such a push over?" she teased, her thumb softly stroking the top of his hand.

"I must have been ripe for the picking or something," he laughed. "'Cause I did not stand a chance against you."

"When will you ever just admit that you were ready to fall hopelessly and madly in love with someone?" she asked. "That you were just ready for that one and only forever type of woman to walk into your life and transform it completely?"

"You came into my life at a time when I needed someone the most," he admitted. "When I didn't even realize I needed someone to begin with. I thought my life was going pretty good. I thought I was happy with it and who I was with and I…I realized pretty quick that I was fooling myself a lot. That I'd convinced myself I was in love with my forever person because it was easier to do that then to start all over again with someone else."

"It's always easier to convince yourself that you're in love than accept that you're alone," Sam mused. "Adam taught me that," she revealed. "All those times I'd cry to him over the phone about what Zack was like. And Peanut…he'd asked me why I stayed. Why I constantly went back. And when I told it was because I loved Zack, that was what he told me. That I'd convinced myself I was in love because I was terrified of being alone. Because I couldn't accept being lonely. And when I think about what would have happened if I'd stayed in Arizona…"

"But you didn't," Flack told her. "You didn't stay. You came here and you walked into my life. Into all of our lives. You changed all of us, Sammie. Whether you want to believe that or not. No one that you come across is ever the same again. Trust me. Although…"

She glanced up from the menu and looked across the table at him. A smile playing on her lips as she waited for the sarcastic comment that she knew he was dying to spew forth. A sarcasm that she'd so often bitched and moaned about in the past, but had desperately missed when their marriage had gone south and he'd moved out of the house.

"I'm still trying to figure out if you leave people worse than what they were or better than what they were before you came around," he said, his head cocked to one side, a smile spreading across his face.

She burst out laughing. A welcome relief from the dread and nervousness that had been eating away at her. And when he gave that smile- that smile that dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his baby blues sparkle- she was quickly reminded what had made her fall so quickly and effortlessly for him. It was the way he was in private. The Donald Flack Junior that existed away from the job. That shone so brightly and captured her head the moment that badge and gun were put away. An easy going, compassionate, gentle soul that let very few people into his world. That allowed just a select handful to see him with his guard down. And she was so very lucky, and grateful, that she'd gotten the chance to be one of those lucky people.

"I really missed that laugh," he told her, his smile and his voice softening. "I've missed a lot of things."

"So have I," she said. "And I'm just glad…I'm just glad that we're here. Right now. That we've come this far with each other."

"So am I," he agreed. "And I can honestly say that my life? That it changed for the better the second you stepped in it. Even with all the hard times we've gone through. Maybe all of that stuff happened for a reason. Maybe we had to go through that because we had a bigger task ahead of us. And all of the bullshit and the suffering…well maybe it showed us how strong we are and taught us that we can get through anything together."

"And maybe it's made us realize that we took each other for granted," Sam added. "That all along we never realized what we had right in front of us. Until it was almost too late."

"Maybe," he said, then grinned as he leaned across the table. "And maybe it's made you realize that you're wildly and passionately in love with me still."

She smiled, then giggled against his lips as he kissed her. "That was never in question," she told him, as he settled back in his chair. "Has it made you realize that you're still hopelessly in love with me?" she asked curiously. "That you simply can't live without me?"

He nodded slowly. "I knew that from day one," he admitted.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon and a gentle breeze tousled the tree tops as Sam and Flack found themselves wandering leisurely hand in hand down the steps of Central Park's theme Bethesda Terrace. The two tiered terrace had always been one of Sam's favourite parts to visit during a stroll through the park. She loved the mixture of architectural styles; Romanesque, gothic and classical. And she never tired of studying or running her fingertips over the intricate carvings in the sandstone walls. Scenes of nature that reflected the birds and seasonal plants that were found along stairways and on the terrace's main posts. From the upper terrace, one could gaze out at the world renowned Bethesda Fountain. It was by far the definitive crown jewel of Central Park and was one of the most famous, and universally loved fountains in the world.

Up until the night he'd proposed to his future wife a second time -after the original proposal fell through three months after he'd made it and she'd moved out of their apartment following a massive misunderstanding and nasty fight- that fountain had been of no interest to Flack. Sure, it was pretty and all of that. He could see why people were drawn to it and why it was so popular. But he was a guy and guys just didn't get worked up over stuff like that. To him, the Terrace and fountain itself had always brought to mind the case of the murdered groom. Brett Dohn had been found stone cold dead in a dressing tent without a stitch of evidence to be scene. The poor bastard had been sliced open by what would later turn out to be an expensive wedding gift, and stuffed with packing peanuts and his torso bound with bubble wrap by a drunk and moronic best man who hadn't wanted to lose a bet and had to make sure his best friend showed up to the wedding. To that day, although the caterer had been the guilty party, tired of being nothing more than Brett's bitch, Flack had honestly never met someone as stupid as George Foodim.

"_Fifteen shots of tequila…I heard ya…"_

Flack still laughed at the memory of saying those words. And at the sheer idiocy of George's explanation to why he'd done what he'd done. He was pretty sure that a bigger idiot existed out there somewhere. He just hadn't met them yet.

The fountain had taken on a bigger significance when Flack had -in what he considered one of his finer moments of grovelling- chosen the spot to win his girl back. It had been a night very much like the one they were experiencing now. A brilliant, glowing sunset, a refreshing, gentle breeze, and the sounds of chatter and laughter coming from other civilians and the sound of the fountain bubbling mixed in with the strains of a guitar as a lone musician perched on a stone bench at the bottom of the terrace entertained people with his version of classical masterpieces.

It had worked. He'd done enough begging and enough apologizing to last himself a lifetime that night. And in the end he'd come out a better man. And a much richer one. Emotionally, at least. Losing her had taught him that there no such thing as a sure thing. That love was something complicated and confusing. And that sometimes it just wasn't enough. There had to be trust and respect as well.

"My feet are sore," Sam complained once they reached the fountain, and taking a seat along the edge, unbuckled her strappy white sandals and slipped them off. She wriggled her toes before setting her shoes down on the ledge and standing up. "Do you remember how we used to come here all the time?" she asked, as she proceeded to climb up onto the edge of the fountain. Making her a mere few inches taller than him.

"Yeah…" he scooped up her shoes with one hand and wrapped an arm around her waist in order to keep her study. "And how you always did the same thing. Took your shoes off and walked along the edge."

"It's my shtick," she said, then giggled.

"Okay Laughing Larry," he chided. "I heard he died."

"Really?" she placed one hand on the back of his neck for more stability and used the other to push her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. "When?"

"A couple of weeks ago. There was a small article about him in the Times. Stuck between an article for plasma tv's and BMW's."

"If you had have said rubber chickens and plastic dog doo I would have laughed my ass off and fallen into this fountain," she said. "At least I don't have to worry about you running out tomorrow to go and buy yourself a whoopee cushion or fake vomit."

"Sammie…x-ray specs to see through girls clothes in middle school. Remember? The only thing I got to see was nun coming at me with a yard stick?"

"Right…you know, that really shouldn't have surprised me to hear. I mean, considering what a massive perv you were. Hearing that you tried to see through girls' clothes definitely wasn't a mortal shock."

"No…but hearing you admit you bought Sea Monkeys was," he laughed.

"No. The mortal shock was the fact that for our first Christmas together you gave me a fish bowl and two packages of the damn things," she snorted. "How romantic was that?"

"Hey! That was a gag gift. I personally thought it was hilarious watching your face go about fifty different shades of red when you unwrapped it. But not as hilarious as the profanity that escaped those pretty little lips of yours."

"You are just sooo lucky that it was a gag gift," she said. "You're lucky it wasn't the only thing under the tree or I would have beat your ass. I would have beat you so bad our children and their children would have been born dizzy."

"I more than made up for it with the earrings from Tiffanys if I do say so myself."

"You did," she said, and paused walking long enough to drop a kiss on the top of his head.

"You know what the really funny part is?" he asked as she continued her path along the edge of the fountain. "That you still have that fish bowl and it's sitting on our kitchen table with seashells in it."

"From Turks and Caicos," she reminded him. "The minister that did our ceremony gave them to us, remember? Blessed them and everything. Said they symbolized us as a couple and our future. And I never believed it because there's five shells. And there was only me and you and the girls. And then Dawson came along and…"

"Made up the fifth one," Flack finished for her.

Sam nodded. "Regardless of how he was made Donnie, I love him. He's my son and I…when he came into our lives he filled a part of me that had been empty since the girls were born. After we found out we couldn't have any more kids…part of me died that day."

"I know," he said.

"And part of me blamed myself and belittled myself for not being able to give you more children. Like it made me less of a woman and less of a wife. And I know you never thought that or said it. But it was how I felt. And Dawson…Dawson gave me a chance to be a mommy again. And I know that people wonder how I was able to just accept him so easily and love him as much as I do."

"Guess it's just one of those things people can never understand unless they go through it themselves," Flack reasoned.

"Maybe," she said. "But I accepted him because he's part of you. He's something I could never give you. And he's innocent and pure and he never…he never asked to be brought into this crazy assed, god awful shitty mess of a world. What was I going to do? Toss him into the system? I'd never do that to anyone. Not even my own worst enemy. And certainly not a baby."

"You've been thinking a lot about this stuff haven't you," he stated.

Sam nodded. "I've been thinking about what I'm going to say to all those hateful, spiteful people out there if I ever get the chance to say them. Yet at the same time, I don't understand why I should feel the need to say anything. To defend myself and the choices I've made in life."

"You shouldn't feel that way," he told her. "People don't like you? That's their problem. Tell them to fuck off and get on with it. Life's too short to worry about petty, immature, self righteous pricks who get off on making people miserable because their lives are so pathetic."

"Isn't it amazing?" she asked. "All the things that go through your mind when you're face with your own mortality? I mean, you went through that I'm sure after the bombing."

He nodded. "A lot of soul searching," he admitted. "A lot of wanting to make amends for things I've done. Of wanting to become a better person. And a lot of realization about just how fragile life is. How it can all be taken away so quickly and unexpectedly."

"But you made it," she pointed out. "You survived. Because of how strong you are."

"Trust me babe, there's tons of times, especially in rehab, that I wanted to die. That I just wanted to curl up and call it a day."

"But you didn't."

He shook his head. "You know what got me through? What made me want to keep going? The thought that there was something big out there for me. Something huge just waiting to happen in my life. And when I met you…when I met you I realized that maybe you were it. Maybe you were the reason I survived that day. 'Cause if I hadn't…if I hadn't there'd be no me and you. There'd be no Kellan and Kallison. Or Dawson. So maybe, as corny as it sounds, maybe getting to this point in my life is why I survived."

She smiled. "You know…this is the most we've ever talked about the bombing since we've met. Everything I know about it? Almost all of it I've heard from other people. Danny and Lindsay and Stella. This is really the first time you've opened up to me about it."

"Yeah?" he grinned at her. "First time for everything, I guess."

"I guess," she smiled, and halting her steps, turned to face him. "Thank you," she said suddenly.

"For what?" he asked, as he turned to face her.

"Just thank you," she replied, and curling her arms around his neck, leaned her slender body against his and pressed a kiss to his lips. "The last eight years have been, save for a glitch here and there…"

"A glitch?" he laughed as he dropped her shoes on the ground and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"It's a nice way of putting it," she said. "But these last eight years have been…amazing. You came into my life at a point where I thought I wasn't capable of loving someone. Or being loved by someone. And you…and you just showed me that not all men are created equal."

He smiled. "You know what you showed me? Or at least made me realize?"

She shook her head.

"You made me want to be a better man.," he told her.

Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she leaned down once more and captured his lips with hers in a long, slow kiss that left them both breathless.

"I guess this wouldn't be the best time to tell you about my transfer," he said, one hand reaching up to stroke her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"No…it wouldn't be," she commented. "But I guess it's the perfect time to tell you I already knew."

* * *

**A huge thanks to all of those reading and reviewing! And even to those just lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you!**

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	87. You and Me

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THE SHOW ARE PROPERTY OF CBS. I AM ONLY BORROWING THEM FOR A BIT. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA FLACK.**

**I ALSO DON'T OWN THE CHAPTER TITLE. THAT BELONGS TO LIFEHOUSE.**

* * *

**You and Me**

"And I don't try to hide my tears  
The secrets, all my deepest fears  
Through it all nobody gets me like you do

And you know everything about me  
You say that you can't live without me

I'm only up when you're not down  
Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground  
It's like no matter what I do

Well, you drive me crazy half the time  
The other half I'm only trying  
To let you know that what I feel is true  
And I'm only me when I'm with you."  
-I'm Only Me When I'm With You, Taylor Swift

* * *

"I was wondering when you were finally going to say something," Sam said, as Flack broke out of the embrace, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her. A sign of both confusion and annoyance.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Your dad was down at O'Toole's earlier today to tip back a few and a couple of the older times he walked the beat with were in there," his wife explained. "Apparently they have eyes and ears within the department still. And they couldn't wait to pass the news on."

"And he couldn't wait to pass the news on to you," Flack stated, and shook his head in disbelief. "Why in the hell would he do that? Why would he just take it upon himself to tell you that? He didn't think maybe I should be the one telling you? Or did he…"

"Donnie…" she gave a sigh, and gently removing his sunglasses from his face, folded them neatly before hooking one of the arms on the neck of his t-shirt. Taking his cheeks in her tiny, delicate hands, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Your dad was upset that the department was screwing you over like that after everything you've done for them. And he came to the house to rant and rave about it to me because we're the two people in this world that love you most. That worry about you and have your best interests at heart."

"He shouldn't have told you, Sam. You're my wife. It should have been up to me to tell you."

"He was upset," she defended her father in law. "He needed someone to vent to. Someone that loves and supports you. He just reacted when he heard the news and instead of going to you about it…well I guess he thought he'd come to the person that's closest to you."

"It was up to me to tell you," Flack said. "Not him. And I was going to tell you first thing tonight when you came over, but when I got home, there you were, walking around in a t-shirt and undies and I got a little…distracted."

"That's one way of putting it," she laughed.

"And then you told me about what was wrong with you and I just…telling you about my transfer became the last thing on my mind."

"Baby…you don't have to explain. I understand. I dropped a huge bomb on you. And I guess you could say that before that, I did somewhat seduce you."

"Somewhat?" he grinned.

"I am not the only guilty party," she said, as the pad of her thumb traced the outline of his top lips. "But with all that went on after you got home…well it's no wonder that you didn't say anything about work."

Flack cocked his head to the side as he studied her through narrowed, quizzical eyes. A smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What?" she asked.

"Isn't this where you're supposed to get seriously passed at me for not saying anything? For keeping it from you? 'Cause the old you would have freaked out by now."

"Well…" the tips of her index fingers travelled slowly down his cheeks and her hands came to rest on his broad shoulders. "The old me was irrational, selfish, immature and petty. And the new me is making a genuine effort to never be that like again."

"I think you underestimate and pick on the old you way too much," Flack told her.

"There were a lot of things I needed to change," she said, as her fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. "To work on…I've tried for so long to be perfect."

"I never expected you to be perfect," Flack told her. "I just expected you to be Sammie."

A soft smile crossed her face and she pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "So…your transfer…" her tone quickly brightened, and running her hands down his chest and up again and across his shoulders, she turned and commenced walking along the edge of the fountain once again.

"I start in two weeks," Flack told her. The mere thought causing his blood to boil. "Vice and drugs."

"Hmmm…" she gave a small nod. "And you're not happy about that obviously."

"That's the understatement of the year," he grumbled. "I'm a homicide detective. I've done a handful of raids in my entire career. Last drug raid I went on was the Wilder Gang. A decade ago. And the only reason the department let me head that was because it was my CI that tipped them off. Before that, it was the Lamont Johnson raid. You know, when Dean Truby decided to skim from the stash."

"That was entirely beyond your control," Sam said. "You couldn't have known what went down when you were in another room. You believed what your guys told you. How could you have…"

"I was in charge. I should have kept a better eye on my guys. I should have been watching over their shoulders. Checking out every little move they made. If I can't keep an eye on a handful of cops in a dingy little apartment like that, how am I going to keep control of a bigger group of guys? On raids two times, three times as big?"

"You're doubting yourself," Sam said. "You never doubt yourself. In the entire eight years I've known you, you've never once questioned any action or any choice you made. So why…?"

"That whole Truby thing did a number on me, Sammie. You know that. We've talked about it a million times since we've been together. And you heard all the rumours. The talk."

"Which is why I went to you personally and asked you about it. We weren't even together yet, remember? And I came to you and asked you about what happened. Because I didn't believe what some of those old crotchety, bitter old bastards were saying. I didn't buy into the whole 'rat cop' stuff did I?"

Flack shook his head.

"Donnie…you did what you had to do. Dean Truby was a murderer. He stole drugs from a raid you were in charge of. He was selling them on the street. And I know that you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself if he'd been allowed to walk around as a free man. You did the right thing. And I know those words probably sound hallow coming from me. I wasn't around when you went through the hell the other cops put you through for giving Mac that log book and helping lock Truby up. I didn't see it first hand and I only know what you told me. But what I do know is that you're a good person and you're strong and determined. You don't back down from anyone. Or anything. And honestly? To me, what you did by helping Mac? That was the single most courageous thing you've ever done."

Flack glanced over at her.

"That took a lot of guts Don," she continued. "It took a lot of courage to do what you did. Knowing that you'd catch hell from the other guys about it. But you know what? You were the bigger person. You came out with your head held high and your morals and your self respect and your respect for the job still in tact. I don't think I could have done it. I don't think I could have been that brave."

Flack didn't respond. In eight years, it was the most honest she'd been regarding his job and the way he which he conducted himself while on the clock. Sam had always been his biggest supporter. The one he went to when he needed a confidence boost or someone to rant and rave to. The one person who didn't judge him or question the decisions he made or lock down on him for making a mistake. Who, through a smile or a soft, simple touch or by curling her arms around his torso and burying her face in his chest, showed him that she had his back. No matter what.

But she'd never been that open -verbally- before. And he was taken back not only by her words, but in the sincerity that encased them.

"It wasn't easy on you," Sam said. "And I know that it still bugs you to think about. That you're still carrying some animosity for Mac. For him dragging you into everything…"

"There's a little bit of bitterness there still," Flack admitted.

"…but don't let that hold you back from doing the job, Donnie. Don't let Dean Truby hold what he did over your head like that. He forced you into making the choice that you did. And you're letting him bring you down. Even all these years later. The Donald Flack Junior that I know? The one that I fell in love with and the one that I married? He's confident and strong and determined. He doesn't let anyone bully him. He's not scared of anyone and he stands up for what he believes in and protects himself and the people he loves at all costs. And he's an amazing cop who wears the badge with respect and never crosses the line. He never doubts himself or second guesses any decision he's ever made."

"He's not perfect either," Flack added.

"No one is. I've never expected you to be. Maybe sometimes it might have seemed like I wasn't happy with the way you were…but I never wanted you to be anything more, or less, than yourself. I don't know what happened to us. I think somewhere along the line making other people happy instead of each other became the most important thing to us and we just fell off track."

"Maybe," he gave a shrug. "Or maybe we needed a serious wake up call to realize what we had right in front of us. A kick in the ass. I'm just surprised you're as calm about this is you are. That you're just accepting it."

"Well I won't lie and say I'm happy with it or that I agree with the department's decision," she said. "I mean, I've kind of gotten used to seeing you at a crime scene and popping off your sarcastic comments right and left. But work…work isn't the only thing we have, Donnie. It's not like we're never going to see each other because we don't work together anymore. The job isn't the only thing we have in common. Maybe eight years ago it was."

"The job is what brought us together," he pointed out.

"But it's not what holds us together," she told him.

He grinned. "Eight years later and I still don't get the last word. Ever."

"Look.." she jumped down off of the ledge of the fountain, grabbing a hold of his bicep to steady herself as her balance threatened to fail her. "I can understand that you're nervous about it making such a big career move. And I know that vice and drugs isn't really your thing and that it's tearing you up inside having to leave homicide after spending so many years there. But at the same time…at the same time maybe it's the change that you need. The one you were hoping for when we had decided to move to New Jersey. I know it's still in the NYPD, but maybe even the slightest change in scenery is a good thing."

"I think I'd be taking it a lot better if it was to a different department. Major crime, ESU, K-9 even. I'd even be willing to go back out onto the street as a uniform again. But drugs and vice? I've seen drugs and vice mess up a lot of good cops Sammie. Great men that had wives and kids who got sucked into the lifestyle they infiltrated for the sake of doing the job. I've seen guys who barely touched alcohol a day in their life get swallowed up by undercover and come out of it addicts in the end. They lost everything. And for what? For collars? That's just not worth it."

"So it's the undercover that you're worried about," she said, as he took her hand in his.

He nodded. "I worry about being away from my family. Especially when we're just rebuilding everything again. And especially now that you're not well and we don't know what's going on. If you're sick, Sammie…if you're sick the girls and Dawson are going to need me. You're going to need me. And I can't risk being sent undercover. No contact with my family? Sometimes for months? At a time like this? I can't take that chance."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Talk to Sinclair I guess. Tell him everything's that going on with you. Just lay it out on the line and tell him that vice/drugs is not the place for me. Especially at a time like this. He must have at least an ounce of compassion in him, right?"

Sam gave a shrug.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked. "You've always been the one to hand me the best advice. You're the only person in the world whose opinion actually matters to me. 'Cause I know whatever you say is only because you're concerned about me. You're the only one I trust to not hand me a line of shit."

"I think that you should do what you feel is best," Sam replied diplomatically.

"Come on…" he couldn't help but laugh. "Don't take the easy way out on me here. You think me going to vice/drugs is a good idea?"

"No," she admitted. "I personally think it's a terrible idea. Not because I don't think you can do it. Because I know you can. You always excel at whatever you put your mind to. I just…" she sighed.

"Sammie…just say whatever you feel okay? This is me and you talking. As husband and wife. Not as colleagues."

"I worry about you doing that job day after day," she said. "Because we're at a vulnerable spot in our lives. And I worry that…I worry that if I am sick, if it is something serious…"

He waited patiently for her to get her thoughts together.

"I worry that being mixed up in that kind of work while things are so tough at home…I worry that you'll get dragged under Donnie. I worry that people will take advantage of you at a weak point and that you'll get mixed up with something that's beyond your control and that you'll…" she shook her head, and stepping in front of him, took his other hand in hers. "Don…I worry that you'll get so far in that I'll never be able to get you back out."

"Sammie…"

"And maybe I'm thinking selfishly. Maybe I'm thinking about how this is the one time that I need you the most and that I don't think I can get through this myself. And maybe I'm thinking about the girls and Dawson. How if they lose me…they need their father and I worry that if you do this…that if you do this they'll lose you too."

"That's not selfish, Sammie."

"It feels that way. And it sounds that way. To me at least. But you asked me to be honest with you and that's what I'm being. I love you and I'm worried that if you ever have to go undercover that you'll come back a completely different person. That I won't even know you anymore. And I can't…I can't let that happen to you. And I'm not saying that you're weak and that you'll let someone just drag you into something. It's just that you already said yourself that you've seen really good men destroyed because of this and I don't want it to be you. I don't want you to be a statistic. I don't want it to be _my_ man that ends up that way. And I just want you to…"

He leaned down and covered her lips with his in a slow, soft kiss. Effectively silencing her. "You always did ramble a lot," he said with a wink when he finally pulled away, and dropping one of her hands, laid his hand gently along her face.

"I just don't want anything happening to you," Sam said. "You've always been the one to protect me. And for once…for once I wish there was something I could do to protect you."

"You're my safe place," he told her. "You always have been. I always joke around about how you're my ultimate weakness. But you're also my ultimate strength. And if you want me to talk to Sinclair and tell him…"

"I want you to talk to Sinclair," she said. "I want you to tell him everything that's going on and I want you to find a way out of this. There must be something else you can do, right? Somewhere else you can go? Even if it's in another borough? A completely different department? There must be something else out there. The NYPD is huge. There must be another department that needs you and would kill to have you."

"If I have to, I'll go back into a uniform," he told her. "That's the worst case scenario, right?"

"The worst case scenario is you being unemployed altogether," she said.

"Hey, with my resume I'm sure I can get a job as a rent-a-cop at the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building," he joked.

She frowned.

"It won't turn out that bad and you know it. You actually think Sinclair will fire me? He'll just be glad I'm not handing in my resignation again. I'm not asking him to part the Red Sea or anything. I'm just asking him to show a little compassion and find me something else somewhere."

"Compassion and Chief Brigham Sinclair don't belong in the same sentence," Sam muttered.

"Things will work out," Flack promised, giving her hand a squeeze. "Somehow, things will be alright. We've faced this kind of thing before, right? Where we were at some crossroads or thought for sure that all was doomed? And we worked it all out, didn't we?" he stroked her cheek softly. "Didn't we?"

She nodded and attempted a confident smile.

* * *

"Come on, let's not talk about this anymore, okay?" Flack urged. "We're having a good night. A really good night. You realize we marked a milestone tonight, right?"

"We did?" she asked, as he pulled her to his side and wrapped his arm around her slender shoulders as they started walking once again.

"Yeah…I kept something from you and you didn't even lose it on me. That's a huge deal. I think we should go and get totally shit faced in celebration."

"Smart ass," she laughed, and curling her arm around his waist, hooked her finger in one of his belt loops.

"I'm just kidding," he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Well, maybe not about the getting totally shit faced part."

"Let's go to that liquor store by your apartment and buy a huge ass bottle of tequila, some vodka and then grab some lemonade at the bodega on the corner," she suggested. "I could used a good drunk before letting that tool of a doctor saw my skull open and fiddle around with my brain."

"You know…there is such a thing as a second opinion," Flack told her. "Maybe we should tell him we want someone else to look at you. Because I honestly can't believe he'd miss something like. I mean, he's been looking after you for the better part of a year. And he didn't see that?"

"People make mistakes," she said. "And my second opinion…well I always went to Sheldon for stuff like that and he isn't here anymore and I.."

He squeezed her upper arm softly as her voice cracked.

"I miss him," she admitted. "It hasn't been the same at work. Since Sheldon died things have been completely different around there. Employee morale just sucks and it's not even fun to go into work anymore. We've all changed so much since then and I wonder if we'll ever be the same again. If Danny and I will ever go back to the way we used to joke around and tease each other. If Adam will ever go back to dancing and singing around trace while listening to his Ipod. We lost a huge part of ourselves and now you're leaving and it's like…it's like Sheldon was the beginning of the end. Like Scagnetti was right. About things coming in threes. First Sheldon, then you. Now this thing with me."

"That's just an old wives tale," Flack said. "About things coming in threes. This is more like major run of bad luck or a serious fork in the road. What happened to Hawkes…what happened to Hawkes was horrible and it never should have happened. But what's happening to you and what's happening to me? None of that is permanent, babe. You're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. It's just a change of venue. That's all."

"You have any clue what Danny is going to be like? When he finds out you're leaving? He's going to be damn near inconsolable. He's going to walk around that place like a lost little puppy dog. He loves you, Donnie. He's honestly going to be devastated."

"Messer's a big boy. He'll be alright. It just means he has to find someone else to come to his rescue all the time. And it's not like I'm moving to another state. Or another country. I'm just in another department. You know what I think?"

She looked up at him, waiting for him to tell her.

"I think you're going to take it worse 'cause you know you won't be able to check out my ass every time I bend over at a crime scene," he teased, then laughed as she playfully shoved him away from her. "Don't deny it, Sammie. Don't deny you've never done it. Before we got together I know for a fact you were always checking me out."

"Please! I never once was attracted to you 'cause of your ass. Your eyes and your smile. But never your ass."

He stared at her pointedly.

"Okay fine!" she admitted, giggling as he snagged her by the wrists and pulled her into him.

It felt so good to laugh despite all the turmoil surrounding them. To be there alone with him and see the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. There was a time when she could tell how he was feeling simply by the way he smiled at her or regarded her. And then those moments had passed and she'd worried she'd never see him look at her that way again. Yet there it was. That unconditional love and adoration that he possessed for her and that she was unsure she even deserved.

"Fine I admit it!" she laughed. "I'm a sucker for beautiful blue eyes and an amazing ass! Are you happy? Are you happy that I've admitted it after so long?"

"You were never fooling anyone Freckles," he chuckled.

She rested her forearms against his chest as his arms circled her waist and beamed up at him. "I missed hearing you call me that," she said. "I missed all those little nicknames you have for me. Even if I did bitch and moan about them all the time."

"I missed them too. I missed your freckles," he pecked the tip of her nose, then her left shoulder. "All of them," he said, and pressed his lips to the right shoulder as well. "Can't exactly call you Rapunzel now though," he complained as he released one arm from around her and combed his fingers through his hair. "I can still call you Freckles and Tinks, but I need to come up with a new nickname for you."

"Hmm…nothing too corny I hope…nothing like snuggle bunny or sweet cheeks or anything like that…"

"Naw…I was thinking something more along the lines of pee-wee. Or shrimp. Or bubbles."

"Bubbles?" she laughed at that. "Why bubbles?"

"I don't know? 'Cause you're cute and bubbly?"

"Yeah? Well you know what you are? A sappy, corny bastard."

"But you love me," Flack said. "And that's all that matters."

She smiled, her body melting into his as he tangled his fingers in her hair and captured her mouth in a long, sensuous, promising kiss. "Okay…" she said, speaking in between kisses to her lips and her cheeks and her neck. "I…think…you…and…I…need…to…get…out…of…here…"

"I think that's a good idea," he agreed, and grinned as she let out a small squeal as his teeth nipped gently at the side of her neck.

"You can take me home and violate me," she told him, giving him a wink as she wriggled out of his grasp.

"Yeah? How long's it been since we played cops and robbers, Tinks? Too long if you ask me. I think we should go home and make use of the handcuffs. A blast from the past. You know, long before we had kids and we were still in that whole honeymoon stage."

"Honeymoon stage? Our honeymoon stage lasted nearly two years," she said.

"Hey…is it my fault you're totally hot? And that you're into things that are…different?"

"Tell you what. I'll revert back to the old Sammie for a little while," she told him, and standing in front of him, laid her hands on his sides and walked backwards. "But on one condition."

"One condition huh? And what would that be?"

She gave a devilish grin and slid one hand over his stomach and toyed with his belt buckle. "I get to play the cop first," she said.

He bit his lip and shook his head as she quickly and easily undid his belt, then spinning around on her heel, bounced away happily.

"Are you coming or not?" she called over her shoulder. "Don't make me get there first and start without you."

Flack smirked. Ignoring curious onlookers, he did his belt back up and hurried after her.

* * *

The obnoxious, shrill ring of a cell phone cut through the silence that enveloped the darkened bedroom. Lying on his back, Flack's eyes snapped open immediatately and instinctively zeroed in on the bedside clock as one hand shot out and snatched the offending object off of the night stand. It was ten after three in the morning and sleep blurred every sense. The room was hot and sticky despite the open window and the faint breeze that stirred the night air. His naked body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and the patches of short hair above his ears and at the back of his neck were damp. Both from the sweltering summer weather and the activities that had found him passing out from sheer exhaustion just two hours before.

Flack scooped up his phone, his movements slow and careful, not wishing to disturb the sleeping figure that was cuddled up to him. Fast asleep on her stomach with her face buried under his arm and one of her tiny hands resting on his stomach.

He outwardly groaned as dispatch's number registered on his call display. He had been hoping that he would get through one night -and especially this night- without any interruptions. But with three detectives off on holidays, he knew that a night without the phone ringing was nothing more than wishful thinking. Flipping open his phone, he sighed heavily, his thumb lingering on the talk button as he weighed the chances of what kind of hell he'd catch if he didn't answer and simply turned his phone off and went back to sleep.

"Donnie…" Sam grumbled against him, her hand rubbing his stomach softly. "Answer the phone…"

"What do you think will happen to me if I feign ignorance and just turn the phone off?" he asked. "You think there will be hell to pay or…"

She propped herself up on one of her elbows and leaned down to kiss him chastely. "Answer the phone," she said, and placed her lips against his ear.

"Don't make me regret this," he said, and running a hand over her hair, laid it on the back of her neck and brought her head down to rest on his shoulder. Pressing the talk button on the cell, he placed the phone against his ear. "Yeah…" he greeted sleepily. "This is Flack…"

Sam pressed a kiss to the side of his neck and lifted her head to watch his face, straining to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone while her husband offered up the usual questions. When, where and how.

"Alright.." he gave a heavy sigh. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Disconnecting the call, Flack tossed his cell back onto the nightstand. Placing a forearm over his eyes, he lay silence and motionless. Willing away the cobwebs that had taken up residence in his brain and silently ordering his body to get its shit together.

"Let me guess," Sam stroked his stomach softly. "You have to go."

He nodded, and removing his forearm from his eyes, looked at her and grinned. "Déjà vu, huh? Different apartment and all of that, but doesn't this remind you of eight years ago? Waking up in the dead of the night and having to see me off on a call? Long before marriage and kids and everything else that comes with real life?"

"Like a time warp," she agreed, then giggled as she found herself pushed over onto her back. "Is it a bad call?" she asked, as he covered her petite body with his own much larger, stronger one. Holding his weight on his forearms as be bent down to kiss her forehead.

"Bad enough," he told her. "Someone went nuts on the 5B bus in Flatbush. Apparently a passenger snapped and took a meat cleaver to the driver and two other riders. Two DB's. Driver's been sent to Mercy and the perp's in the wind."

"A meat cleaver…lovely…must be a full moon…"

"Must be…" Flack said, and kissed her softly. "Worst part of this is that he apparently defiled one of the bodies."

"Okay…by?"

"Cut off someone's ear and then decided to go all Hannibal Lector."

Sam grimaced.

"This city is full of wack-adoos babe. You should know that by now."

"Oh you remind me every day," she said, and curling her arms around his neck, lifted her head to press a kiss to his lips. "You know…you really don't have time for this…" she weakly protested as his warm, moist lips found the side of her neck.

"I just told them I'd be there as soon as I could. I didn't give them an actual time frame."

"Well, I don't think they are expecting you to waste time by getting lucky first."

"Hey…" he drew back and looked down at her. "Getting lucky is hardly a waste of time. Consider this your wake up call to me. A wake up, booty call."

"A wake up, booty call," she laughed. "How about we call this a 'time for you to hit the shower and time for me to make you a coffee' wake up call?"

"How about you just not talk anymore and you just lie there and let me do my thing. And then I'll…" his words were cut off as he found himself shoved over onto his back. "You just have to go and ruin everything, don't you?" he asked, propping himself on his elbows and watching as she climbed out of bed and flicked on the bedside light.

"I am just a big party pooper," she agreed, as she dug through the mound of clothes by the side of the bed, and finding his t-shirt, yanked it over her head.

"You look damn good in my shirt," he observed. "I've always had this thing about you wearing my clothes. There's something so unbelievably sexy about it."

She smiled. "And there's something so unbelievably sexy about you totally naked and…standing at attention," she grabbed his boxers and tossed them at him.

He grinned and caught the shorts. "Hey…consider it the ultimate compliment. That you have that kind of effect on me."

"You're just very easy to please," Sam told him. "Any naked woman can get a rise out of you."

"Not true," he shook his head as he slipped out of bed and climbed into his boxers. "It's all you babe. All you and all those kinky little tricks you know."

"Well it's a good thing you wear a long sleeved shirt to work," she said. "Because I'd hate for your buddies to get a look at those bruises on your wrists."

"You're vicious for a tiny thing," Flack remarked, as he journeyed around the bed and laying his hands on her sides, kissed her softly. "It's the little ones you have to watch out for. Eight years later and I still totally underestimate you."

"Small but deadly," Sam mused, then smiled against his lips as he kissed her again. "Shower…" she ordered, pushing him away as he attempted to deepen the kiss. "I'll go and make you some coffee and then you can…"

"Forget the coffee," he said, and yanked her towards him by the hips. "How about you come in the shower with me? I'll even let you scrub my back."

"Because the two of us in the shower is always a recipe for disaster," she argued, attempting to wriggle away.

"Disaster wasn't exactly the word that came to mind," he said.

"Okay…so it will turn into a dirty, perverted moment that you do not have time for," she corrected herself.

He gave a dramatic pout.

Sam laughed. "Don't be giving me that sad little boy face. That stopped working on me a long time ago."

"How about if I get down on my hands and knees and beg?" he teased. "You always like it when I get on my knees and…"

"Shower!" she ordered once more, pointing towards the bathroom.

"Alright…alright…" he held his hands up in surrender and headed for the room in question. "Don't be going all…" he paused in the doorway and turned to look at her as her own cell phone, sitting on the dresser, began to ring.

"Wonderful…" Sam muttered and hurried to answer it. "You jinxed me!" she scolded her husband. "You're bad luck!"

"Mac?" he asked curiously.

She nodded and gave a heavy sigh and flipped her phone open to answer it. Barely getting a word in edge wise as her boss gave her the specifics of the crime scene he was requesting her presence at. Location, nature of the crime, who she'd be working with.

"I'll be there ASAP," she assured him and hung up.

"Let me guess," Flack said, as she set her phone back down on the dress. "Transit bus, Flatbush, two DB's."

"You cursed me!" she huffed, and stalked towards him.

"Well let's look on the bright side," he chirped happily, as she squeezed her body between his and the door frame on her way into the bathroom.

"And that would be?" she asked curiously.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and leaned down to kiss her.

"Shower for two after all," he replied.

* * *

**I want to send out my huge thanks and appreciation to all of the readers who are reading, reviewing and even just plain working! I can not express enough thanks to all of you who have sent me such amazing words of support and encouragement! It definitely helped to restore my confidence and inspire the muse to continue on! **

**Special thanks to:**

**Hope4sall**

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**Afrozenheart412**

**Soccer-bitch**

**SydneytheDoucheBagSlayer**

**HighQueenReicheru**

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**Monoxide lullaby**

**Hardylover7477**

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**xSamiliciousx**

**Forest Angel**


	88. A bump in the night

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I AM JUST BORROWING THEM FOR A WHILE. I ALSO DO NOT OWN ANY SONGS USED AT THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTERS. THOSE BELONG TO THE ARTISTS CREDITED. I ONLY OWN SAMANTHA ROSS-FLACK. **

**LITTLE SHOUT OUT TO PAY UP NEAR THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. JUST A TINY ONE…**

**PLEASE CHECK OUT MY PROFILE AND CAST YOUR VOTE! WHAT WILL FLACK'S NEW 'CAREER' BE…**

**A HUGE, WARM WELCOME TO SOLEIL MAR**

**HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY TO ALL MY AMERICAN COUNTERPARTS AND HAPPY BELATED CANADA DAY TO ALL YOU CANUCKS!**

* * *

**A bump in the night**

"See the stone set in your eyes  
See the thorn twist in your side  
I wait for you

Sleight of hand and twist of fate  
On a bed of nails she makes me wait  
And I wait without you

With or without you  
With or without you

Through the storm we reach the shore  
You give it all but I want more  
And I'm waiting for you

With or without you  
With or without you  
I can't live  
With or without you."  
-With or Without You, U2

* * *

The night air was stifling. At quarter to four in the morning, a near suffocating blanket of humidity hung heavily over New York City. Despite all of the windows and both the rear and the front doors of the bus being tossed wide open, Danny found himself covered head to toe in sweat. What did find its way slowly down his legs gathered at the backs of his knees. It soaked the collar of his thin white short sleeve dress shirt and the wife beater he wore underneath. The short hair around his ears and at the nape of his neck was damp and beads of sweat glistened around his nose, along the top of his upper lip and dripped into his eyes from his forehead.

When he'd received the call from Mac - waking him up from a blissful comfortable sleep in the confines of his bedroom in a home blessed with central air- he'd been pissed at the intrusion, yet had found solace in the fact that ninety-eight percent of the buses in the city were not only powered by natural gas, but air conditioned as well. So it had been a major let down and a source of incessant grumbling when he'd arrived to discover that on the hottest, more insufferable July night ever on record, his crime scene was located within nothing more than an ancient tin can. One of the two percent of buses that the city had never replaced with a newer model.

His knees cracked noisily as he crouched down alongside the second victim sprawled near the back door. The driver had had the sense -and the strength- after he'd been ambushed to not only stop the vehicle, but call his dispatch for help and hit the emergency door release, enabling several passengers to safely escape as pandemonium and carnage erupted around them. Two innocent civilians had unfortunately never stood a chance. The first, a young man in his late teens clad in a Burger King uniform shirt and a badge clipped to his left chest advertising the name Shawn was still in his seat near the middle of the bus. Slumped to the left, his eyes open in shock and horror and blood and brain matter seeping from over a dozen head wounds. His Ipod still turned on. The volume was cranked and Danny could, from where he worked, hear gangster rap blasting from the ear phone loosely dangling against the kid's chest. The other bud still tucked in his left ear and a black and red knapsack sat undisturbed on the seat beside him. Danny assumed that the young man had been on his way home from working the late shift, and according to witnesses, he'd been dozing off and jolted awake by the unprovoked attack.

The second victim that Danny now hovered over was an off duty security guard from Bellvue. A heavy set, middle aged man with his hospital ID still clipped to his left breast pocket, had attempted to -according to the lucky few who'd escaped unharmed- to stop the perp from the attacking the kid from Burger King. Only to try and flee when he became overpowered and severely injured and have the assailant follow him as he crawled frantically towards the exit. Ending the victim's life just mere inches from freedom.

Danny reached into his open kit and laid down his final evidence marker. He'd already completed the overall photographs, and would now slowly and painstakingly move throughout the bus, going from front to rear and back again taking pictures and then writing down details of every piece of evidence that he'd discovered. From the most minute to the largest, he'd leave no stone unturned and would, as he went along, most likely discover things he'd missed the first time around.

Sighing heavily, he sat back on his heel in the midst of the blood and gore and cleared sweat off of his forehead with his forearm. Then reached into his kit once more, this time to pull out the bottle of water that he'd stashed in there before leaving the lab. The air conditioning in the family car his little piece of heaven on that sweltering night as he travelled all the way into Manhattan to pick up two kits at the lab, and get his badge and weapon out of his locker. Uncapping the bottle, he downed nearly half of it in one swallow and fought the urge to dump the rest over his head.

"Hell of a mess in there," he heard Bernstein's smooth, deep voice and the sound of three separate footsteps approaching the scene "Witnesses are telling me that the perp attempted to board the bus three stops back," the detective continued. "He appeared drunk and disoriented and got into an altercation with the driver."

"What kind of altercation?" Flack asked.

"Driver didn't want to let him on in his condition. Apparently this guy is a regular on this route and he's intoxicated on a near constant basis. Always loud and obnoxious, always threatening to other passengers. Makes sexual comments towards the women, tells any guy that sticks up for them that he's going to go home and grab a knife and come back and slit their throats. That kind of thing. Empty threats for the most part."

"They don't seem so empty now," Flack mused. "We have an ID on this guy?"

"No. But we do have several descriptions that all match and I have some uniforms going door to door in the area around the initial stop to see if they can find out from someone just who he is, where he lives, who he belongs to."

"So what set him off?" Flack asked. "Driver just try to eighty six him and he went crazy?

"That's the story that everyone's giving us at this time. We'd know more if we could talk to the driver, but he's been talking to Angel of Mercy and I'm told that he's in surgery. He's a mess from what EMS was telling me. Expected to survive but not expected to be the same ever again. Mentally and physically."

Danny looked towards the front door of the bus as he heard the small group of newcomers climb the stairs. A slow grin spreading across his face as Samantha boarded first, her hair pushed off of her forehead with a simple black head band and no make up gracing her face. It wasn't her presence that had struck him as amusing. Mac had already given him the heads up that he'd called Samantha in and had said to expect her within the hour. But it was her appearance itself that had Danny fighting back a chuckle. Clad in a pair of Adidas cross trainers, a pair of denim capris, and a baby blue man's dress shirt that, despite being tied at the waist, was still monstrous on her petite frame. The sleeves were rolled up past her elbows and the top three buttons were undone, showing off the wife beater that she wore underneath.

"Brooklyn…" he greeted, shaking his head. "What happened to you? You shrink or did the Jolly Green Giant leave some of his clothes at your place?"

"I'll beat your ass," she mouthed as she journeyed down the narrow aisle towards him.

Danny was unable to stop the laugh that erupted from his mouth. "Easy…easy…" he held up his hands in both self defence and surrender and twisted his body away as she brought a hand up as if to slap him upside the head.

"How'd the perp get out?" Flack asked, as he followed Bernstein onto the bus and gave Danny a nod in greeting.

"Driver was able to hit the emergency release button for the front and the back doors," Bernstein explained, as his superior officer pulled a pair of latex gloves from the front pocket of his faded and tattered jeans and snapped them on. "You can see the cast off from the meat cleaver on the windshield, dash, side window and ceiling," he added, shining the beam from his flashlight on each area he named off.

"That's a positive ID on the murder weapon?"

Bernstein nodded. "Witnesses saw him reach under the back of his shirt and pull it out."

"So obviously he was planning on using it for something," Flack commented, as he stepped past the other detective and made his way slowly down the aisle. "Just the two vics?" he asked.

"We've ID'd both," Danny spoke up. "This here is David Hanrahan. Security Guard at Bellvue. Confirmed by both the ID in the wallet that Bernstein plucked out of his back pocket, and from the name tag clipped to his shirt. He apparently tried to stop the perp from attacking the first guy."

"This is Shawn Miller," Bernstein nodded at the young man slumped over in the seat. "Employee at the Burger King over on Britannia Road."

A frown covered Flack's face as he looked away from the dead body and his eyes surveyed the empty bus. "Is there anything to suggest that our perp and this kid knew each other? Any words exchanged between them that maybe have indicated he was after him? Any altercation?"

"Kid was sleeping when he was attacked," Bernstein said.

"Where were the other passengers sitting?" Flack asked.

"At the front of the bus," the detective replied. "When the initial incident with the driver took place they all took off towards the back."

"And this Shawn kid didn't even wake up? Didn't even realize what was going on?"

"Music's up too loud," Danny explained. "Wouldn't have heard a thing."

"And he just attacked the kid for no reason? Nothing was said between them? What about while he was going at him with the meat cleaver? Anything that witnesses heard that could have suggested these two knew each other?"

"Nothing," Bernstein said. "Why…"

"Seems a little brutal for an unprovoked attack on a stranger," Flack observed. "If this kid was just sleeping and minding his own business and didn't even say anything to get the guy riled up even more, what the hell set the perp off? Why' d he go after him? Kid looks like his head was put through a wood chipper for Christsakes. And the wack-job bit off his ear. Doesn't seem like something you'd do to a complete stranger. Seems…"

"Personal," Sam finished for him, a grimace on her face as she stood behind the dead body of Shawn Miller and surveyed the damage.

Flack nodded in agreement.

"Where's the ear?" she asked curiously.

"Mike Tyson ate it," Danny replied.

Her eyes widened and her stomach lurched. "All of it?"

"Most of it," Bernstein told her. "Took the rest with him."

"Gives a whole new meaning to take out," Danny mused. "Bet it just makes you wish you were back home sleeping in Queens still. Or were you in lower Manhattan?"

Flack cleared his throat noisily.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Sam responded. "So? What do you want me to do?"

"Considering how late you are 'cause you were probably detained down there in lower Manhattan…"

"Danny…" she shot him a glare and shook her head.

"Let's process the bodies before the ME gets here," he told her, a grin on his face, amused by how flustered she was. "I'll take the security guard, you take Jeffery Dahmer's boy there."

"Do you not have any compassion for the dead?" she huffed, as she crouched down and snapped open the second kit sitting alongside of him.

"Do you not have a sense of humour?" he retorted.

"We'll leave you two to fight this out," Flack said. "I want to see what some of the witnesses have to say, check up on the unis and see if they've got a bead on who this guy is. Or if anyone's come across the murder weapon."

"You do that," Danny told him. "We'll stay here in the sauna and sweat our asses off. By the time you get back, we'll both be either in our undies or totally naked."

"In your wildest and wettest Messer," Flack snorted and turned and headed back down the aisle towards the front entrance of the bus, Bernstein following behind.

"Have fun!" Sam called, watching her husband as he departed. Not ashamed to admit -to herself, at least- that she couldn't resist checking the rear view out in the faded and baggy Tommy jeans he wore. The cuffs tattered, a small hole in one of the back pockets. And with his black golf shirt tight across the chest and around the biceps, he was nothing short of one of the most yummy members of the male species she'd ever seen. One thing she'd never been able to control around him was her libido.

* * *

Danny coughed noisily to capture her attention.

Her head snapped towards him. "What?" she asked irritably.

"You just a little distracted?" Danny inquired. "You think you're going to be able to keep your head in the game or what?"

"Shut it," she grumbled, and snagging a pair of gloves from her kit, slipped her hands into them.

"So did you and Flack arrive together? You guys meet up in the street or…"

"You already took overalls?" she asked, ignoring him.

"And marked every piece of evidence visible to the naked eye," he told her, as she got to her feet. "I was thinking we could process the bodies and then go over the bus with a fine tooth comb once the ME's office comes and gets the gruesome twosome out of here. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, and using the toe of her left runner, pushed her kit towards Shawn Miller's dead body. "How's Linds feeling?" she asked curiously.

"Like complete and utter shit," Danny replied, but couldn't keep the grin off of his face. "I think you passed on the all day sickness."

"You know, as much as I loved being pregnant and as much as I would have killed to be able to have more kids, that is something I wouldn't want to go through again. I mean hospitalized for dehydration three times because I couldn't keep anything in me? That is just sheer insanity. You guys are lucky. Linds has always had pretty smooth pregnancies."

"Knock on wood," Danny said, then glanced furtively around for something to rap his knuckles against. Frowning when he realized everything around him was either metal or the cracked and worn orange vinyl seats.

Grinning, Sam leaned across the aisle and tapped her knuckles against the top of his head.

"Ha-ha," he smirked. "Very funny. What's up with you tonight? Why are you in such a good mood?"

"I'm not allowed to be happy? Come on, Daniel. I'm always perky and upbeat at work. While the rest of you are walking around moping and bitching and complaining, I'm giggling and smiling and cracking jokes. Someone needs to be the life of this party. I'm the silver lining in the proverbial black cloud."

"True…" he agreed. "But tonight? I don't know. There's something different about you."

Sam shrugged. "Life is good," she reasoned. "For the most part."

"Yeah? Life as in you and Flack?"

"Maybe," she sing-songed.

"It's either a yes or a no," Danny told her. "And judging by his goofy grin, your cheerfulness and the fact that you're wearing his clothes at four in the morning…"

"COD is definitely going to be blunt force trauma," Sam changed the subject. "I mean…the back of his skull has just been pulverized. His brain's been reduced to Jello. This took a lot of rage."

"Or a lot of crazy," Danny retorted. "Seems a bit extreme for just being told you can't get on a bus, huh?"

"We can not be dealing with a sane person," she said. "Who does this to people? What sets someone off? What makes them just snap and go completely nuts? And what was he doing bringing a meat cleaver onto a bus in the first place? Makes no sense."

"When does it?" Danny asked, and standing up, stretched and yawned noisily and a twisted his back until it cracked. "And don't be avoiding my question," he scolded her, as he peeled off his gloves and tossed them into his kit before grabbing a fresh pair.

"I wasn't avoiding anything," Sam told him. "I was just merely sidestepping it."

"Everyone already knows that he's moving back into the homestead in three weeks," Danny reminded her, as he stepped over the dead security guard. "Why go all coy on me now?"

"I'm not. I'm just…I'm basking in happiness at the moment. Can you give me that? Can you give me my moment to just bask in the realization that my marriage isn't a complete disaster and that my husband is still madly and crazily in love with me?"

"You actually doubted that?"

"At times," she admitted. "Haven't you ever doubted anything in all the years that you've been with Lindsay? I mean, after you finally got your shit together and decided to take the leap into the pool of domestic bliss?"

"I tend to refer to is as cross between domestic bliss and sheer domestic hell," Danny chided. "You know that whole saying, about love sometimes not being enough? It's entirely true. 'Cause love doesn't come with an instruction booklet on how to deal with financial problems, in law issues, work and home stress. No one ever told me before hand that love had to go hand in hand with patience, tolerance and respect."

"Or that love is sometimes what actually tears you apart," Sam mused. "I never thought it was possible to love someone but be unable to live with them. And I think that's why I'm basking in the happiness now. Because I'm afraid…I don't know…I think I'm a little afraid that when things do go back to normal and Donnie's back home…I'm actually afraid that everything will just cave in on us again. I'm worried that we actually get along better when we're apart."

"That's a lot of crazy talk," Danny said. "You and Flack are gonna be okay. You've come a hell of a long way already."

"I know. I just…" she bit her bottom lip pensively. "Danny, what if we can't live together? What if we just can't co-exist living in the same house? What if things are better living apart? Do you think that we can actually stay like that? Being married but not being together under the same roof?"

"I don't know," he shrugged and pulled on his fresh gloves. "I'm sure people have done it. But I'm also sure that that isn't going to happen with you guys. Not a chance. You guys just lost your way somewhere. Lots of things going on in your lives that you didn't deal with at the time and just all bunched together and played on both of you. And then Hawkes…" he sighed heavily and shook his head, his friend's memory still weighing heavily on his heart. "…I think that was the catalyst. The shock and the grief of that. I think it just set you two off."

"I think so too," Sam agreed, her voice quiet as she gave a small nod. A silence fell between them as Danny moved to the back of the bus. The soles of his Converse running shoes shuffling across the floor as he scoured every square inch of the rear of the vehicle. Making himself appear busy in a thinly veiled attempt to gather his emotions. "Do you want me to start photographing and cataloguing at the front?" she asked curiously, as she slid out from the seats behind Shawn Miller's body.

"Yeah…I guess…." Danny cleared his throat noisily and stuck his head out one of the windows, attempting to draw even a minuscule amount of fresh air into his lungs. "Either that or maybe once the bodies are out of there Mac will let us have this thing towed back to the garage. Then we can work in air conditioning."

"You are such a wimp," Sam declared, as she made her way down the aisle towards the front of the bus. "I can't believe your…"

When she didn't finish her sentence, Danny glanced towards her. Frowning as he noticed her completely motionless in the middle of the aisle, one hand tightly gripping the back of one of the chairs and the other clasped to her forehead. Through her reflection in the window, he could see that there was a grimace on her face and her eyes were closed.

"Sam?" he asked, cautiously approaching. "You alright?"

She didn't respond.

"Sammie?" he tried again. "Samantha…you okay or…"

"I'm fine," she finally answered in a shaky voice. "It's just…the heat…" she opened her eyes and smiled at him over her shoulder. "Just the heat. I think I spent too much time in the sun today. It always plays havoc on me. I'm okay."

He stared at her, eyebrows raised, a doubtful look on his face.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "It's just…it's stinking hot in here."

"Bodega across the street is still open," Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You want me to run over and grab you some water and something to eat?"

"Water's good," she said, and continued towards the front of the bus once more. Unable to disguise how badly her legs and arms were shaking. "I could use some water. Thanks."

"No problem," he told her, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze before stepping past her and heading for the front entrance.

"And Danny…" Sam called to him as he made his way down the steps.

He paused and turned to look at her.

"It's okay, you know," she said. "To feel bad when you talk about Sheldon. I miss him too."

Danny gave a grim smile and a nod.

"And I missed you," she added. "I missed this…the way we are with each other. You know, that whole bantering, teasing thing we've always had going on. It hasn't been around in a while and I know it wasn't easy for you feeling as if you had to pick sides. Between Don and I. And I'm sorry if you ever felt like we were making you do that."

"It was just hard," he told her. "Seeing you guys like that. Seeing you guys growing farther and farther apart and not being able to do anything about it. Knowing that you were meant to be together but that you guys couldn't either see that for yourselves or find a way to make it happen. It was tough. Took a lot of will power not to grab you both and bang your heads together, you know? Knock some sense into both of you."

"I think we just needed some time," she said. "I think being apart in a way brought us back together. It made us realize what we had and how we couldn't live without each other. And I just…I wanted to say thank you. For being there for Don when he needed someone. He wasn't solely to blame for things and I never meant to make him out to be an evil person. We both made our mistakes and I…I'm just sorry for some of the things I may have said to you. Out of anger. About him. I never should have brought you into the middle of it."

He nodded in agreement. "Takes a big person to admit that," he commented.

"I'm atoning for a lot of things," Sam reasoned. "A little bit at a time. I want to make things right before…well you just never know what might happen. I wouldn't want something to happen where I never got the chance to say the things I needed to. Make amends for the things I've done."

"Quit going all fatalistic on me, Brooklyn. What's going to happen to you? Knock that shit off. I hate when you go all doom and gloom on me out of nowhere like that."

"It was just things I needed to say to you," she said. "That's all. Things I needed to get off my chest sooner rather than later."

"A'right…" he regarded her with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Just peachy!" she replied cheerfully. "You know…maybe that bodega has muffins. A banana chocolate chip muffin sounds might good right about now."

He grinned, then turned and headed down the steps. "I'm on it," he assured her.

* * *

"What's the word?" Danny called to his best friend, pausing with one foot off the curb as he spotted Flack rounding the corner from an alleyway several yards away, a scowl on his face and a plastic evidence bag in his hand.

"Word for today is sick motherfucker," the detective responded.

"That's two words," Danny teased. "Some may even consider it three."

"Found what's left of your vic's ear," Flack held a loft the plastic bag. "Perp must have dropped it when he hauled ass down that alley there. I've got uniforms canvassing every possible inch of the area three blocks east and west of here. Not to mention knocking on every door and talking to every cabbie, hooker, drug dealer and anyone else stupid enough to be out at this time of the day. So far, no one's cooperating."

"And that surprises you?" Danny asked, as he snatched the bag out of the other man's hand, and holding it up to the light, studied the contents. "He ate like three quarters of it," he observed.

"There are some sick people out there, Mess. In all the years that I have been on the job, I have not once come in contact with a cannibal. Or someone even remotely close to it. This…this is just plain messed up."

"Well make sure we've got a hockey mask on us when we catch up to him," the CSI remarked.

Flack gave him a perplexed look.

"You know…so that his mouth is covered. So he doesn't take a chunk out of one of us. Although you're a big boy. You might be more to his liking. There's more meat on your bones to enjoy. I'm sure he'd like to carve into you and get a hold of your liver, fry it up with some fava beans and down it with a nice bottle of Key-ahn-tee…"

Flack grimaced. "You're a sick bastard Messer."

"Come on," Danny gave a chuckle. "Linds loves my Hannibal Lector impersonation. Situation calls for it, don't you think?"

"You know what this situation calls for? A re-do. A Groundhog Day moment. Only in my version of that movie, I don't answer my phone when it rings. I simply ignore the bastards, turn the thing off and curl up and fall back asleep for the rest of the night. That's how I'd do my Bill Murray moment."

"Anyone ever tell you you've got horrible taste in movies? You forgot to add, 'curl up with my insanely hot wife and take advantage of her if she rolls over the right way in the middle of sleeping'."

Flack smirked. "Give me back my ear," he said, and yanked the bag out of Danny's hand. "You want me to just drop it in your kit or…"

"Just tuck it in your pocket or something and come and grab a coffee with me," the CSI said, jerking his head in the direction of the bodega. "Brooklyn's got everything under control in there until the ME's office gets here. Wants me to grab her a bottle of water and something to eat. I guess the heat's getting to her."

"I'll say yes to the coffee," Flack said, and reaching out, tucked the evidence bag into the breast pocket of Danny's shirt. "But you babysit this, okay?"

"Wimp," Danny muttered, as he and the detective stepped off the curb and journeyed across the barren street. "So…you're back in the saddle, huh?"

"You just could not wait to ask me that, could you."

"Come on, you guys obviously arrived together. You never arrive together. You barely showed up at the same time when you were living in the same house. So don't go all virgin, Catholic school boy on me here. She was obviously at your place."

Flack nodded in confirmation.

"And by your place I'm meaning in your bed."

"Are you going somewhere with this, Danny? Are you really trying to get me to discuss my sex life with my wife? Trying to get me to indulge in a little locker room talk? Not going to happen, okay? What's going on between me and Sammie…we're keeping that between us. Things are finally going right and we're keeping our private life just that. So just use your imagination there. Let it run wild on you. You're not getting any dirty details out of me."

"A'right…a'right…I'm just happy for you guys is all. I'm just glad to see that things are finally back on track for you two. That's all," he glanced down at his best friend's left wrist. "Nice cuff marks by the way," he commented.

Flack grinned.

"Things must really be back to normal if you do are breaking out the cuffs and…"

"Messer…come on…what did I just say?"

"Easy, Flack. Easy. I'm just making an observation. You would have thought getting laid would have put you in a better mood."

Flack stopped in the middle of the road and glared at the other man.

"Okay…okay…I'll shut up now…" Danny held his hands up in surrender. "So what's going on with Brooklyn anyway?" he asked, as the detective fell in step beside him once again.

"You just said that…"

"This is a serious question about Sam herself. She hasn't been right, Flack. Something is going on with her. Something that she isn't telling anyone about. And you can play dumb with me all you want. Everyone's noticing it. She's not herself. One minute she's all happy go lucky and the next she's biting someone's head off and going all frigid ice Princess. I know she's always had some issues with her moods and all of that…."

"Sammie's fine," Flack said. "She's just had a lot of stress."

"What about the way she's been feeling? And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the way she's popping Tylenol Three like it's going out of style and how pale she is all the time. I'm talking about the way she's always rubbing at her temples and blinking her eyes like she's got a problem seeing things half the time."

"She's fine," the detective insisted. "There's nothing wrong with her. She's just been…"

"Stressed," Danny finished. "Yeah…I heard that the first time. And now I'm hearing something else. Complete and utter bullshit coming out of your mouth."

Flack sighed heavily.

"What's going on, Don?" Danny's voice softened. "And don't tell me nothing 'cause…"

"Sammie's going through some stuff right now," Flack explained, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to betray his wife's confidence. It was up to her to tell the people closest to them about what the doctors had discovered. Or at least for her to allow him to talk openly about it. At the moment, while dying to confide in his best friend and to find solace of his own, protecting Sam was the most important thing.

"Stuff?" Danny arched an eyebrow as he stepped up the curb. "What kind of stuff?"

"Just stuff," the detective sighed. "Look…I know you're concerned, Dan-o. I know you're worried about her. And I appreciate that. I really do."

"But?" Danny asked, as his fingers curled around the handle of bodega's front door.

"But right now…right now she's seeing a doctor for what's going on and we're getting her the care that she needs. And that's all I can really tell you right now. We're just…we're just dealing with it, right now. Just the two of us."

"But she's okay, right? She's going to be fine?"

"Honestly, Danny?" Flack sighed heavily. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. It's serious and it's…it's fucking scary."

Danny gave a solemn nod. "Well…whatever you guys need, just let me know. Linds and I are always ready, willing and able to lend a hand. You know that."

"I appreciate that," his best friend said. "But you know what I'd appreciate even more right now? I'd appreciate it if you make me talk about it anymore. I'm trying to deal with. And talking about it…it's just too hard for me to talk about. Give me some time to digest the news myself and you'll be the first person I come to. I promise."

"Whatever you need," Danny told him. "No matter how big…you just…"

"Let you know," Flack finished. "I hear ya loud and clear, Mess. Just right now I need you to…."

"Flack!!!" Bernstein bellowed from across the street. "You need to get over here! Now!"

"No rest for the weary," Flack sighed.

"Black, two sugars?" Danny asked, yanking open the door to the bodega and watching over his shoulder as his best friend crossed the street once more.

Flack gave a wave of confirmation. "What's up?" he asked the other detective. "Someone find the murder weapon? Someone get the whereabouts on the perp?"

Bernstein, his face grave, grabbed a hold of his colleague's arm and propelled him towards the open door of the bus. "You need to get the hell in there. Something's wrong with Sam and you need to…"

Terror and panic shot through Flack and he shoved the other man's hand off of his arm and hurried up the steps of the bus, cursing himself for not following his gut and forcing Sam to call Mac back and tell him she couldn't take the scene. To tell him right there and then that she wasn't well and didn't think she could do the job properly anymore. That she felt as if she was a danger to both herself, and everyone working around her. The weakest link. His heart had told him the moment she'd dropped the bomb on him regarding her illness that she wasn't capable of being out in the field. With dealing with the long hours and the stress of cases. He had fought off his urge to say as much to her, instead backing off and allowing her to make her own decisions. To be in charge of the situation. To keep a handle on what she viewed as his over protective, controlling nature.

And the one time that he'd stood down and allowed her to take the reigns…

He froze in his tracks, his eyes widening in terror and his heart hammering in his chest at the sight before him. His wife lying in the middle of the aisle, her eyes closed and her skin a sickly grey, blood trickling from her right ear and both nostrils, a young uniform parked beside her on his knees, the tips of his index and middle finger pressed against the left side of her neck. Another uniform paced the length of the aisle nervously, a walkie talkie clasped tightly in his hand as he called for an ambulance.

"Unresponsive…weak pulse…shallow breath sounds," the uniform on his knees reported.

"Uniform came to check on things and found her unconscious and seizing," Bernstein's voice served to break through the foggy, surreal daze Flack had found himself immersed in. "Has she been sick lately? Does she have some kind of problems with seizures that…"

Flack ignored the questions and rushed down the aisle, shoving the uniform out of the way, sending the startled young man tumbling backwards onto his ass as the detective bulldozed his way to his wife's side.

"Sammie…" he spoke in a loud, clear and authoritative voice as he dropped to his knees beside him. Fighting to keep the fear and panic from registering and being picked up by the men around him. "Sammie…" he tapped his hand lightly against her clammy cheek. "Wake up," he ordered, and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, shook her head gently. "Wake up, Sam…don't do this…you gotta wake up!"

"Has she been sick?" Bernstein tried again. "Is this something that happens a lot?"

"Does this look like it happens a lot?!" Flack snapped. "Does someone routinely bleed from their ear and their nose when they're unconscious! What's the deal with EMS?"

The uniform pacing the aisle didn't answer.

"I asked what the fucking deal is with EMS!" Flack bellowed, causing the young man to visibly blanch and nearly jump out of his shoes.

"They said…they said it will be at least twenty minutes…" the rookie responded, his eyes wide and terrified. The proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"We don't have twenty minutes!" the detective roared. "Tell them to get here now!"

"Sir…they're short staffed…they said twenty minutes is even pushing it…"

"Get your keys out and get to your cruiser!" Flack yelled. "NOW!"

The uniform nodded numbly and scurried off towards the back door and disappeared out onto the street.

"It's okay, Sammie…" Flack whispered, as he gently placed one arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders, effortlessly lifting her into his arms and slowly standing up. "Everything's going to be okay, baby…" he assured her, hurrying towards the front door of the bus. "We're going to get you some help…everything's going to be okay…I promise…nothing's going to happen to you."

"Flack…" Bernstein watched helplessly as the other man rushed down the steps. "This isn't a good idea…wait for the bus….wait for EMS…that's their job!"

His words fell on deaf ears. Drifting on the still air as the other man disappeared into the night. On a frantic rush against time. An unwilling contestant in a battle between life and death.

* * *

_**Okay…so I am fully aware of just how evil I am. But I have decided to leave Sam's fate up to you guys! To the people that love the Sam/Flack pairing (flamers and haters, please let my readers enjoy something for a change and let them have their say) and who have supported me for so long! It's up to you guys and what you say in your reviews! Life or death? If it's life, just know that it won't be a miraculous recovery and that there will be long term repercussions! And if it's death, there are still past chapters up my sleeve. **_

**As usual, a huge thanks goes out to all of those reading and reviewing! And lurking! I appreciate each and every one of you!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**HighQueenReicheru**

**CSINYMinute**

**Anncorcam**

**Soleil Mar**

**Forest Angel**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Heart2handgun**

**Monoxide lullaby**

**Wolves 2D**

**wolfeylady**

**x3Sunnydaay**

**xSamilciousx**

**New-york-babee**


	89. Lean on Me

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. CBS OWNS ANY AND ALL CHARACTERS BORROWED FROM THE SHOW. I ALSO DO NOT OWN ANY SONGS I USE. I ONLY STAKE CLAIM TO SAMANTHA ROSS-FLACK.**

**A/N: PLEASE VISIT MY PROFILE AND VOTE IN THE POLL!!**

**A MASSIVE THANKS TO ALL OF MY REVIEWERS! A 1000+ ALREADY! YOU GUYS ROCK!**

**THIS IS A LINDSAY CENTRIC CHAPTER IN MY OWN TWISTED, LITTLE WAY. SO I AM DEDICATING THIS TO MY DEAR FRIEND DORI!**

**HUGE THANKS TO CASS FOR HELPING ME OUT WITH THE MEDICAL STUFF!**

* * *

**Lean on me**

"In Our Darkest Hour  
In my Deepest Despair  
Will You Still Care?  
Will You Be There?  
In My Trials  
And My Tribulations  
Through Our Doubts  
And Frustrations  
In My Violence  
In My Turbulence  
Through My Fear  
And My Confessions  
In My Anguish And My Pain  
Through My Joy And My Sorrow  
In The Promise Of Another Tomorrow  
I'll Never Let You Part  
For You're Always In My Heart."  
-Will You Be There, Michael Jackson

* * *

The slap of flip flops against cement was nearly deafening in the silence of the cavernous underground lot of St. Vincent's Medical Center. Lindsay her trembling right hand through her messy shoulder length curls as she hurried away from her SUV, the keys dangling noisily from the left as shaky fingers fought in vain to attend to the simple task of setting the alarm via the remote clasped tightly in her clutches. She cursed the tiny, Godforsaken piece of technology and fought both the urge to toss the key chain across the parking lot and to sit down in the middle of the garage and succumb to the tears that threatened. She was terrified. The early morning phone call had not only tore her out of a peaceful sleep, but had rocked her to her very core. Never getting a simple, groggy hello out of her lips before her husband was telling her to get to the hospital. ASAP. That Sam had been taken there, vital signs near absent. Lindsay had shot out of bed in an instant, yelling questions into the phone as she moved through both a haze of exhaustion and fear. Danny had been oddly and eerily calm, cool and collected. All business and straight to the point as she frantically tore around the bedroom, tearing off pyjamas and yanking on clothes in the process.

That had been over and hour and a half ago. She'd spent nearly an hour waiting for in-laws to arrive from Staten Island to watch the kids. In hindsight, it would have been a lot easier to run across the street and pound on the front door of her usual sitter's house. Mrs Tompkins was nearing seventy, but relatively spry and agile for someone her age. She was able to keep up with the Messer brood when others years younger were washing their hands of them and vowing to never sit for those 'hellions' again. Lindsay had known, as she paced her living room waiting for her father in law's pickup truck to pull into the driveway, that the old woman across the street should have been her first choice to come over and keep an eye on the kids. She wouldn't have refused knowing it was an emergency. A family emergency, as far as Lindsay was concerned.

But instead of quickly getting to the hospital in lower Manhattan, she'd foolishly made the wrong call in the midst of her panic and then had spent the half an hour drive barely able to see the road due to the hot tears that poured down her face. She had berated herself for not thinking straight, for letting her heart rule her head, and had hoped and prayed as she kept a firm foot on the gas and her shaky hands on the steering wheel, that time was on her side. And not dead set against her.

Finally engaging the alarm, she shoved the keys into her purse and rushed towards the sliding doors a hundred yards away that would take her to the elevators. Which would lead her to her best friend. The woman that she'd spent years working alongside of and whom she'd come to love like a sister. Their bond stretched far beyond colleagues and best friends. Despite the occasional disagreement and falling out, they always found their way back to each other. It killed them both to be 'on the outs' and it never took long for one of them to crack and finally call the other one in an emotional state. Which in turn, lead the other to dissolve into tears themselves and reduced them both to blubbering messes on the telephone. At work, they'd always had each other's backs. Upholding each other's decisions and lending either a supportive ear, a shoulder to cry on, or well meaning advice. Whether it was asked for or even appreciated. On rare occasion, when differences of opinion regarding the handling of a suspect or the processing of evidence arose, they had always simply agreed to disagree. Respecting one another and ultimately, defending one another.

Outside of work, the friendship they'd developed was akin to a sisterhood. There was never a dull moment when they were together. Never a time where they didn't smile or laugh. They finished each other's sentences much to their husbands' dismay. Giggled and chatted on the phone for hours. Took day trips to Coney Island and ate too much junk food and rode the rides until they thought they'd throw up. They got their faces painted and their pictures taken together on the boardwalk. They played midway games and brought home countless stuffed animals that they neither really wanted, or needed.

"You two will never grow up," Danny had muttered on more than one occasion, when Lindsay had wandered through the front door after a day out, sparkling butterflies painted on her cheeks and Coney Island prizes tucked under her arms. Strawberry sauce from a funnel cake staining the front of her t-shirt and a bag of cotton candy clutched in one hand. "You'd think for mothers you two would be a little more…mature."

Both Lindsay and Sam had long ago learned to just take the ribbing from their husbands. The bitching and moaning the two men did when it came to their wives' propensity to 'not act their age'. She and Sam had developed an almost Peter Pan like enthusiasm for life. Inside the home they were reserved and mature. Taking care of their husbands and their children. Tending to the housework and the grind of daily life. When they were able to 'escape', they became kids again. They threw caution to the wind and lived their time together to the fullest. Vowing to never, ever grow up.

Nine years ago, Samantha Ross had steamrolled her way into Lindsay's life. Quickly and easily breaking down the iron clad barriers that the girl from Montana had years ago successfully built up around herself. The brutal slayings of her friends in that diner a little over ten years ago back in Bozeman had essentially shut Lindsay down. Survivors guilt and a decade of horrific nightmares had found her shying away from getting too close to anyone. Leery of letting anyone into her life for fear of having them so suddenly and violently ripped away. For years she'd guarded her heart and steeled her emotions, accepting a rather quiet and lonely existence in favour of getting to close and losing someone.

Until that day the feisty little Brooklyn girl had walked into the crime lab via Phoenix, Arizona. With her assortment of body jewellery, her collection of tattoos and her vibrant personality, Sam had rapidly captured the piece of Lindsay's heart that she had thought would be missing forever.

And the thought of losing the woman that she loved like a sister…it absolutely terrified Lindsay and sent her into a near blind panic.

Slamming the palm of her hand against the button for the automatic door, she drummed her fingers against her hip in agitation as it swung open painfully slow, than gave a heavy sigh and slipped through before it was even half way ajar. Ignoring the curious and condescending looks from the elderly man and woman who were already waiting in the postage stamp size foyer, she stomped past them and jammed her index finger into the already illuminated up button. She tapped the toe of her right flip flop against the tiled floor and continued to jab at the call button while her nervous, frightened eyes flickered between the numbers above the three elevators before them. She knew she probably looked like a raving lunatic with her shoulder length curls messy and wild and her petite body clad in a pair of blue and green striped satin pyjama pants, one of her husband's shirts unbuttoned over the tank top that matched her pants and her favourite sandals from the dollar store. She'd been too busy pacing and worrying and attempting to call Flack during the time she waited for her in laws, that she hadn't even thought of getting herself cleaned up and dressed. And when Danny's parents had finally arrived, she'd simply tossed on whatever she got her hands on first and hurried out the door.

"Come on…come on…" she huffed and repeatedly and angrily jabbed at the button for the elevator. "What is taking so damn long…piece of shit…"

"Such language for a lady," the man beside her muttered to her husband, just loud enough for Lindsay to hear.

She ignored the comment. Her nerves were shot and she felt sick to her stomach. A million and one dreadful thoughts were stampeding through her and she knew that if someone trampled on her last nerve, there'd be hell to pay.

"This is such bullshit…" Lindsay muttered. Then on the verge of tears, held the button down with her fingertip. "Hurry the hell up you sonofabitch!"

"You know dear," the elderly woman looked past her husband and shot Lindsay a frown. "A watched pot never boils. Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

"Yes she did," Lindsay gave a sugary sweet smile. "And she also told me to mind my own business and to not tolerate anyone sticking their nose in mind. And that includes miserable old bitties who think the entire world owes them for living so long."

Both husband and wife gasped loudly, shocked by the young woman's outburst.

"Now if you don't mind, keep your traps shut and leave me alone."

The couples' eyes widened and the husband opened his mouth to offer up a retort, only to be dissuaded by a loud chime announcing the arrival of the elevator.

"Finally!" Lindsay exclaimed, then with another fake, pleasant smile, motioned for the other two to go ahead of her when the doors to the lift finally slid open. Her eyes narrowing and a glare burrowing into the backs of their heads as she followed them onto the elevator.

Hitting the button for the main lobby, she retreated to the far side of the elevator and leaned back against the mirrored rear wall. She kept her eyes riveted on the illuminated numbers counting the floors as they made their ascent. The seconds passing agonizingly slow as she chewed on her bottom lip nervously and tapped her foot against the ceramic tiles beneath her. She felt queasy and light headed. Her stomach was twisted into a thousand knots and fear of the unknown choked at her. And she felt cold. So cold and so numb on one of the hottest nights on New York City record, and as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, she rubbed at them in a vain attempt to warm herself.

* * *

As the elevator finally reached the lobby, the cell phone tucked into her purse rang loudly, rousing her out of the fog of pessimistic thoughts that had shrouded her since she'd gotten the original call from Danny. Rummaging through her crowded and overflowing bag, she snagged her flip phone and checked the caller ID. She'd left four messages for Flack when his own cell went straight to voice mail each and every time she'd attempted to get a hold of him. She had no clue where Sam was within the hospital and her initial plan had been to hit the admissions desk to find out just what the hell was going on.

"Danny…" she gave a tremendous sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar number and flipped the phone open. "Please tell me that this is at least a little bit of good news," she said in way of greeting.

"Flack called," Danny told her, his voice solemn. "From a payphone. Had to turn his cell off when he got to the emergency room."

"And Sam?" Lindsay asked, her heart thudding in her chest as she stepped off of the elevator. "Did he say how…"

"She's been in surgery for the last hour and a bit," her husband informed her. "Didn't tell me exactly what happened, but that the best neurosurgeon in the place is looking after her."

"Neurosurgeon?" Lindsay's head swam as she tried to process the information. "What…"

"I don't know what's going on or what's wrong with her, Montana. All I know is that by the sounds of things…by the sounds of things she's not doing so good. Flack sounded…I don't know…he just didn't sound like Flack."

"But did he say if she's alright? Did he say what the doctors said? Did he…"

"Lindsay…it's not good, okay? He didn't say much and he didn't really need to. It was the way he sounded…he was just…distraught. I've never heard Flack that way and I don't want to ever hear him like that again and it's killing me that I can't be there right now. Killing me."

"I'm sure he understands," Lindsay told him, her heart breaking at the sound of disgust and frustration in her husband's voice.

"I should be there," Danny said. "I should be there with him. He's always there for me no matter what and the one time that he needs me…"

"You have to work. You have to handle the case on your own. And if anyone can understand that, it's Flack. He knows how much you want to be here, Danny. Believe me, he does."

"He's my best friend, Linds. I love him like a brother. And Sam…" Danny's voice cracked. "Sam's the love of his life and if he loses her…I can't let him be alone if that happens. I need to be there for him and I can't. I can't be there for him because of this fucking place!"

"Nothing is going to happen to her," Lindsay hoped that she sounded more confidant than she felt. "She's going to be fine and things are going to…" she took a deep, quivering breath and released it slowly. "Things are going to be okay. Just try and keep yourself busy. Just jump head first into the case and get it wrapped up as soon as you can so you can get over here. Just concentrate on the job. Keep yourself sane, alright?"

"It's hard," Danny sighed. "It's hard 'cause Flack's there and Sam's there and…"

"And they'll still be here when you get done," his wife assured him. "Just try to keep yourself busy, Danny. Try to keep your mind off of what's going on here."

"It's just hard you know?" he sniffled noisily. "It's hard keeping focused knowing how bad off she is. Knowing that Flack's probably scared shitless and he's going through this alone. It's just…hard. It's hard."

"I know," Lindsay sympathized. "And I know that there's no place in the world you'd rather be than here. But Sam's in good hands and Flack…I'll take care of him, alright?"

"A'right…" Danny gave another shaky sigh. "I better go. Keep myself busy. Don't be surprised if Mac shows up there. Word travels fast around here and apparently Sinclair is on the war path about something happening to one of the team on the clock that's not work related."

"Oh…so he'd rather she'd gotten shot and killed in the line of duty?" Lindsay asked incredulously. "Would that have been better? To have a perp murder her as opposed to her falling ill? What the fuck is that? His logic is totally messed up. Is he a complete and utter moron or is it me?"

"Do you really need me to answer that? Isn't it plain obvious?"

"I can't believe the nerve of that man!" Lindsay huffed, as she peered up at the brightly coloured signs dangling from the ceiling advertising the locations of different wards. Locating the sign for the operating suites, she turned on her heel and headed left down the main corridor of the first floor, passing through the cavernous, empty lobby and the small café. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods permeating her senses. "Something happens to her and he has the nerve to wish it was something so much worse?! What the hell is wrong with him?"

"He's a jackass?" Danny suggested. "All he cares about is the image of the department. Not the actual people like us who do the grunt work. I guess he feels it would be a better personal interest story, garner public interest and sympathy for the department if something happened to her in the line of duty."

"Remind me to buy him a coffee if he shows up here," Lindsay muttered. "So I can slip arsenic into it."

"Get in line. There's already plans to spike his breakfast with cyanide. How the hell he's been in charge for so long is beyond me. But if that guy ever gets in as commissioner…"

"That's the day we get the hell out of this godforsaken shit hole," she finished for him. "I better go," she issued a heavy sigh. "I'm almost at the OR and…"

"Call me if you hear anything. No matter what it is. Big or small. Good or…" he couldn't bring himself to finish.

"I'll call you," she said.

"And take care of Flack okay? Keep an eye on him. Take care of my boy."

"I will," Lindsay promised him. "He's in good hands."

"I know…we'll talk soon, okay? You need anything, just give me a shout. Anything at all. You hear me?"

"I hear you daddy Danny," she grinned. "We'll talk soon."

"Yeah…okay…and Linds!"

She waited for him to continue, her thumb lingering over the END button on her cell.

"I love you baby," Danny's voice wavered once again. "So much and I..I just needed you to know that. 'Cause you never know what's going to happen. One minute everything can be fine and the next…I just needed you to know how much I love you. And how I can't live without you. I know we've had our share of shitty times and there's been a lot of moments where we haven't gotten along or you wanted to kill me for one thing or another…"

"There's been a few," she teased lightly, a soft smile on her face.

"And I know I haven't always been the best man for you. But I love you and our kids and this…this thing with Brooklyn…it's just made me realize how precious this life is. That you've only got one shot to make things right. That each day you go about hating and fighting…well that's like walking a tight rope. 'Cause it could all be gone just like that and you wouldn't have the chance to make things right. Say the things you always wanted to say but never did. What's happening…puts things in perspective, you know?"

"I know. And you know what else I know? It shouldn't take something like this to happen to make us realize how much we love and appreciate someone."

"Amen to that," Danny agreed. "I'm just glad that Sam and Flack..I'm just glad they found each other again before this happened. 'Cause if something does happen to her…well at least they both know how damn hard they worked to get back together again and they both know how much they love each other. He'll have that to fall back on if…"

"No if's Danny," Lindsay scolded him. "I don't want to hear any if's. She's fine. Sam's fine and she's…" she stopped walking and briefly closed her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. "Sammie is fine and she's not going anywhere. Do you hear me?"

"I'm just saying that…"

"Well don't say it!" she snapped. "I don't want to hear it! She's going to be okay. I'm not going to lose her. I will not lose her! Understand me?!"

Danny paused briefly before answering. "Completely," he told her.

"No one is going to take her away from me," Lindsay vowed. "Not you, not Flack and not even God. This is not her time. She can't leave. I'll tell her when that time is. And I'm not ready…I'm not ready to let her go. I'll never be ready to let her go."

And with those final words and tears spilling down her cheeks, Lindsay disconnected the call. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she opened her eyes and dried them off her sleeve.

_You're not going anywhere you stubborn little bitch, _she thought, envisioning her best friend's face and brilliant smile and hearing that musical giggle as she strode confidently and purposefully towards the OR suites.

* * *

The waiting area was eerily quiet when Lindsay burst through the doors. Banks of chairs, their beige vinyl cracking and faded, lined each sterile white wall. The floor was covered in slate grey indoor/outdoor carpeting that was torn and discoloured in several places. Clearly visible tread patterns could be seen in the middle of the room. Marks made over the years by nervous and anxious family members as they paced the floors while waiting on pins and needles for news regarding their loved ones. Four eighteen inch colour televisions, each with the volume on mute and three tuned into CNN and the other on a channel notorious for showing endless supplies of infomercials, were mounted near the cieiling in each corner of the room. Half a dozen people took up residence in the room. A family of four took up on row of chairs; cuddled together under hospital supplied blankets. A middle aged woman to Lindsay's left kept herself busy by listening to an MP3 player and knitting what appeared to be a blue and white baby blanket.

But it was the lone figure at the far end of the room that captured Lindsay's attention. Clad in a pair of worn out jeans, scuffed Doc Marten boots and a grey t-shirt were small spatters of blood near the left shoulder and down the chest, he was slightly bent over at the waist with his elbows resting on his knees, eyes closed and his hands locked tightly together at the nape of his neck.

She approached slowly and cautiously, not wanting to startle him out of his obviously private moment by storming across the room and demanding to know what the hell was going on. She needed to calm, cool and collected. Even if inside she was falling apart.

"Don?" her voice was quiet as she reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open and the iron clad grip his hands held on each other loosened as he raised his head to look at her. His brow furrowed, confusion, worry and fear etched on his handsome face and clouding his usually vibrant blue eyes.

"Lindsay? What…"

"Danny called me," she explained, and leaned down to embrace him warmly. "He told me that Sammie got sick at work and you had to bring her here," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he returned the hug with a brief one of his own.

"She fainted…" his voice was hallow, disbelieving. "…had a seizure at the crime scene…and two more on the way here."

"She's never had a problem with that before," Lindsay stated, as she slipped into the empty side beside him. "Not that I know of any way. I mean, did she ever have any at home? Did she ever have seizures or fainting spells after they found that spot on the brain stem?" she asked, rubbing the space between his shoulders comfortingly.

"Passed out a couple of times but never seizures," he replied. "She saw the doctor yesterday and he said that that spot was nearly gone now. That it had shrunk since the last time he'd seen her and that it wasn't posing any kind of threat to her."

"Well that's some good news right?" Lindsay's voice was hopeful. "It means that there's not something worse wrong with her. Did they say anything to you in the ER? Do they know what might have caused her to faint? Or the seizures even? Has she been sick? Maybe she's having some kind of reaction to medication or she got too much sun or…"

"There's bleeding in the brain," he said in a near whisper. "They did an MRI right away and said that she…" he took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face and exhaled slowly. "…a leaky aneurysm they're calling it. They took her to the OR right away. To have it coiled or clipped or some shit like that. Something about doing it through her femoral artery."

Lindsay nodded. She knew of the procedure. Her grandmother on her father's side had had the same procedure done when she was in her early seventies and a CAT scan done for what doctors assumed were cluster migraines were actually caused by an aneurysm just steps away from bursting. Unfortunately, her aunt had never made it off of the operating table. At least not alive. But she wasn't about to tell Flack any of that.

"I don't know…" he sighed heavily. "I barely heard a damn word they said. I guess I was just freaked out. Seeing her like that" he struggled with his emotions. "I know she's been sick a lot with the fibromyalgia and I've always taken care of her and all that. But seeing her lying there with blood coming out of ear and her nose and…she was grey, Linds. She was lifeless. She looked…she looked dead."

Lindsay gave a brave smile and stroked his shoulder softly.

"And seeing Sammie like that…" his voice cracked and he cleared his throat noisily. "If I couldn't handle seeing her like that, how am I going to handle seeing her if she's in worse shape when she comes out of that OR? What if she doesn't come out of there at all? What then? I've got three kids at home that need their mother. _I_ need their mother."

"She's going to be okay Don," Lindsay promised. "She's tough. You know that. She's a tiny little thing but she's a fighter. She's going to make it out of there and she's going to be just fine."

He shook his head. "She's not going to be fine. She might be alive but she's not going to be fine. She's never going to be fine. The doctor was spewing off all this crap about permanent brain damage from the seizures. About how she'd have loss of some or all cognitive function. That she could even be reduced to a child like state. That she…I don't know…it was like a million people talking at once. And talking a foreign language at that. And they were shoving all these papers at me to sign and I just…I blanked out. I shut down. Everything was a complete blur to me and then some nurse brought me here and told me a surgeon would come out and talk to me when the operation was finished."

"Doctors have been wrong before," Lindsay gently reminded him. "Just because they think it's going to happen, doesn't mean it will. Did they tell you how long it was going to take or…"

He shook his head and ran his hands along his thighs before planting his elbows on his knees once more, the middle and index finger of his right hand toying with his wedding band. Twirling it around his finger, pulling it up to the knuckle and pushing it back down again. Over and over again. A nervous habit he'd long ago developed. "All they told me was that it was going to take a while," he said. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? A while? How long's a while? An hour? Two? Three? More than that?"

"It means that they need time to make sure that what they have to do is done right," Lindsay told him diplomatically. "They don't want to rush this, Don. They want to make sure it's done properly. So that there's no problems afterwards. It's better to be safe than sorry, right?"

Flack nodded.

"Was she sick at all Don? Danny told me that lately…that lately she hadn't been…well that lately she hadn't been Sam. Not that Sammie that we know anyway."

"Sammie's been…" he sighed heavily, torn between betraying his wife's confidence and leaning on the one person in Sam's life that loved her just as much as he did. That had always been there through thick and thin. And who Sam trusted explicitly. "She's sick, Lindsay. She's really, really sick."

"Don, what…?"

"She's got a tumour. On her pituitary gland. She was going to go in for a biopsy in a couple of weeks to see if it was cancerous or not. Have it removed if the doctors felt there was a safe way to do it. And they think that it caused this aneurysm. That the pressure of it against her brain caused this to happen."

Lindsay blinked. As tears welled in her eyes, an iron like fist closed around her heart and her stomach churned. "How long has she known about this? Why didn't she say anything? Why was she working if she was that sick? Why weren't the doctors taking it more seriously?"

Flack held his hands up in self defence as she peppered him with questions. "She's only known for about twenty four hours. I'm the only person she's told. She asked me to give her the space and the time to tell Mac. And she was worried about telling everyone at work. She was paranoid that people would think she was guilting them into feeling sorry for her."

"What?" Lindsay cried. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard! No one would ever, ever think that. And if they did…well that's just disgusting."

"I know…and that's what I told her. But you know Sammie. Once she's got something into her head…"

"It takes a damn crowbar to get it out," Lindsay finished. Then shook her head in disbelief. "Don…you should have come to me and Danny. You should have told us about this."

"I just found out tonight myself. And I didn't want to betray her. I didn't want her to think she couldn't trust me. I wanted to give her the chance to tell you guys herself. She just needed some time to adjust to the news, Linds. That's all. She needed time for it to sink in and for us to come to terms with it. Together. She wasn't intentionally keeping anything back from you. She wasn't trying to hurt you. She just…we just needed some time to deal with it."

Lindsay nodded in understanding. She was determined to hold it together. No matter how shocking or how terrible the news, she was determined to be the rock. To lift the burden of being everyone's saviour and protector off of Flack's back. To take that often overwhelming weight from his broad, strong shoulders and bear the load herself.

"This never should have happened," he whispered. "This never should have gone down like this. If I'd just told her to tell Mac she couldn't come in. If I'd just told her that I didn't want her out there…

"She would have told you to stop being so overprotective and to give her some space," Lindsay informed him. "She would have accused you of not trusting her and treating her like a baby and then that would have lead to a huge fight and all of the work you two have put into each other would have been for nothing."

"But this wouldn't be happening right now," Flack argued. "None of this would be happening. We wouldn't be sitting here right now if I'd just told her to stay home. She was at my apartment and if I'd just told her not to go into work, we wouldn't be here right now."

"No, we wouldn't," Lindsay agreed. "But you know where we would be? I'd be at home and you'd be at work. And guess where Sammie would be? Alone and passed out on the floor. Having seizures. Bleeding from her brain. With no one around to help her. You two were called out together for a reason. So that you'd be there to help her. You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong, Don. You've always done it and you need…you need to stop being such a damn martyr all the time."

Flack blinked. Taken back by her honesty. Then he simply nodded in agreement and commenced playing with his wedding ring once more. His shoulders tense, eyes riveted on the worn out carpet below him.

"Have you called anyone?" Lindsay asked. "Your parents? Sam's folks? Adam even?"

"Last thing on my mind," Flack replied. "I know Adam and Sarge will both have my ass for not calling them. Doubt her mom would even give a shit less. Knowing her, she'd throw a damn party if Sammie didn't make it out of here."

"Do you want me to call them? I'm sure that Adam and Sarge will want to be here. And probably your dad too."

"I just don't want them telling the girls anything. I don't want Kellan and Kallison knowing that mommy is sick and in the hospital. They don't need to know that Sam's here. Or that anything is wrong. I'd rather wait to hear what the verdict is before I tell them anything."

"Fair enough," Lindsay said, and massaged the nape of his neck. "I'll call everyone and let them know what's going on, okay? And tell them not to tell the girls. I know you had it out with your mom a while back. Is there someone that would go to your place and look after the girls so Adam can come down?"

"I guess Kelli or Mari. That's the only two people I can think of."

"I'll make some calls," she rubbed his shoulder once more. "And grab some coffee. Sound good?"

He nodded and gave a shaky smile.

"Hang in there Don," Lindsay pecked his cheek and got to her feet. "Sammie's strong. She's going to get through this. Have faith in her, okay?"

"I'm trying," he admitted. "I really am. But all I keep thinking about is…what will I do without her Linds?" his blue eyes were tortured as he looked up at her. "What would I do? How would I cope? When I think about what life would be like without her…"

"Don…" she gently took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his forehead. "…stop thinking so much. Stop thinking and just breathe. Put all your energy and all of your thoughts into her. That's what Sammie needs right now. She needs you to be strong. She's always relied on you to lift her up. And now…now she actually needs you to follow through on those vows you took. Trust her. Trust _in_ her. Okay?"

He sniffled noisily and nodded.

"You're going to be okay," Lindsay promised, and running a hand over his hair, gave a small smile. "I'll be back soon. Just hang in there, okay?"

Flack gave another nod, and sighed heavily as he watched her head across the room and disappear through the door. Swallowing noisily in a vain attempt to clear the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him, he leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.

_Just hang in there_. Lindsay's words rang noisily in his ears.

But those words of wisdom were difficult to grasp when life seemed as if it were dangling by a tattered thread.

* * *

**So life won out! It won't be easy, but when is it ever in any of my stories? I think you'd all be shocked if I didn't wander down a dark path from time to time. **

**Thanks to all of you who are reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate the overwhelming support and love I continuously receive from all of you and I can't thank you all enough!**

**Special thanks to:**

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	90. Sunshine and Linus

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE CSI FRANCHISE OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY.**

**A/N: THIS IS A PAST CHAPTER**

* * *

**Sunshine and Linus**

"Days go by  
I can feel 'em flying  
Like a hand out the window in the wind as the cars go by  
It's all we've been given  
So you better start livin' right now  
'Cause days go by."  
-Days Go By, Keith Urban

* * *

As Catherine Willows used her hip to push her way into the public restroom on the main floor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she took a sip of coffee from the white porcelain mug in her left hand and grimaced. The brew was foul. It was the only -and not so accurate- way to describe it. And even that was being kind. Although it was piping hot and the rich, flavourful aroma had permeated her senses the moment she'd walked into the break room to discover the newly prepared pot, one sip had left her horrifically disappointed and fearful of swallowing. The midnight black liquid was bitter and nothing short of gag inducing, and she quickly made her way to the row of sinks along the far wall where she proceeded to spit the contents of her mouth out noisily, then dump the coffee down the drain. Throwing on the cold water, she used it to both rinse the grotesque brew off of the porcelain and to cleanse her mouth of the putrid taste.

"That is the last time any of the lab techs are allowed anywhere near the coffee maker," she muttered, as she filled her mug with water and taking a sip, used it to swirl around her mouth before gargling noisily and leaning down to spit it out into the sink.

The sound of giggling from one of the stalls behind her captured Catherine's attention. It was a childish, light and airy noise that could be either immensely uplifting and charming, or incredibly annoying under certain given circumstances, and turning off the tap, she glanced through the mirror in front of her. Catching sight of the only other occupant in the bathroom. Or at least their feet. Visible from underneath the stall door, clad in a pair of lime green ballet flats that were small enough to belong to an average sized twelve year old. A shimmering white and rose gold anklet adoring the left leg.

"This tattoo that I want is so fab-fucking-tabulous.." a voice from inside the stall said. "It is out of this freaking world. It's a peacock. This huge ass, beautiful and bold peacock that takes up my entire side. So the tail would end up spreading across my entire back and the head would be between my boobs…"

Catherine smirked, and giving a shake of her head, sipped slowly at her water. Stalling the best she could in order to get a good look at whoever was behind door number three whenever they decided to emerge. By the size of those feet, the adorable shoes, the girlish giggle and the bubbly, exuberant voice, whoever it was couldn't have been older than late teens. Even early twenties was pushing it. And considering the abysmal signal for cell phones one encountered when inside of the washroom, they were obviously talking to themselves. And as she turned and leaned back against the sink and waited, she ran through the days cases in her mind, trying to conjure up an ID of one of the many nutters Brass and the other detectives had dragged through the door during their shift.

"…it is the coolest tat I have ever seen in my life," the young woman continued. "I know I already have a few, but this one…this one would be the piece de resistance….wait a second…"

There was the sound of clothes rustling, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone urinating.

"Sorry…" that giggle filled the bathroom once again. "…I tinkled on you!"

Catherine rolled her eyes, and tapping the nails of one hand against the sink, she brought her mug to her lips and sipped at her water, biding her time as she listened to the toilet paper being unravelled and torn apart, then clothes being straightened and tidied and the toilet flushing.

"What manners?….Oh, who needs to be a lady?…if you can't listen to your best friend take a leak but you can brush your teeth while your fiance is doing his morning dump…"

Choking on a mouthful of water, Catherine coughed and sputtered noisily and forced herself to swallow.

"I'm just saying…I'm losing you here…hello?…Linds?…hello?…oh for shit sakes…"

There was a loud rattling noise as the bolt was pushed across, and as it swung open, Catherine blinked in surprise at the sight of the young woman that stepped out into the bathroom. Not only because she was expecting someone much younger due to the giggling and the rather childlike behaviour, but because she recognized the young woman before her. The name escaped her, but the face was undoubtedly familiar. Although the last time Catherine had seen her, in a taped power point presentation that Grissom had shown her after attending the forensics conference in Minnesota. A tiny, conservative brunette in a relatively boring black pin strip suit with a crisp white blouse underneath, her hair in a tight bun and dark framed glasses on her face.

He'd gone on and on and damn near waxed poetic about the poise and professionalism of the young CSI that had gotten up in front of a room of nearly three hundred people and had given a rather remarkable presentation on analyzing gunshot residue patterns and their usefulness in cases where evidence is scarce. He'd tried desperately to secure her for his own lab when word had gotten around that she was looking to bail from the Phoenix PD, and had gone as far as offering to pay for her plane ticket -out of his own pocket- to come to Vegas for an interview. Only to find out that her heart, for personal reasons, was set on New York City.

This young woman before her now….this was not the same CSI that had appeared on that recording. With her fresh faced appearance and her body clad in a brightly coloured, figure flattering sundress accessorised with the stylish shoes and a purse, it looked as if she'd just stepped out of an ad for Abercrombie and Fitch. Barely old enough to drink or gamble let alone be giving presentations at a forensic conference.

"Lost my signal," the petite brunette explained, a frown on her face as she held up her metallic pink cell phone. "And that was a long distance call too!"

Catherine was slightly relieved to know that she hadn't been listening to someone mentally unhinged carrying on a conversation with themselves. But was not impressed at the immaturity that she'd just witnessed. Totally unbecoming of someone she knew had to be in their early to mid thirties.

"Oh well…" the young woman sighed. "Shit happens, right? I'll have to call her back when I get back to the hotel."

"The cell signal has always been bad in here," Catherine said. "I'm surprised you even managed to get through to someone."

"Guess it's the horse shoe up my butt!" the brunette chirped, then made her way to the sink where she washed her hands. "You're Catherine, right?" she asked curiously, as she turned off the water taps and yanked a paper towel from the holder mounted above the soap dispenser. "Catherine Willows?"

The older woman's eyebrow shot up.

"Nick and Warrick showed me some pictures on their phones of everyone here when we met at a conference a few years back. I'm Samantha Ross," she offered a dainty hand. "I'm…"

"I know who you are," Catherine told her, shaking the younger woman's hand politely. "CSI from the New York Crime Lab. Via Phoenix. Grissom showed me a recording of a PowerPoint presentation you did."

"That was just a fluke. I wasn't even supposed to present. I suck at things like that. But my boss had to fly home unexpectedly for personal reasons and had asked me to do it."

"But it was _your_ paper and _your_ work he was presenting," Catherine pointed out.

Sam leaned back against the ledge of the sink and dried her hands. "A lot of people get forensic papers published. You don't need to be a rocket scientist for that to happen. And I'm not the public speaking type. I just did the work for the lab and after that it was up to them to do what they wanted with it. That's all."

"Doesn't mean your work isn't of value."

Sam shrugged. "It was really no big deal. To be honest? I'd rather be in the lab than talking in front of shit loads of people. That's just not me. I'm not cut out for that type of thing. At all. Now Bug Man…"

"Bug man?" Catherine's eyebrow shot up once more.

"Grissom. I called him Bug Man and he called me GSR Girl. He was great. I loved his presentation on insects being able to predict the approximate time of death according to the level of a bodies decomposition and the digestion of fatty acids in the insects' systems."

"I didn't think anyone besides Grissom was interested in stuff like that," Catherine said.

"It was fascinating. I mean, all of this million dollar technology and flies can call TOD better? How cool is that? Never mind paying the medical examiners to do it. Let's just bring in a shit load of bugs and let them do the work."

"Are you really some illegitimate child of Gill's?" Catherine inquired.

"My brother has been huge into bugs since he was little," Sam laughed. "That might be something you should ask him. Come to think of it…we've always looked remarkably different and I've always questioned our parentage. So that may explain where he actually originated from."

The older woman cracked a smile.

"I'm just a laugh a minute," Sam told her. "It's okay to loosen up a bit."

"I'm sorry…I just…when I heard you on the phone and then saw who you were when you came out of the stall…well I guess remembering you from what Grissom showed me and seeing you like this…"

"I know…I'm a study in contradiction. One minute I'm all serious and intense professional and then the next…well, next is exactly what you see before you."

"Little girl lost," Catherine commented.

Sam's eyes widened. "Warrick used to call me that," she said.

"He mentioned you a couple of times," Catherine told her. "After he came back from the conference. I think he was worried about you. I heard him talking about you to Nick and he sounded concerned. He used those words."

"He always said that it fit me perfectly. That it seemed as if I was this little kid stuck in a woman's body. Searching for a safe place to go or someone to take care of me. And he always said that…" biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. "It's not important what he said after that."

"That he'd be that safe place if you wanted him to be," Catherine finished.

"I always told myself that I wouldn't ever rely on a man to do that for me," Sam admitted, her face and voice solemn. "That no man could ever become my be all and end all. Probably because I could never trust any guy other than my brother. So it was…it was hard to take him up on that. And when the time came…" she raked her hand through her hair. "…when the time came when I realized I did need that, someone else became my safe place."

"Too bad Warrick never found his own safe place," Catherine mused.

Sam nodded in agreement. "I should get going," she said, giving a shaky smile. Unsettled by the other woman's heavy gaze and the accusatory tone in her voice. "It was nice to meet you," she shook Catherine's hand once more, then made for the door. "My friend is waiting for me at the reception desk and I wanted to see Nick before we headed back to our hotel and…"

"You know, it's sad to think about what might have been," Catherine commented. "I mean, if you'd taken Warrick up on what he'd said…"

"What happened to Warrick was horrible and he didn't deserve that," Sam said, as her fingers curled around the door handle. "But I couldn't have stopped it. No one could have. Our lives went in two completely different directions. And I…I made the right choice with my life. My direction turned out to be the perfect one for me."

"Well I guess that's all that matters in the end," Catherine concluded.

"We all can't be martyrs," Sam retorted, then without glancing back, yanked the door open and stepped out into the hallway.

* * *

Jess taped her foot impatiently on the tiled floor beneath her and cast a glance down at her watch. It had been nearly twenty minutes since Sam's friend Nick had been paged to the reception desk and since Sam herself had disappeared to the washroom. And neither person had yet to materialise before her.

Instead, as she leaned against the reception desk and listened to the heel of her sandal slap against the floor as the nails on her left hand drummed out a rhythm against her hip, she found herself the magnet of curiosity. Every uniform or plainclothes that walked past her couldn't seem to do so without a double take. And lab rats, in their wrinkled white coats and their noses buried in their reports, practically gave themselves whiplash checking her out. To them she was nothing more than an unfamiliar face. An attractive woman in strapless white sundress that showed off her curves and her dark locks tumbling over her shoulders and her skin bearing a slight tan. Little did they know, underneath lurked a girl that could easily hand them their ass. Twice over.

_Five more minutes, _Jess thought, as she looked in the direction of the public washroom and saw no sign of her friend. _Five more minutes and if she's not out here…well I'm leaving her sorry ass and she can find her own way back to the hotel._

"Mister Sanders," the nasally voiced secretary broke into Jess' thoughts, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the woman lift herself slightly out of her chair and lean across the desk, a stack of small pink paper slips in her hand. "Apparently you don't know how to work a cell phone. Several people called for you. Several _irate _people."

"Well, they'll all just have to get in line behind the several hundred of pissed off and less than satisfied customers, won't they," came the response, prompting Angell to cast a sidelong grin at the young man that sidled up beside her, his hand outstretched for the messages. Tall and lanky, he wore his thick brown hair short to his head and had a pair of soulful dark eyes framed by long lashes and a slightly crooked nose to go with the somewhat crooked smile he flashed in her direction. He was attractive. In a geeky, Adam Ross sort of way. And Jess didn't do Adam Ross.

Literally and figuratively.

"No rest for the weary," he addressed Jess, holding the stack of slips up.

"I know that feeling," she said, and looking down at her watch once again, issued a heavy sigh and shook her head in disdain. Her eyes suddenly narrowing as she felt the young man's gaze travelling the length of her body. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I don't know…can you?"

Jess snorted. "Do me a favour and keep on walking kid," she suggested.

"I'm Greg," he offered his hand. "Greg Sanders. And you would be?"

"Not interested," she responded.

"Oh give it a rest Gregory," Jess heard Sam's voice from behind her. "We all know she is way out of your league."

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes!" a broad grin spread across Greg's face as he turned and regarded the tiny brunette sashaying towards them. "Is my sight deceiving me or is the elusive Sam Ross aka Pee-Wee aka Short Stuff actually here in the Vegas crime lab?"

"In the flesh!" she cried, and accepted a warm, tight hug. "How are you doing Linus?"

Jess arched an eyebrow. "Linus?"

"It's a long story," Sam explained, as Greg kissed her cheek and let his arm settle loosely around her waist as they both turned to face Angell. "And to turn it into a short one, our last night at the conference, we all hung out in Nick and Warrick's room and got totally wasted. And Greg here…well he passed out cold on the bathroom floor so we covered him with a blanket and kept on partying. An hour later, he came wandering out of the bathroom and stumbled for the door, the blanket under his arm and trailing behind him as he went."

"Hence the name Linus," Greg concluded the story.

"Charming," Jess said and gave him a sugary sweet, albeit phony smile.

"So?" Greg looked down at the brunette alongside of him. "What are you doing here? I don't lay eyes on you for two years and suddenly you're showing up out of the blue at the crime lab? What's that about?"

"Well…my dear friend here is getting married tomorrow and I happen to be the one standing up for the blushing bride," Sam explained. "Greg, this is Jessica Angell. Jess this is…"

"Linus," she concluded and shook the hand the young man offered in her direction.

"Jess is a detective back in New York," Sam added.

"Really?" Greg gave an impressed nod. "What's your speciality? Loss prevention?"

Jess smirked. "Homicide, actually. With a penchant for vice and drugs."

"A tough girl," he said as he eyed her from head to toe. "I like…"

"Greg, you wouldn't last two rounds with her," Sam told him. "In fact, you'd…" her eyes widened and her words trailed off as she felt a pair of strong arms circle her waist. And she gave a small shriek of surprise as she was lifted clear off her feet.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Nick exclaimed, as he squeezed her affectionately before setting her back down on the floor. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him and pecked each of her cheeks.

"Kicking and screaming," Sam laughed. "How are you? Long time no see!"

"Too long!" he agreed. "Emails only do so much, you know. What are you doing here, sunshine?"

"You people sure have a thing for nicknames," Jess commented. Then frowned as her cell phone vibrated against her hip. Removing it from its carry case, she groaned inwardly as she checked the caller ID. "It's the manager of the chapel," she told Sam. "Lovely…hope this isn't the beginning of the most disastrous wedding ever."

"You're paranoid," Sam declared.

"With good reason. Remember the day my brother Jamie got married? Remember everything that went wrong? First all of the bouquets were made wrong, then my future sister in law's nearly had a stroke when her zipper completely tore away from one side of the dress and we had to improvise and used two sided tape to fix it."

"And then the priest had a heart attack half an hour before," Sam told Nick and Greg. "It was a total disaster."

"And disasters seem to run in my family," Jess added.

"If it's any consolation, it's suppose to rain tomorrow," Greg told her. "And rain on your wedding day apparently means you're going to be rich one day."

"Only thing rain on my wedding day will mean is that I'll look like a drowned rat," she retorted. "I'm going to return this call. You'll be okay alone, Sam?"

"Oh I think you can rest assured that these two handsome men won't be taking advantage of me any time soon," she laughed. "Go ahead."

"Jessica Angell," she introduced quickly to Nick.

"Nick Stokes," he said in return, then watched with a grin on her face as she hurried off towards the front entrance.

"No name has ever suited someone more," Greg remarked, as he watched the departing woman, his eyes riveted on the way her hips and ass moved in her dress. "Detective McHottie or what."

"Hey!" Nick slapped his colleague's shoulder in order to capture his attention. "I've got some evidence waiting to be processed in trace. Think you could do me a favour and get on it right away?"

"And what do I look like? Lab rat boy?" Greg asked.

"From whence you came. It's either that stack of messages in your hand or helping to catch a killer. What'll it be?"

"No need to say more," Greg said, and embracing Sam once again, pecked her cheek. "Swing by and say adios before you leave," he said.

"I will," she promised.

"I'll be down the hall!' Greg called over his shoulder as he departed. "Returning phone calls."

* * *

Nick snorted and shook his head, then grinned down at Sam. "Love that guy to death, but I swear to God, some days? Some days I could just throttle him."

"I seriously think that Adam and Greg are the real siblings," Sam laughed. "Maybe I'm really the Sanders and he's really the Ross. I mean, do I honestly look like or act like my brother?"

"Do I have to answer that?" Nick asked, then chuckled as she pouted dramatically and slugged him in the shoulder. "So what are you doing here, Sunshine? You're definitely the last person I expected to come wandering in here out of the blue. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you."

"Jess is getting married tomorrow. So here I am. Sin City, baby. My boyfriend and I are standing up for her and her fiance."

A slow grin spread across Nick's face. "Boyfriend, huh?"

She smiled brightly and nodded. "A homicide detective," she said. "I met him through working at the lab."

"Same homicide detective that you whined and moaned to me about a few times? The one you were certain had no clue that you even existed?"

"One and only. What can I say? He finally got his head out of his butt."

"Took him long enough," Nick gave her a once over. "You look happy, Sunshine."

"You know what? I am happy. Happier than I've ever been. I never thought I'd feel this way about anyone. After Zack I'd all but sworn off ever being a relationship again."

"I'm just glad that you got away from that guy. It was a huge relief to get that email from you saying you were safe and well in New York City. You know how many times we wanted to come to Arizona and bust that guy up? How many times on the way home from that conference Warrick and I…" his voice trailed off, the mere mention of his deceased best friend's name stirring memories and emotions.

"Hey…" Sam's eyes and voice softened as she reached out to rub his upper arm. "It's okay, you know. To miss him."

"Didn't think it would still bother me this much to talk about him nearly two years later," Nick sighed.

"He was your best friend. And the way that it happened…it's okay to still hurt."

He nodded and cleared his throat noisily. "Yeah…Warrick and I always did have these knight in shining armour complexes," he said, quickly brightening his mood once again. "Guy wanted nothing more than to show up in Phoenix and break Zack's arms and legs."

"He would have had to take a number and get in line," Sam said. "I think my brother already had his bags packed so he could show up on Zack's doorstep and, as Adam told me, 'Go medieval on his ass'."

Nick laughed. "So you want to go and grab a coffee or something?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard," she declared.

"Tea…my bad. You want to go and grab one? We can catch up a little on old times? You can fill me in on life in the Big Apple? Your friend might be a while getting all that wedding stuff in order. I'm sure we've got some time before she gets back."

"I don't know…." Sam cast a glance towards the front entrance, where Jess was pacing frantically just beyond the glass doors. "She might need…"

"SAM!" Jess bellowed down the long corridor, as she yanked open the front door and stuck her head inside. "There's issues! I'll be back to pick you up in an hour!"

"Do you need me to…" the final words never had a chance to escape Sam's mouth, as the door swung shut and her best friend turned abruptly on her heel and rushed down the front walk. "She's usually not this…intense," she said, as she turned back to Nick. "…well I mean, at work and out in the field and in interrogation she is. Hell, at work she's downright scary some times. But this…she's going all Bridezilla on me."

"Just another reason to stay single forever," Nick mused. "So you can spare yourself the agony of ever dealing with someone like that."

Sam quirked an eyebrow.

"By the word you, I meant me," he explained.

"Oh come on, Nick…don't be giving up on happily ever after. I mean if I can find a prince out of a hell of a lot of frogs wandering around New York City, you can meet Mrs. Right wandering down the Vegas Strip."

Nick frowned.

"Okay…well maybe not _there_. Unless the future Mrs. Stokes is a lady of the night. But you've always been the eternal optimist. _Always_."

"Yeah…well you can thank Undersheriff McKeen for ripping the last shred of optimism out of my life. And don't tell me you're planning on taking advantage of the fifty percent off coupon for the Little White Chapel that comes with every buffet dinner at The Excalibur."

"The Bellagio thank you. And no coupons. Well, unless you count the ones for a measly ten percent off a pedicure. But no. No Little White Chapel for me. It's not my scene."

"Marriage isn't your scene or getting married in Vegas isn't your scene?"

Sam smiled, and looping her arm around his bicep, rested her head against his shoulder. "I have seen my future, Nicky."

"And?" he asked curiously, as he led her in the direction of the staff break room.

"And it involves a tall and devastatingly handsome man with incredible blue eyes and the most incredible…" she sighed dreamily. "Smile," she finished.

"That is not what you were going to say," Nick chuckled.

"I'll keep the dirty thoughts to myself," she giggled. "But I will tell you this. My distant future involves my totally hot, totally sexy homicide detective. My very near future however…"

He looked down at her, eyebrow arched in anticipation.

"…involves tea and something chocolate," she finished, and gave him a wink.

Nick grinned, and leaned down, pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm on it," he said.

* * *

**Okay, so I went with a shorter chapter to get back into the swing of things. I've been a little rusty lately and haven't really had the desire to post. I think my muse is on summer vacation and I've had to rely on a backup. I'm also busy writing something (non NY) for another site. So I hope this little chapter was okay and I look forward to hearing from everyone!**

**Huge thanks and appreciation going out to all of those R and R'ing and even all the lurkers!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Hope4sall**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Madison Bellows**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**Ms. Lori Reznor**

**wolfeylady**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Monoxide lullaby**

**Forest Angel**

**New-York-Babeee**

**Soccer-bitch**


	91. Carrying On

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE CSI FRANCHISE OR ANY CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH IT. NOR THE SONG LYRICS USED AT THE BEGINNING OF MY CHAPTERS**

**A/N: ANOTHER PAST CHAPTER**

**CHECK OUT MY PROFILE! A PICTURE OF MY KELLAN AND KALLISON (KALLISON ON THE LEFT). JUST WAITING FOR THE SITE TO CHANGE THE AVATAR PIC.....**

* * *

**Carrying On **

"You'd think that I'd learn my lesson by now  
You'd think that I'd somehow figure out  
That if you strike that match  
You've found a field of flames  
You'd think that I'd learn the cost of love  
And paid that price long enough  
But still I drive myself right through the pain  
Well it turns out  
I haven't learned a thing

Oh yeah

Sometimes I think I'm better off  
To turn out the lights and close up shop  
Didn't give up the longing, believing  
And belonging  
Just hold down my head and take the loss."  
-Learn My Lesson, Daughtry

* * *

_Hey babe. Just checking to see if you're alright. Wanted to let you know that I love you and I miss you and can't wait to see you._

A soft smile curved Sam's lips as she checked the text message that had come in to her cell phone mere moments before. Nick had escorted her to the employee break room and after pouring himself a coffee and preparing her a tea -two bags left in the mug so it steeped as strong and flavourful as possible and a small carton of milk on the side- announced he needed to run to the locker room and grab something out of his belongings. No sooner had he rushed out the door, her cell, tucked into her purse rang noisily. The sounds of Soulja Boy's 'Kiss Me Through the Phone' filling the room.

The simple yet sweet and totally unexpected message did wonders to begin the defrost of the chill Catherine Willows' behaviour earlier in the public washroom had cast upon her. It warmed her inside at the realization that a text message could have such a positive effect on her. And she reminded herself that it wasn't the text or the contents of it, it was the sender. Someone who'd come into her life and transformed it when she'd ruled out ever being happy again. A best friend who had become so much more and who had taught her what real love and acceptance was about.

_Are u drunk? The only time u go all mushy and lover boy on me is when u r hammered, _she typed, then hit the send button. Her cell in her left hand, she leaned forward to use her right to dip the tea bags repeatedly in and out of the boiling water in her mug. Her cell phone went off once again and she glanced down at the message.

_Totally sober. Is there something wrong with a guy going all sappy once in a while? With wanting to tell his girl how much he loves her? _

The small smile turned into a broader one, and composing her reply in her head, tapped at the keys feverishly.

_There is when the person sending the message is a six foot two hard ass homicide detective whose idea of romance is a night in with a 2-4, pizza and wings and a Rangers game. So put down the bottle of JD and step away slowly and no one will get hurt._

Satisfied with her response, she set her phone down on the table once again and picked up the container of milk and poured a generous amount into her tea. Nearly laughing out loud when she received a response in record time.

_I'm slightly offended that you think the only time I'm capable of being sappy and sweet is when I'm polluted. So tell ya what, I'll stay completely sober all night and I'll show you just what I'm capable of._

Smirking, she hurriedly typed back, watching out of the corner of her eye as Nick wandered back into the lunchroom, a manila envelope clutched tightly in his hand.

_I said romantic and cheesy, not perverted and kinky. But if u get me polluted enough and if u r a good boy, u'll be able to enjoy uninhibited Sam. Right now, I gtg. Talk soon. Luv me._

Sending the message off, she turned her phone onto silent and tucked it back into her purse.

"Boyfriend?" Nick asked, as he pulled out the chair across from her and took a seat.

Sam nodded, and picking up her mug took a small sip. "He's hanging out at the hotel watching orange league baseball."

Nick arched an eyebrow, clearly perplexed.

"Citrus League," Sam tried again.

"It's the Grapefruit League," Nick corrected, an amused grin on his face.

"Whatever," she waved it off. "He's a hockey fanatic. Rangers this, Rangers that. He lives and bleeds the Rangers."

"No wonder he loves ya so much," Nick mused. "Found himself possibly the only woman on the planet that loves hockey as much as he does."

"It makes for some amusing nights that's for sure. Especially since I'm all New Jersey or all Pittsburgh and he rides my ass constantly about it."

Nick coughed noisily and smirked.

"I meant figuratively, not physically," Sam scolded, and directed a kick at his shin under the table.

"Sure you did..." he chuckled. "You know, it's always the quiet, tiny ones you have to worry about. The ones who seem so sweet and innocent until the night you come home and they're wearing a black leather body suit and cracking a whip against the floor and calling you slave and demanding you call them mistress."

Sam's eyes widened. "Just what kind of girls live in Las Vegas? And what kind of dates have you been going on?"

Nick gave a mischievious smile.

"Are there dirty women here corrupting you?" Sam teased. "Are some evil, evil women doing bad things to you? To my Nicky?"

"No..." he said and sipped his coffee. "And trust me, those are not the type of women that I go for."

"And that is not the type of woman I am. And even if I was, I'd never get away with it. Don is not...well he's just not into that kind of thing. He's the dominate one. And you know? That's fine with me. 'Cause he's totally hot. And the plus side? Free access to handcuffs."

Nick nearly spit out his mouthful of coffee. "Way too much information," he managed, as he coughed and sputtered noisily.

Sam gave an innocent, cherubic smile and sipped at her tea.

* * *

"This is for you," Nick laid the manila envelope on the table top and pushed it towards her. "It's an extra one that I've been keeping in my locker and I probably should have sent it to you sooner, but I just...I guess I either just never got around to it or didn't have the heart to part with it. Pathetic excuses, I know. Seeing as it's been nearly two years now, but..."

Setting her mug down, Sam picked up the envelope and opened it. Reaching inside, she pulled out a simple, thin cream coloured booklet. The front bore a sepia photograph of a smiling and carefree Warrick and his name and dates of birth, and death, written in raised gold lettering. A lump of emotion forming in her throat and tears burning her eyes as her thumb grazed over each letter and her gaze lingered on her friend's face.

"I really should have sent it to you after the funeral," Nick said apologetically. "I knew you probably would have really liked to have it. Like I said, I don't know why I held onto it for so long seein' as I got my own copy at home. I guess it just..." he sighed. "I guess having it in my locker made me feel close to him while I was at work. Like he was watching over me."

Sam nodded in understanding.

"I'm sorry, Sunshine. I really should have mailed it to you."

"Better late than never," she reasoned, clearing her throat noisily, and picking her mug up in one of her trembling hands, took a swig of her drink in a vain attempt to wash the emotion away. "I wish I could have been there. But I'd just moved to New York City and I was still trying to carve a niche for myself in the lab and I was worried if that if I asked for time off when I'd just started..."

"Hey...it's okay," Nick assured her. "I completely understand. And Warrick would have understood too. You were just starting to make a new life for yourself. There were a lot of changes happening around you. And to get news like that....it was a shock and you were already dealing with leaving Zack and finding yourself in the big city. No big deal."

"The lab and the precinct we work in conjuncture with sent flowers. And a donation to the little fund you set up for Warrick's son," she said, a fingernail tracing the name on the front of the programme. "I never told anyone that I knew him personally. Not right away at least. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I was worried what people would think about me if they knew....well if they knew about how things went down after the conference."

"What's there to be ashamed about?" Nick asked. "Nothing happened between you and guys. You were friends. With the possiblity of something more coming out of it."

"Warrick was too good of a person for someone like me," Sam told him. "Or at least the way I was then. I was looking so hard for an escape that I was willing to use him to get away. And it's not that I wasn't into him in that way. Because I was. I was just....confused. Confused and scared and even more afraid of taking a chance of leaving Zack to come here. And Warrick...Warrick understood that. He knew that I needed someone to ride in on his white horse and rescue me and he was willing to try and be that person. But I...I never took him up on that."

"You know what I think?" Nick inquired. "I think you and Warrick were both looking for some sort of escape from your lives. You were both at a crossroads and needed someone to save you. And I think that you were both two totally fractured people looking for a chance to be whole again. Who knows if things ever would have went farther between you two. Maybe it would have been great for a while and you would have helped each other get back on track and that would have been that."

"Maybe..." Sam sighed.

"Maybe once you both helped each other you would have both realized that being together was either a complete waste of time or the best thing to happen to both of you," Nick continued. "Who knows, right? Things happen for a reason, Sunshine. I have to believe that. You weren't meant to be here in Vegas. Simple as. Had you meant to be here, you would have found your way, right?"

She gave a small nod.

"Your life took a completely different path," Nick told her. "You ended up in New York City. And judging by the way you were smiling earlier when you were telling me about your homicide detective and the way you were grinning away when I came here, you obviously made the right choice."

"I did," she said confidently. "I've met someone that accepts me for me. He takes me as I am. Baggage and dirty secrets and all. And he's an amazing man, Nick. He's so smart and so funny. He has this way of making me laugh even when it seems like there's nothing to laugh about. And his smile...he's got this smile that just makes me melt. Things aren't perfect. And I don't expect them to be. But he came into my life at a time when I needed someone the most. And when I think about him not being in my life anymore...." she sighed and took a sip of her drink. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Sounds like you met your knight in shining armour," Nick said with a soft smile.

Sam shook her head. "Knight in slightly tarnished armour," she laughed. "That's what he says all the time. I like to call him my knight in a Kevlar vest waving a pump action shot gun and raining shit down on the baddies."

Nick grinned.

"We have our issues but I wouldn't give him up for anything in the world," Sam declared. "There's things we're working on and things we will probably never fully get a grip on. But we're happy. I have no doubt in my mind that he loves me."

"But..." Nick looked at her skeptically. "I know you Sunshine. There's a but wanting to sneak it's way in."

"But at the same time there's a part of me that wonders if things would have ended differently for Warrick had I come here. Not that I think I could have single handily saved him or anything. I mean, no one can solve the world's problems, right? But if I had have come here, maybe he wouldn't have been so...so screwed up."

"That's a bunch of bullshit," Nick scolded her. "There was nothing you could have done. At all. And if anyone should feel responsible for what happened to Warrick, it should be me. If we're going to play the blame game, let's take a look at me. He was my best friend. I loved him like a brother. Yet I obviously didn't do enough, did I? I obviously didn't go that extra mile for him. 'Cause if I had have, he'd still be alive. He'd still be here. If I had have tried harder to get him off the pills or if I'd dragged his ass to get some help..."

Sam shook her head. "You couldn't have...."

"If I'd just walked out that diner door with him instead of hanging around to chat up some waitress and get her phone number, he'd still be around. If I'd left with him and made sure he got home okay, Warrick would still be alive."

"Or both you and Warrick would be dead," Sam said. "McKeen would have shot both of you that night. And don't sit there and tell me he wouldn't have."

Nick ignored her. "And I think if I'd really loved Warrick like I say I do? I would have put a bullet in that sorry SOB's forehead when I caught up to him."

"And toss your entire life away?" she asked.

"Warrick deserved it. Warrick deserved that justice. To see that bastard rot in hell."

"Warrick wouldn't have wanted you to wind up in jail because of McKeen," Sam argued. "Warrick wouldn't have wanted you to throw your entire future away avenging him? Justice was served when McKeen went away for the rest of his pitiful existence. And Warrick would be telling you all of this himself, if he could."

"McKeen doesn't deserve to draw air into his lungs," Nick spat. "He doesn't deserve to take up space on this earth. Think about what you would do if it had have been your brother he'd done that to. Or your boyfriend. Think about it. Think about it and tell me what you'd want to do."

"I'd want to kill them," Sam admitted in a quiet voice.

"Exactly!" Nick exclaimed.

"But wanting it and doing it are two totally different thinks. Me wishing them dead and pulling the trigger myself...those are complete opposite ends of the spectrum. And no matter how bad I'd hurt and no matter how bad I would grieve, I know that neither Adam or Don would want me to toss my life away for them. They'd get that. And Warrick gets that Nick. He didn't expect you to kill McKeen for him. So why are you expecting that of yourself?"

"Because Warrick deserved that. Eye for an eye, right?"

"I'm not getting into a bible quoting contest with a southern boy whose momma taught Sunday school for forty years and who read the Great Book to you ever since you were a baby," Sam teased, giving a small laugh in hopes of lightening the mood.

"I just wish I could go back and do things differently," Nick sighed. "I wish I could go back to that night in the diner. I wish I could just insist that we were going out for a couple of beers and get up and walk out the door with him. I wish I could go back and actually shoot McKeen. 'Cause I wanted to. Badly. Believe me. I wanted to. And I can't stop thinking what if..."

"Stop!" Sam snapped. "Just stop! This isn't doing you any good Nick! Going on and on like this isn't going to solve anything! Constantly questioning yourself and wondering what if isn't...it isn't going to bring Warrick back! He's dead! And I know you love him and I know you miss him! But he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself! He'd want you to let him go and get on with your life! He'd want you to remember him but not obsess over him. He'd want you to think about how he lived rather than how he died! Don't you see what you're doing to yourself? Torturing yourself isn't going to bring Warrick back, Nick! Just let him....just let him rest in peace!"

Nick blinked. Taken back by her outburst.

"Talking like this..." her voice softened. "Talking like this isn't helping you. And I know my words probably seem shallow and I've never lost anyone that close to me before so you have the right to tell me that I have no idea what I'm talking about. But you're not doing yourself any good. How can you start healing when you can't even let yourself try to go on?"

Nick didn't respond. He ran his hands along the sides of his coffee cup and stared into the steaming black liquid.

Sam sighed heavily, and leaning back in her chair, flipped through the programme from Warrick's funeral. It was only six pages in total, but there were pictures of her friend inside, including some shots of him with the various members of the Vegas team. Along with copies of the eulogies that were presented. Those she would save to read until later. Knowing that she'd dissolve into tears the moment she got to Grissom's.

Turning the last page, a small photograph tumbled out of the booklet and landed in her lap.

"That's Eli," Nick told her, as she picked up the picture and studied it. "Or at least what Eli looked like when his father died."

"He's beautiful," Sam smiled down at the photo of the baby. "Looks just his daddy."

Nick nodded in agreement.

"Has anyone seen him since?" she asked, as she tucked the picture back into the pages of the programme. Closing it, she sat it on the table beside her purse.

"Warrick's ex Tina moved out of state," Nick replied. "Lives in Atlanta now. With her new husband. Her divorce attorney."

Sam snorted and shook her head. Then gave a polite smile to the lab tech that slipped into the break room. A rather attractive young woman with shoulder length dark hair and stylish glasses, her blue lab coat unbuttoned, revealing a pair of black dress slacks and a figure hugging yellow top who returned Sam's smile with one of her own before making her way to the sink and snagging a mug from the drain board before moving over to the coffee maker.

* * *

"Can we talk about something else?" Sam asked Nick. "Something a little happier? I come here all the way from New York to see you and we have to dwell on this stuff?"

"What do you want to talk about?" he inquired.

"I don't know. Let's talk about you. Let's talk about your life. More specifically about your love life."

"You mean my lack there of one?" he laughed.

"Come on, Nicky, You're a great looking guy. You're sweet, you're funny, you're smart. You're an awesome catch. What about that girl you told me about? The one that works here?"

His eyes widened and he shook his head frantically as he made a zippering motion over his lips.

"What was her name again? Melody? Melissa? Mindy? No...Mandy! That's it! What about this Mandy you told me about? You ever get up the guts to tell her how badly you're jonesin' for her?"

The lab tech across the room gave a loud gasp and there was a horrendous clatter as her full mug slipped from her hands and shattered on the tiles. Sending coffee splattering and fragments of porcelain scattering in several different directions.

"Jesus...." Nick breathed, and placing his elbows on the table top, put his face in his hands.

"Oh my God!" Sam cried, and pushing her chair away from the table, rushed over to the lab tech who was flushed crimson with embarrassment as she tried frantically to use paper towel to clean up the legs of her pants and the mess of coffee on the floor and on the cupboards. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You didn't get burned, did you?"

"I'm fine," the tech assured her. "I just...I just got startled. That's all. God....I am such a tool."

"It's no big deal," Sam said. "As long as you didn't get burned. That's the important thing. You should see the mess I made once in the lunch room back home in New York City. I was in the fridge getting a snack on my break and my boyfriend came up behind me and dropped an ice cube down the back of my shirt. I squealed, jumped, and dropped an entire glass jar of apple sauce on the floor."

The tech smiled. "Glad to know I'm not the only klutzy one," she said.

"Hardly. I could trip over my own feet. Forget my head if it wasn't attached, too. You guys have cleaners here? Someone you can call to come and clean this up?"

"We use the techs with less seniority for stuff like that," the other woman said. "I'll run and grab Henry. He's been on my shit list lately for some shitty test results he gave me. You're from New York City?"

"Brooklyn. Born and raised. Then I moved to Phoenix when I was sixteen and I found myself back in the Big Apple for work. I'm a CSI. Just like Nicky."

"Nicky?" the tech grinned.

"We've been friends for a while," Sam explained and offered a hand. "I'm Samantha. Samantha Ross."

"And I'm Mandy," the girl said as she shook the other woman's hand. "Mandy Webster."

"Mandy?" Sam's eyes widened. "As in...."

"The girl Nick is apparently jonesin' for," the tech finished. "I'm going to run and grab Henry. It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Sam said, then watched as the other woman walked through the break room and headed for the door.

Mandy stopped in the doorway, doubled back and standing behind Nick, laid her hands on his shoulders as she leaned in close, until her lips were against his ear. "See you later, Nicky," she whispered, then gave a hearty chuckle as she patted his shoulders and hurried from the room.

"Oh....snap....." Sam said, and flashed Nick a sheepish grin.

He shook his head. "One day I will get you for that," he declared.

* * *

"So I guess you have no choice now," Sam commented, as she and Nick stepped out of the front door of the crime lab and into the bright Vegas sunshine. Her sunglasses perched upon her face and her arm looped through his as he escorted outside to wait for Jess' return.

"What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"Well now that Mandy knows you've got the hots for you, she'll be expecting you to ask her out. And it's not like you can back out from doing it either. Or take too long to do it."

He sighed heavily and glared down at her. "I know....what I don't know how is someone so damn tiny can reek so much havoc."

"It's a gift," Sam declared, then giggled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Nicky. I certainly didn't mean to embarrass you like that. I had no idea that that was Mandy. And I also had no idea that you were such a pussy when it came to the female persuasion. How was I to know you had no cajones when it comes to asking girls out?"

"You are just digging yourself a bigger hole there Sunshine," he said, then gave her a playful wink.

"You will definitely have to keep me in the loop," Sam told him. "About you and Mandy. She's awful cute. And feisty. You'll have your hands full with that one."

"You know me, I'm always up for a little excitement and a whole lot of challenge."

"I want a wedding invitation. And I want to be the godmother for your first born," she said, as they took a left at the end of the front walk and headed for the visitors parking lot.

"Okay...now you're just jumping a little too far ahead there, Ross."

"What can I say? I can't stop thinking all romantic, happily ever after. I think it's about time we both had that, don't you? A forever and always type thing?"

"We do..." Nick nodded. "And I think...." he squinted into the sun. "I think your forever and always is waiting for you. Tall guy? Built like a brick shit house? Wears a Mets cap? No one wears a Mets cap around these parts unless you're a tourist."

Sam looked in the same direction as her friend. A wide, brilliant, little girl beam quickly taking up residence on her face as she waved to the familiar face in a ball cap, olive green cargo shorts, a white golf shirt that fit tight across the chest and biceps, and hideous Adidas sandals, leaning against the front passenger door of the rental car.

"That's him!" Excitement bubbled in her voice and on her face.

"Well?" Nick untangled his arm from hers. "What are you waiting for? Go on. I'll catch up and then you can do the introductions."

"I can't go running down the sidewalk," she laughed. "What's that old saying? Act your age? Not your shoe size?"

"Oh who cares," Nick said. "Regress to a six year old for a minute and run off and go see your homicide detective. I won't laugh at ya. Or maybe I will."

She frowned.

"I promise you I won't make fun of you," Nick vowed. "Go on....give you guys some time alone."

Sam smiled, then stood on her tiptoes to peck his cheek before tearing off down the sidewalk.

He grinned, watching as she went. Her hair swaying from side to side as it shimmered in the sunlight and the heels of her shoes clicking on the cement. He noticed the broad grin that took over her boyfriend's face as he reached up to turn his baseball cap backwards, his eyes sparkling in both amusement and obvious love and pride as Sam raced towards him. Nick slowed his steps, giving them a moment to themselves as the burly detective picked up his tiny girlfriend up clear off the pavement and wrapped her in a huge bear hug. Her legs dangling for a second before she unabashedly curled them around his waist and buried her face in the space between his neck and shoulder as she whispered something in his ear and then pressed a long, deep kiss to his lips.

"Nick!" Sam called to them after she was placed firmly on the ground once again. "Come here!" she yelled, and waved him over.

"I think the whole Vegas PD saw that," he teased, as he took brisk steps to close the distance between him and the happy couple.

"Well as long as they didn't see my undies, it's all good!" Sam exclaimed.

"You mean you're actually wearing them?" Flack teased, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, then chuckling as she shoved him away playfully.

"Nicky, this is Donald Flack Junior," Sam introduced the two men. "Flack to his friends. Donnie to little old moi. Donnie, this is Nick Stokes. My Nicky."

"Nice to finally meet you," Flack said and offered a hand. "Sam's talked a lot about her buddies here in Vegas."

"And he's snooped in my email a couple of times," Sam added. "Don't worry, Nicky. I erased the dirty ones before he could read those."

Nick laughed and shook Flack's hand warmly. "Nice to meet you too," he said. "Sunshine's told me a lot about you as well. Especially in the last hour."

"I bet your ears were just ringing baby," she giggled, and curling her arm around Flack's waist, laid her head against his side.

"You guys enjoying Vegas so far?" Nick asked. "Hear you're staying at the Bellagio. Nice."

"Place is pretty wild," Flack said. "Took a walk around this afternoon and got lost on my way back to the room. You need a map just to find your way around the place. Nice to get away though. From all the craziness back home."

"Yeah..." Nick nodded in understanding. "I'm sure NYC is a crazy place. It's on my list of cities to visit. Hell, it's on my list of cities to transfer to if I ever get tired of it here. And believe me, the way things are going here? That time will come sooner rather than later."

"Nick was best friend's with Warrick," Sam said,

Flack gave a small nod. "I'm sorry," sincerity laced his voice. "What happened to your friend...that was harsh. It's just a good thing that the bastard who did it is gonna rot for the rest of his life."

"Thanks...and you're right. It is a good thing," Nick cleared his throat. "Well...I better get back inside. Actually earn my keep. It was great seeing you Sunshine. Give me a call and maybe we can go out for lunch or something before you leave."

"I'd like that," Sam said with a smile.

"Again, nice meeting you," Nick held his hand out.

"Likewise," Flack shook the hand offered to him.

Nick pressed a small kiss to Sam's cheek before turning on his heel and heading back towards the lab. "You know...." he suddenly turned and addressed Flack. "You got yourself a hell of a girl there. Hope you appreciate that. And her."

"Sometimes I don't," he admitted. "But I'm working on it."

"Good," Nick said, then turned once again and journeyed down the sidewalk.

* * *

Once her friend had disappeared into the crime lab, Sam turned to face Flack, and laying her hands on his sides, stared up at him expectantly.

"Yes?" he asked, a grin tugging at his lips. "Can I help you?"

"I'm waiting," she replied.

"For?"

"For you to say something about Nick."

"Seems like a really nice guy. And looks like he could bust open guys' heads squeezin' them between his biceps and forearms."

"But...." she tapped her foot impatiently.

"But what?" he chuckled and circled her waist with his arms. "What are you...."

"You don't have anything to say?"

"Yeah....I do...." he said, and kissed her softly, placed his lips against his forehead before pulling back and smiling down at her. "Hi."

She beamed up at him. "Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" she asked. "Because this....this is not you. You usually flip out about me being with another guy."

"What's there to flip out about, babe?" he released one arm from around her waist and brought his hand up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. "He's a friend of yours. You're allowed to have guy friends, you know."

Her eyes widened behind her sunglasses. "Okay....you're starting to scare me, Donnie. I thought I told you to to step away from the JD."

"I have not been drinking," he said with a laugh. "I am totally sober. But we're supposed to be turning over new leaves here, right? I'm supposed to be working on some stuff? And part of that was my insane jealousy and possessive? Well here I am. Getting a grip on it and realizing that you're with me and you're not going anywhere. So why should it bother me that you're friends with a guy?"

"Whoa...this is just totally surreal. I can not believe we're having this conversation. Was it a full moon last night? Is it Friday the Thirteen? Have you been smoking some illegal substance? What..."

He silenced her with a long, soft kiss. "This is me making an effort," he told her.

"Yeah?" she ran a hand up his chest to toy with the buttons on his golf shirt. "Well you're doing a damn fine job."

"Not done yet," he told her, and placing a hand on the small of her back, turned her towards the car and tapped his finger against the back passenger window. Where the was a blanket and two plastic bags full of groceries and plastic cutlery, cups and paper plates.

"Oh my...." she breathed. "Are those really Oreos I see and there? And....and cherry flavoured Koolaid Jammers?"

"Two of your favs, right? Picked up a few other things you like. Thought we could find a park somewhere, just hang out for a bit. Before we have to get back to the hotel to get ready for the rehearsal. Just spend some quiet time together. I know how you were talking earlier about how we don't seem to do much out of the bedroom, so I thought I'd show you how wrong you are about that."

"Donald Flack Junior," she sighed dreamily. "You sure do have your moments."

"So what do you say? You feeling up to some quiet time? Just me and you? You know, we can just hang out together. Talk. Eat."

She giggled. "I love how you tossed eat in there."

"I'm a growing boy," he said, and rubbed his stomach. "Gotta make sure the tank is full at all times. What do you think, babe? Sound good?"

"I think...." she twisted the front of his shirt in her hands and yanked him down towards her and into a sensuous kiss. "...that it sounds absolutely perfect."

* * *

**So the muse is making a slow and steady return. I want to extend a huge thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing. And to those who are even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**hope4sall**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**soccer-bitch**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**wolfeylady**

**Delko's Girl 88**

**monoxide lullaby**

**Forest Angel**

**xSamiliciousx**


	92. On Off

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. OBVIOUSLY.**

**PLEASE READ:**

**OKAY FOLKS. THIS IS A BIT OF A WEIRD CHAPTER. IT'S WHAT I'M REFERRING TO AS A PREQUEL TO THIS STORY. SOMETHING FROM SAM AND FLACK'S PAST THAT A FEW PEOPLE ASKED ME TO TOUCH ON. AND I COULDN'T RESIST.**

**THIS CHAPTER WAS COWRITTEN WITH MY BEST GAL CASS (CSINYMINUTE) AND BEARS A STRONG M RATING. SHE GRACIOUSLY 'PENNED' THE SMUT AT THE BEGINNING, SO IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE, PLEASE JUMP AHEAD. EVERYTHING AFTER THE DIRTY BELONGS TO ME! SO PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU GIVE HER PROPS! SHE DESERVES THEM!**

**SO THANKS CASSIE! HUGS AND KISSES!**

* * *

**On/Off _AKA: The Missing 'Drive Home Scene'_**

"Walking the streets with you and your worn-out jeans  
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be  
Laughing on a park bench, thinking to myself  
Hey, isn't this easy?

And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town  
I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down  
You say you're fine, I know you better than that  
Hey, what ya doing with a girl like that?

She wears high heels, I wear sneakers  
She's Cheer Captain and I'm on the bleachers  
Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find  
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you  
Been here all along, so why can't you see?  
You belong with me."  
-Taylor Swift, You Belong With Me

* * *

"You are a total bastard Don Flack, do you know that?" said his companion, fanning herself off in the passenger seat.

Don Flack concentrated on his driving and smirked. He thought it was as funny as all hell.

"Did you seriously have to go feed me that chocolate?" she asked, "At the scene? I mean did you know what was in it?"

"Yeah," he finally replied, grinning.

"Damiana, Don, Jesus, do you know what that stuff does?" she said.

"I may have overheard the manufacturer mentioning something about increased libido," he finally acknowledged.

"Yeah," she said, "But did you have to feed me it right before we went to Hawkes' birthday party?"

Flack allowed himself a little chuckle. It had been funny as all hell to watch her getting increasingly flustered and wound up as she'd sunk one B-52 after another. He'd finally taken pity on her about half an hour ago and agreed to drive her home before, as she had so eloquently put it, done something stupid with half the precinct or the lab and have to move to the other side of the country to escape the gossip.

He glanced at the woman still fanning herself off as he turned into her street. She was writhing in her seat, squirming every now and then and the action made her short skirt ride up a little more with each movement. Flack swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. He almost missed her next question.

"So how come you and Jess were avoiding each other?" she asked. Flack's mouth settled in a grim line.

"Because we're taking a break," he bit out. His passenger straightened herself up, and Flack tried not to notice he now had a real good view of her perfect thighs.

"Again?" she said, "Trouble in paradise?"

Flack sighed.

"It's a long story," he admitted, "And I don't want to get into it right now. We're having issues. Again. Let's just leave it at that."

"Okies," she said, apparently satisfied.

He pulled the car into the curb. His passenger made no move to get out.

"So," he said.

"So," she replied. Flack cleared his throat and tried not to focus on the fact that a hot and bothered woman was now looking thoughtfully at him.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" he prompted. She flashed him a brilliant smile in reply.

Her next move surprised the hell out of him. One second she was in her seat. The next she was astride him. Flack's body tightened uncomfortably at the feel of her so close; her scent intoxicating him. He told himself he meant to take hold of her hips, but her skirt had ridden up so much that he firmly got a hold...

Of her bare ass. And worse, although she was wearing panties, he realised they were the crotch-less kind. He swore internally and firmly placed her back in her seat, before mentally thinking of every single bad crime scene he had ever witnessed to try and get his now-raging libido - and painful erection - under control. His passenger pouted back at him.

"I was only going to climb out your side," she said, "So I don't get hit by traffic in my intoxicated state."

_Like hell,_ he thought. He tried to calm down his breathing. And failed. The next thing he knew, a knowing little smile came over his passenger's face as she turned to him and her hands started to walk towards him.

"I didn't have any bad thoughts in my mind Don," she informed him, "But now..."

For some reason, he was absolutely frozen, watching as her hands started to roam over his legs, moving up his thighs until they got to the waistband of his pants and settled on his belt. He took a sharp intake of breath, hissing as her hands caught sensitive areas on their travels. As he went to grab her hands, he suddenly took a lurch backwards as she grabbed the lever on the underside of the driver's seat, sending the chair flat. He was effectively trapped by the belt and the fact that she was between his hands and the release button for the belt. He saw the look of triumph and felt her hands begin to tackle his belt.

The button.

Heard the hiss of the zipper as she dragged it down.

And nearly hit his head on the roof of the car as he felt her hands inside his trousers, undoing the button of his boxers, her hands around his smooth, hard cock, lifting it out of the fabric.

He finally managed to get a hold of her hands, stopping her movements.

"Jesus Sammie!" he bit out, "What the hell are you doing? We're in the front seat of the car on your street for christsakes!"

"The windows are tinted Don," the petite brunette informed him, her golden brown eyes dancing with amusement and the promise of something more, right before she swatted his hands out of the way and bent her head over him.

And any further thought of protest, that this couldn't happen, was totally forced from his mind as he felt her tongue with no preamble encircling the head of his rock hard cock and let her tongue play with every little ridge and smooth surface as her hands delved further into his crotch, one taking hold of him and stroking up and down as the other took gentle hold of him and stroked him between his thighs. His hands gripped the sides of the seat and his head jerked backwards as he realised the Brooklyn girl had her tongue pierced. And it was doing incredible things for him, orally speaking. He felt pre cum oozing from him as she lapped away, before taking more of him into her mouth and sucking, first gently, then harder, causing him to swear and his hands took a hold of her head, guiding it, jerking his hips up into her mouth and her magic tongue.

Damn the girl was talented with her mouth. And damn it all to hell if it wasn't hotter than any of those private little fantasy moments and daydreams he'd had about her over the last year. And, if he was honest, the fact they were in the front seat of his car? That they could get caught at any moment despite the tinted glass? Turned him on even hotter than hell. This was way more intense than even... Bianca DeFazio in the back seat of his father's car.

He felt the sweat bead on his forehead before running down his temples and forehead, the heat rising with him as he felt himself get even harder, rock hard. He could feel his balls contract slightly, drawing up into his body and he knew he was close. Real close.

"Gonna cum," he panted, his hands tightening in her hair, thrusting up to meet the sweet movements of her tongue and mouth. Her response was to grip him more firmly, to suck harder, bringing him even closer. He could feel the inevitability of his orgasm on him, the need to let it all go, the fact there was no way back from his release. He panted and groaned as what she was doing tipped him over the edge and he came in several burning hot gushes into her mouth.

She wasn't quite done. She lapped it all up, despite the fact he was now so sensitive he was begging her to stop, the grazing of the metal on her tongue across his rapidly softening flesh, occasionally marked by last uncontrollable jerks as she fully milked him dry into her mouth.

Then she stopped. He groaned once more, stroking her hair as she slowly propped herself back upright. Blue eyes met golden brown. She smiled at him.

Then she grabbed her bag from where it had rested below her feet, scrambled across him again, pausing only to kiss him on the cheek, giving him a broad smile as she bid him goodnight.

* * *

He watched her go for about a minute or so, stumbling on her heels, one hand on the lamp post as she kicked them off, her bag hanging from the straps on one arm, steadying herself as she stooped to pick up her shoes. Then he watched her giggling, as she half climbed, half stumbled up the stoop to her building.

And that was pretty much all it took.

He straightened his clothes, yanked at the door handle and hurried into the building after her, only stopping to lock the door of the car. As Sam disappeared through the door, he just made it up the stairs behind her, managing to gain entrance as the doors to the elevators closed. He could hear her humming happily. Cursing, he took the stairs two at a time, hoping to get to her floor before she did.

* * *

Luck was against him, but as he rounded the corner, striding purposefully, he saw her standing in front of her door, frowning at her bunch of keys, trying to figure out which one was the right one...

When she felt someone slam into her back, one hand pulling her waist to him, the other dragging her skirt up to her waist. Right there in the hall way. For two seconds she panicked, thinking it was someone who'd snuck up on her. Then his scent assailed her, she felt his hot breath on her neck and his hand roughly roaming her belly, moving south to where the fabric split in two, revealing her hot, slick flesh to his waiting fingers. He kissed her neck as she slammed her hands on the door, gasping at the sensations he was creating with his fingers.

"Did you think we were done?" he asked roughly. She nodded, before her head fell slackly back onto his shoulder before his fingers found her slick opening and gently probed inside.

"Then I think you better open your door unless you want this to go down right here," he said.

But he didn't let up the movements of his fingers or his mouth as she frantically tried each key on the ring until finally, one fit, the door opened and the two of them stumbled into her apartment.

* * *

She didn't know if the door was closed or not and frankly she didn't care. What she did care about was the fact that there was six foot two of Flushing, Queens bad boy pinning her against the wall, insisting she hold onto his neck as his fingers did magic things to her.

He currently had two fingers inside her, thrusting gently. His thumb was circling her clit, pressing down every now and then. He hadn't kissed her, but his gaze was locked with hers, blue on golden. Watching her as her skin flushed, as she bit her lip, as she threw her head back against the wall. As she moaned and gasped as his hands elicited wonderful feelings and sensations from her body. She felt the orgasm building within her. His legs nudged hers further apart and he stepped closer, bracing her body between his hips and the wall. She had to put both arms around his neck to hold on as his second hand moved to join the first.

Now there were three fingers inside her, moving, thrusting, stimulating her g-spot. The buzz from the cocktails and the damiana-tainted chocolate had her libido sky high. She wasn't going to dismiss aphrodisiacs from now on that was for sure. The other hand came to stimulate her clit, his thumb and forefinger pinching it lightly, causing her to cry out.

Then she too felt the unmistakeable, undeniable approach of her own orgasm and nothing in hell was going to stop it. She gripped him tightly, winding her legs around his waist as her muscles contracted around his hands, her belly rippling with the orgasm and she bit him where his neck met his shoulder.

She felt exhausted. Wiped out. But he still hadn't stopped moving his hands. He was moving them more gently now, as though he knew she wouldn't be able to handle anything too intense and a second, gentler orgasm, followed on the tail of the intense first one and she nearly blacked out from the sensation of it.

* * *

She could feel herself in the arms of a strong embrace, being carried somewhere. She felt herself being gently placed on the bed and some of her clothes being removed, before a blanket was pulled up over her. She murmured drowsily, feeling a pair of lips kiss her on the forehead.

"Sleep well Sammie," he said.

* * *

He let himself out, bouncing down the stairs with a light feel to his step he hadn't felt for a while, grinning to himself at the events of the previous thirty minutes or so.

The feel of his phone vibrating in his pocket brought him back to the present. He snagged it from his pocket, frowning as he saw the ID of the missed call.

_Jess._

And they did have to talk.

He sighed.

If he hadn't been convinced before about the future of their relationship, he sure was now.

* * *

Samantha's eyes snapped open as the shrill of ring of her phone rudely interrupted her sleep. Rest hadn't come easily the night before. The way Flack had gently and almost lovingly tucked her in -the feathery kiss to her forehead and the tender way in which he'd both undressed her and then bid her farewell- had shocked her. It was a side of him she hadn't been prepared to witness.

For nearly a year, she'd been a witness to - and felt completely intimidated by- his aggressive, cocky and often brash demeanour. She'd found herself on multiple occasions, both amused and slightly stunned and uncomfortable with the sarcastic remarks that seemed to trickle so effortlessly out of his mouth. And while she'd never shied away from sticking up for herself and giving him a well deserved tongue lashing that left him at a loss for words, she always retreated to the locker room afterwards, and tucking herself into a far corner, allowed herself to have a good cry. While cursing him for hurting her feelings and questioning why he hated her so much and declaring her utter contempt for him.

Last night had been….incredible. While her eager and willing responses had had a lot to do with the Damiana laced chocolate he'd given her and the insane amount of alcohol she'd consumed, she knew part of her behaviour had to be blamed on the fact she was incredibly attracted to him. She'd been battling increasing feelings for him while witnessing him date air head Devon Maxford and then Jessica Angell. One of her dearest friends and confidants.

Jealousy was a bitch. Jess was the popular, beautiful one. The girl every guy wanted and who had the equally hot boyfriend on her arm. Like the head cheerleader dating the captain of the football team while all the social misfit and proverbial ugly duckling can do is watch from the sidelines and wish it was her.

Don Flack had made her feel things no man had ever been capable of. An all consuming, blinding passion that had rocked her to her very soul. A lust so strong and overwhelming, that Damiana or no Damiana, she was powerless to resist.

And that fact had immediately shamed her. No sooner had she heard the click of her apartment door as he left himself out, she had been wide awake, staring at the ceiling and berating herself for what had happened. It had been foolish. Totally stupid. Incredibly whore-ish, in fact. And she was disgusted with herself for even initiating the contact in his car. She knew she should have just said goodnight and climbed out of the vehicle and went upstairs. She knew she should have never let the substances in her body and the close proximity of him and his smell overcome her like it did.

She had, in the span of a half hour, gone from new girl to station house slut. And she would deserve every ounce of gossip and unwanted attention his locker room talk would cause.

Her head reeling and her stomach lurching from a ferocious hang over, Sam reached out for her cell phone resting on the nightstand and scooped it up. Her eyes widening and both nervousness and dread filling her as she checked her caller ID.

DET. D. FLACK

Her thumb hovered over the talk button as her brain struggled to piece together what she'd say to him. She would tell him that what had happened was a huge mistake. A monumental one, in fact. That she regretted it and wished it never happened. That the best thing for them to do was forget it ever happened and just carry on the way they had been for the past year. Colleagues. Occasional confidants and drinking buddies. Friends.

Or she could tell him the truth.

That while she felt horrible for betraying Jess, she didn't regret what had happened. She had wanted it to happen. She could have stopped it if she'd really wanted to. No was a simple word. One he wasn't the type to ignore. She could tell him that she was in love with him. That she had been since nearly the second she'd laid eyes on him. Attracted to his slightly greying hair and his brilliant blue eyes. His deep voice and his Queens accent. His broad shoulders and chest and his powerful arms. And his smile. One that nearly brought her to her knees each time he unleashed it on her.

She could tell him that she hadn't wanted him to leave the night before. That she had wanted him to stay. That she had wanted him to sleep beside her in her bed and envelope her in those large, strong arms. That she had wanted to feel his breath against her skin and hear his heart beat within his chest.

That she was never going to let him go. That he belonged with her.

Sighing, Sam ran the pad of her thumb over the talk button before finally deciding, and acting on, her only course of action.

She disconnected the call.

* * *

The day had gone from bad to worse in the blink of an eye.

A would be robber, hoped up on a cocktail of illegal substances, had attempted to hold up an elderly couple -tourists from Texas strolling through Strawberry Fields- for their wallets and jewellery. The husband had refused to cough up any of the belongings, and had briefly struggled with the gunman. The weapon had accidentally gone off, fatally wounding the old man and sending the perp running through the park. He'd been caught nearby by a mounted police man who'd heard the gunshot and who'd immediately both called for back up and headed for the scene.

What should have been an open and shit case, a 'score one for the good guys', had taken a weird twist. One that had landed their perp in even more hot water when he'd suddenly snapped during his interrogation when asked about his prior arrest for domestic assault against his mother. Hawkes and Sam had been confident they'd be able to handle the questioning on their own. And despite Flack's protests, Mac had given his CSIs the go ahead. But had, along with the agitated homicide detective, watched and listened to everything from behind the one way glass in the observation room.

Flack hadn't been having a good day to start off with. He hadn't been able to sleep since returning home from the incident in front of, and inside, Samantha Ross' apartment. He'd left feeling rejuvenated. Not even Jess' call had ruined the mood he was in. What had happened between him and Sam had been unbelievably erotic and memorable. He'd never, ever felt that attracted and turned on by any woman. And he'd been with his fair share. Not exactly the man whore people thought he was, but not a boy scout either.

What he felt for Sam went far beyond sex. She captivated him in a way he'd never experienced before. Maybe it was the two very distinct sides to her personality. The innocent, almost naïve little girl trapped in a grown woman's body, and the seductive, alluring sex kitten that he'd been privy to the night before. Maybe it was because, during their nights out with the team, she seemed to be the one to listen to him when too much drink turned him into a sensitive, rambling, moronic idiot. Or maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled and her nose crinkled when she smiled at him. Or the melodic laugh she possessed and the way she tossed her head back when issuing that laugh while they played pool. After she'd successfully both convinced him she'd never played before, and happily accepted the money he pulled out of his wallet when she whipped his ass fair and square.

She was beautiful and intelligent and fun to be around. And up until last night, Flack had considered her way out of his league.

While he knew that her behaviour was most likely caused by the chocolate he'd fed her and the booze she'd consumed, there'd been something there. Something that had passed between them during that moment he'd had her pinned to her apartment door. An unspoken declaration of something more than just a moment of lust fuelled….

He wasn't even sure what had happened between them. What it could actually be called. It certainly wasn't sex in the pure definition of the act. And it went far beyond your average bout of foreplay. It was aggressive and intense and when their eyes had met…he had known right there and then that he was in way over his head.

And it neither terrified him or sent him running for the hills.

He had spent the entire night thinking about her and reliving what had happened. Every second of it. He'd answered Jess' call and had spent twenty minutes listening to her have a rare emotional breakdown over the pathetic state of their relationship. She was terrified of losing him. She was convinced he was her always and forever. Her future husband, father of her unborn children. And she wanted to do whatever it took to save what they had. Flack hadn't had the heart to tell her that he wasn't feeling the same way she was. And that he wanted out so he could be with someone else. A woman she viewed as her best friend. Instead he'd punked out and assured her that things were going to be okay. That they just needed a bit of space. A little while apart.

In the meantime, he'd think of Sam Ross and their little tryst would provide him fodder for all those lonely nights he'd be spending.

Flack had decided, as he called her on the way to work that morning, that he was going to tell Sam exactly how he was feeling. How he had been feeling for the past year. And that he was going to, as soon as his shift was over, tell Jess they were done. Only she hadn't answered the phone and he'd immediately began to suspect that she was kicking herself for what had happened. And the cold shoulder she'd been giving him since the start of shift -the way she refused to make eye contact with him at the scene and insisted that Hawkes go with him to talk to witnesses- had left him agitated.

And hurt.

His plan had been to confront her after the interrogation. Wait for one of the uniforms to take their perp to Central Booking and for Mac and Hawkes to head upstairs before preventing her from leaving the room and locking the door and closing the blinds and having it out with her.

Verbally, of course. Although there were a million and one things he wanted to physically do to her.

Only that had been all forgotten about when all hell broke loose in the interrogation room. The perp had gone off the deep end over what he felt was slanderous statements about his mother, and before Hawkes or the uni at the door could even react, he'd grabbed a hold of Sam's right wrist and twisted it backwards. Initially stunned and after crying out in pain, she'd reacted by punching him square in the face with her left fist. Startling him momentarily before he hauled off and backhanded her across the face. Sending her tumbling off the chair as both Hawkes and the uni went for their weapons just as Mac and Flack burst through the door.

Flack had nearly killed the guy. And probably would have if Mac hadn't had physically peeled his hands from around the perp's neck. He'd been filled with a terrifying, blinding rage that he'd never experienced before. He wasn't aware of anything that was going on around him. He didn't see Sam getting to her feet on her own accord, or her hear telling Hawkes that she was okay while he attempted to take a look at her. All Flack had seen or heard was the perp's face turning bright red as he struggled to draw breath through his quickly narrowing windpipe.

After Mac had managed to pry him away from their perp, Flack had personally seen to it that the guy didn't have the safest of journeys to a holding cell. With one hand on the scruff of his neck and the other firmly enclosed around the handcuffs securing his wrists behind his back, Flack had made sure he walked the sonofabitch into every desk, chair, trash can and wall that they encountered on the short journey from the interrogation room. And then, pretended he'd misjudged the distance to the rusted old cot in the cell when he shoved the prick backwards and let him fall ass first on the cold cement floor.

Mac hadn't said much when they'd met up in the hallway afterwards. But the look on the crime lab boss' face told Flack he had a hell of a lot of explaining to do later on.

"Get her some ice," Mac had ordered, then had stomped off towards the elevators.

* * *

Now, with a handful of ice cubes inside of a plastic bag in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Flack found himself pushing his way into the interrogation room, where the pandemonium had died down and Hawkes, latex gloves on his hands, hunkered down on his knees, was holding Sam's chin in his hand and investigating the cut under her eye and the swelling on her cheek as she was parked in a chair, eyes closed.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" Flack asked, noticing how Sam flinched and jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Definitely a sprained wrist," Hawkes replied. "She can wiggle her fingers and move her hand, so I'm not worried about it being anything more than that. I was just telling her that maybe we should go and have her cheek x-rayed. Doesn't take much to crack the orbital bone."

"Sounds like a good idea," Flack agreed.

"Unfortunately," Hawkes sighed as he stood up and snapped off his gloves. "I've encountered a very uncooperative patient."

"Brooklyn girls," the detective snorted. "Stubborn as hell. And she's the worst I've ever seen."

"She can hear you," Sam snapped. "I'm not unconscious, you know!"

"I want you to come and find me if that swelling gets any worse," Hawkes ordered. "That happens and…"

"I'll take her to the ER if that happens," Flack finished.

Sam's eyes flickered open and she glared at him. "I am fine," she spat out.

"Make sure she gets it looked at it if it does get worse," Hawkes told Flack, as he began gathering up papers that were strewn across the table and shoved them into case folder.

The detective nodded in agreement. Then reached out to hold the ice against Sam's face.

She jerked her head out of the way and snatched the bag out of his own. "I can do it," she informed him.

Flack placed the glass of water on the table and held up his hands in surrender.

"Good luck," Hawkes said, slapping a hand down on the other man's shoulder before hurrying from the room.

Flack shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and rocked back and forth on his heels as a silence fell on the room. Knowing Sammie's temper and how hard headed she was, he knew the best thing to do was not ask her over and over again if she was okay. Instead, he waited several minutes before he finally said what was really on his mind.

* * *

"You've been avoiding me," he said, breaking the silence.

"I've been working," Sam corrected him.

"This morning you never answered my call," Flack told her. "And when you got to the scene you acted like I wasn't even there. And all day long you've been running away from me when you see me coming. What's up with that?"

She didn't respond.

"We need to talk, Sammie," Flack said. "About last night…"

"What about it?" she asked, wincing as she laid the ice against her cheek. "Fuck…" she hissed. "Why do men always get you right on the bone? Do you guys go to a special school to learn to hit in that exact spot every time?"

Flack frowned. "Not all men hit," he informed her.

She gave a small nod. "So last night…"

"I was thinking that…"

"I was really drunk and that chocolate did a number on me," she continued, ignoring him. "I wouldn't have acted like that under normal circumstances, you know that, right?"

"Sammie, I…"

"So I'm sorry for what happened," she said. "For coming on so strong. I'm not usually like that. Some trifling, nasty little whore."

"I never said that…"

"It never would have happened under normal circumstances," Sam told him. "And I just…I think the best thing for us to do would be to…"

"I'm breaking up with Jess," Flack announced.

Sam's eyes widened. "Because…"

"Because I can't be with her anymore. I can't keep pretending that I want to be with her when I want to be with…"

"With me?" she laughed at that. "Are you seriously delusional? Just because I gave you head and I let you do what you did doesn't mean that you have to break up with your girlfriend. Who just so happens to be one of my best friends. I'm not going to be the reason why things didn't work out between you two."

"You won't be," Flack promised. "Well…you won't be the main reason…"

"Jess is my friend," Sam maintained. "And I know how much she loves you and…"

"And if you knew all that and she's such a great friend you wouldn't have gone down on me in my car in front of your apartment on a public street," Flack snarled.

"Look…" Sam issued a heavy sigh as she got to her feet. "Last night…last night was good, Don. It was really, really good in fact. And I…I don't regret it, okay?"

"I don't regret it either," he said. "Which is why…"

"But it was still a mistake," she interjected. Her heart constricting at the pained expression that took over his face.

"It wasn't a mistake," he argued.

"It never should have happened and we both know that," Sam told him, her voice gentle.

"You could have told me to stop," he reminded her. "I would have stopped if you…"

"If I'd been in the right frame of mind. And I wasn't. And I know that this hurts to hear…but this…last night…it can never, ever, ever happen again. We need to just walk away from each other. Act like it never happened. You need to just…"

"I need to just what?!" he snapped. "Pretend that I'm not into you?! That I haven't felt something for you for an entire year?!"

Sam blinked, taken back by his honesty.

"I know how I feel, Sammie. I know what I want and who I want. And it's you and I…"

"I'm not listening to this," she said, and tossing the bag of ice on the table, prepared to head for the door.

Flack caught her by the arm, his fingers closing around her bicep. Turning her around and pulling her towards him, he laid his free hand on the side of her face and lowered his head to hers. Their lips briefly touching before she angrily shoved him away.

"Don't you ever do that again!" she bellowed, pushing him once more, his ass colliding hard with the metal table.

"Sammie…" he stepped towards her. "Just let me…"

"We're done! Nothing happened last night! Understand me?"

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Don. But I can't…I can't do this. Not with someone I work with. I was stupid and I acted like a total slut…"

"No, Sam. You…"

"And I need to walk away from you!" she cried. "I need to just walk away before both of us do something we regret. Last night was…I won't ever forget it, okay? Ever. But we need to…I need to…" she bit her lip and forced herself to get a grip on her composure. "I'm sorry," she said, and turning on her heel, rushed from the room.

Sighing heavily, Flack sat down on the edge of the table and ran his hands over his face.

Sam Ross may have had the last word, but one thing was certain.

He wasn't going to down without a fight.

* * *

**_THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS READING, REVIEWING AND EVEN JUST LURKING! I TRULY APPRECIATE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU! SORRY THINGS ARE SO SLOW RIGHT NOW! THE MUSE IS WRAPPED IN ANOTHER PROJECT SOMEWHERE ELSE!_**


	93. What Hurts the Most

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. **

**THIS IS A FUTURE CHAPTER**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE IN ADVANCE WHO IS STILL READING, REVIEWING AND ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS! AND A HUGE, HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND UNDERSTANDING!**

**

* * *

********What hurts the most**

"There's another world inside of me that you may never see  
There's secrets in this life that I can't hide  
Somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find  
Maybe it's too far away, maybe I'm just blind  
Maybe I'm just blind

So hold me when I'm here, right me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared and love me when I'm gone  
Everything I am and everything in me  
Wants to be the one you wanted me to be

I'll never let you down even if I could  
I'd give up everything if only for your good  
So hold me when I'm here, right me when I'm wrong  
You can hold me when I'm scared you won't always be there  
So love me when I'm gone, love me when I'm gone."  
-When I'm Gone, Three Doors Down

* * *

The sound of the interrogation room door slamming shut; hard enough to rattle both the window in the center of it and the glass on the neighbouring wall, jolted Flack awake. His head snapped up and his eyes flew open, then quickly scanned the room in a desperate attempt to orientate himself. Confusion muddled his brain and fought for supremacy with the exhaustion and worry that had already set up camp. He was tired and sore. The nightmare of the past several hours had taken its toll on his nerves, and his back and his neck -after falling asleep in the uncomfortable metal bedside chair- were both stiff throbbing. And as shards of sunlight streamed through the narrow openings of the vertical blinds that covered the lone window on the opposite side of the room, reality quickly began to set in.

There were no cold, brick walls surrounding him. No scuffed linoleum floors, no rickety metal table and chairs with their faded and tattered seat coverings. No busted and useless air conditioner on a half assed wooden shelf under the window. No one way glass on the other side of the room. He had been, for reasons completely unknown and ridiculous to him, dreaming about that day in the interrogation room when he'd taken the biggest chance of his life and had crashed and burned.

It had been the first time in his life where he had gotten up the nerve to tell a woman, especially one so out of his league, exactly how he felt about her. No come on's, no blatant -and more often than not, pitiful- pick up lines and no strings attached. He had seized the opportunity to go after something he so desperately wanted, and needed. And had come away empty handed. The way that he had felt at that moment, when Sam had so harshly rebuffed him and them stomped away without even so much as a look over her shoulder, had deflated him. He had been sure that their night before had meant more to her than just sex. If it could have even been called that. Sure, she'd been drunk and disoriented and not in her right frame of mind. And even if he hadn't wanted to stop her in the car, he should have simply just drove away and left things at that. Maybe approached her the next day about what had gone down, and to get some sort of explanation. And a feel for how she was feeling about him when she was stone cold sober.

He'd been certain that there was a connection between them. One that had existed from the very moment that they had met. Even if he had mistaken her for a lowly lab tech and her first impression of him had been of a loud, brash and arrogant SOB stalking the halls of the crime lab terrifying everyone he viewed as 'below him' and demanding answers and results. Sammie had been quick to set him back on his heels, and after his initial shock that this tiny, seemingly innocent and sweet new girl had so easily verbally manhandled him, had worn off, he had found himself entranced by her. By her feisty 'take no shit' personality and her often acidy, foul tongued vocabulary when that she unleashed when dealing with the scum of society. He had had been drawn to the way her eyes and her nose crinkled when she smiled. Easily charmed by that musical, childish giggle that always brought a smile to his face. And he had been intrigued by the piercing and the tattoos that decorated her body and contradicted her fresh faced, girl next door physical appearance.

There'd been flirting. On both of their parts. Comments that had passed back and forth between them that had made them blush and stutter and stammer. Long, intense glances that had been exchanged when they didn't think anyone else was looking. Small touches that occurred. The way her hands would settle on his shoulders and then slip down his back as she squeezed her way between him and a piece of lab equipment. Or how he'd often lay a hand on the small of her back when escorting her through a door or onto an elevator.

The biggest mistake he'd ever made was ignoring and downplaying his feelings for, and his attraction to, Sam. Instead of admitting to them and doing something about it sooner rather than much, much later, he'd pursued a relationship with Devon after she'd approached him that day after the charity hockey game. He had seen right through the socialite. He'd known the second she'd started fawning all over him and batting her eye lashes at him and giving him the come on that it wasn't him that she was attracted to. It was the fact that he was a cop. A blue collared guy who busted his ass day in and day out compared to the pampered and spoiled life she was used to. He came with a hint of danger. His job was gritty and tough. His life was on the line the moment he stepped out of his apartment door every day. It was 'bad ass' as far as Devon was concerned and that was what she was drawn to. The whole 'living on the edge' thrill that being with him would give her. Regardless of her true intentions, he'd taken her up on her offer of dinner and drinks. Not once, but twice. And if it hadn't have been for the James Bond wanna-be's, things definitely would have gone the dirty route that night.

In essence, those morons had saved his life. Their sudden appearance and their abrupt end to his night with Devon had actually served as a wake up call. He'd been embarrassed the next morning when she'd paraded around her apartment in a skin tight tank top, bragging on the phone to a friend about being robbed while Stella and Sam processed the scene. He'd been mortified when Devon had had the nerve to wrap her arm around him and cuddle into his side and announce that they were going to some benefit that he didn't even want to attend in the first place. She had effectively given the impression to everyone in the room that things were far more serious than they actually were, and he'd had to bite his tongue and force himself to not correct her and humiliate her in front of everyone that was watching her ridiculous display. The look on both Stella and Sam's faces had said it all. Devon was a first class moron. Her shoe size was bigger than that of her brain and both women, although they hadn't come right out and said anything to Flack, had begun to seriously judge his taste in women.

Stella's opinion hadn't really mattered to him. She was just a friend and he didn't have to answer to her, or explain the choices he made in his life. It had been Sammie's thoughts on Devon that he'd been concerned with, and he'd made a point of chasing her down at the lab that afternoon and had, smoothly and calmly, attempted to explain that Devon was obviously overreacting to the way things really were between them and that he didn't think of her in 'that way.' Sam for her part had listened quietly and patiently as she busily worked on the pile of evidence in front of her in the lay out room. She had never once looked up at him or given a sign that she was actually paying attention to him. Until he'd finally paused in the midst of his rambling in an effort to give her a chance to respond.

"Aren't you going to say something?" he'd asked, when several minutes of silence had passed by.

"What do you want me to say?" Sam had replied. "Who you date is none of my business. Just like who I date is none of yours."

"You're dating someone?" Flack hadn't liked the sound of that.

"No…but if I was it would have no bearing on your life just like you and Debbie…"

"Devon," he'd corrected.

"…have no bearing on mine," she had finished. "I don't care who you do and who you don't do. We're just friends, Don. And we'll always just be friends. So why does it matter to you so much? Why does how I feel about your new girlfriend or whatever mean so much to you?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's funny…" Sam had snorted and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "You only called her that about twenty times today. It was like the fourth word out of your mouth _every_ sentence in interrogation. Do you have any idea how goddamn annoying that was to hear all the time? I wanted to smack the shit out of you. Yes, Don. We know she's your girlfriend. We heard the first fifteen hundred times. Christ…talk about annoying the crap out of everyone."

"So it pisses you off that I have a girlfriend," he'd observed.

"No. It pisses me off that you're having like some high school kid that's never had a girlfriend before. It's grating on my nerves and quite frankly, it's making you look like a complete ass. You already look like a total tool for having such horrific taste in members of the opposite sex. Do you really have to make things worse for yourself?"

"So you don't like Devon," he'd stated.

Sam had sighed exasperatedly and stepping away from her work station, had crossed her arms over her chest and stared long and hard at him. "No, I don't," she'd admitted. "I think she's a moron. I think she was a complete embarrassment to not only herself, but also you, at her apartment. And the only thing that keeps going through my mind since then is how a guy like you can be with someone like her. There. You asked how I felt and there's the truth. Don't like what you hear? Oh well."

And with that she'd gone back to her work. Effectively dismissing him.

Things with Devon had gone downhill quickly after that. She'd grown tired of having her blue collared boy around and Flack been bitchy because she'd refused to even give life -his kind of life- even the smallest shot. Save for sex, which hadn't been that goddamn good to begin with, they'd had nothing in common and there was nothing that was keeping him there. Flack didn't love her. He knew that he would never love her and that it was quite possibly he'd never love anyone. And when she'd dumped him when something shinier than his badge had come along and he'd attempted to go back to Sam to tell her that not only was she right about the entire thing, but that he wanted to give something with her a try, she'd announced that she wasn't the kind of girl to date someone she worked with. Work place relationships were complicated and she didn't need the drama it brought into her life.

That would be the first time that the winds would be stripped from his sails. And the second time he'd pursue a relationship with someone other than the person he really wanted to be with. And while what he had had with Jess had been good -damn good in fact- in the end he'd realized he'd used her just as much as he'd used Devon. That he'd convinced himself that he was with his 'always and forever' because he couldn't be the with person that he knew for a fact had the possibility of being his be all and end all. His personal life at that point had been a complete mess. So when the opportunity to be with Sammie had jumped into his lap -literally- he'd eagerly and excitedly taken it, and when he'd chased her into her apartment he had had every intention of not leaving there without her in his life. As more than a colleague and a friend. And when he'd left her tucked in securely and lovingly, he'd been under the impression that she was ready for something with him too. That when she woke up and no longer under the influence of the Damiana laced chocolate or the alcohol that she'd consumed, that she'd realize that he was what she wanted.

It would take months before that would happen. Months of pretending that he was happy and of cursing Sam -internally of course- for dropping him flat on his ass like he had. He was pissed off that she'd walked away from him. His ego was bruised and instead of being alone and miserable, he'd instead stayed in his relationship with Jess and tried to convince himself that he was content and that he was in it with her for the long haul. And when Sam had agreed to go out on that date with the defence attorney….well that had been the final straw. He'd been jealous and the thought of her with someone else had drove him crazy. And it was then, and only then, that he'd been spurred into action.

Eight and a half years had passed since that night he'd shown up at her apartment and she'd chased him down in the hall. Eight and a half years of laughter and tears. Of love and heart ache. Or memories that they made together and of moments that were so trying and taxing that they both would have given anything to turn the clocks back and do things over again. To just simply forget the hard times in favour of all the good.

There'd been a hell of a lot of good, Flack now realized, as he leaned forward in the bedside chair and placing his elbows on his knees, ran his hands over his scruffy, weary face. The great times far outweighed the shitty ones. Mistakes had been made, and paid and repented for. They'd fought to rebuild things, to trust one another again. And even when things seemed darkest when they'd separated and they'd listen to the harsh reality laid out for them in countless therapy sessions, they'd somehow managed to hold onto the love and respect that they had for each other. As husband and wife.

And as mommy and daddy to Kellan and Kallison. The babies that they'd managed to create, and bring successfully into the world, together. Their daughters, who'd been made from that love and adoration and respect deserved better than two parents constantly at each others throats. Who were still too immature and self centered to admit when they were wrong and apologize for the things they'd done and said to hurt one another. Those were their personal crosses to bear, and the girls, and Dawson, didn't deserve to have to shoulder the burden as well.

* * *

_Now this, _he thought, and issuing a heavy sigh, slipped out of the chair and yawned noisily and stretched until his aching back cracked. _Just when things started going great between us, this had to happen. Things couldn't just go nice and smooth. We just couldn't be happy for once. We just couldn't get back together and have everything be perfect. Something just had to jump up and bite us square in the ass._

That something had been a tumour that had caused a small bleed in the brain. Doctors had been successful in clamping the bleed, and relieved to find that it wasn't as serious and life threatening as they had originally thought. The repair was made quickly and rather effortlessly and no other 'issues' were spotted during their mapping of the brain that they'd done afterwards. The MRI had shown that there were no further swelling or bleeding, and aside from the tumour, nothing that could cause long term complications. They were also pleased with the fact that in the recovery room, although still under light sedation -for both pain and to give the brain time to heal from its ordeal in the OR- through a constant drip of propofol being pumped into her through an IV line, Sam had shown positive signs of a full, or at least close to it, recovery. She responded to verbal stimuli. When asked to wriggle her toes or fingers to show that she could hear what was being said, although it took a minute for the command to register, she could do both. Her eyelids would also flicker and her heart rate sped up when Flack spoke to her or held her hand or stroked her hair. The signs were there that she was going to be okay. That there was nothing debilitating to be worried about. Mild brain at the worst. If that even. And it was a huge relief.

The main concern now was the tumour. Inoperable, the doctors called it. Removing it would cause either a massive stroke or instant death. Drugs would be given in an attempt to shrink the mass. If it didn't prove to be cancerous that was. They'd taken a biopsy in the OR and had immediately sent it to pathology to be examined. If it was malignant, then and only then would doctors begin discussing treatment options. For now, it was all about healing.

Flack was prepared. For whatever the biopsy results said. He was prepared to be overjoyed and immensely relieved if the tumour was benign and Sammie needed little more than meds to both try and shrink the damn thing and prevent her from having seizures. And likewise, he was prepared for the horrible, life altering news that it was something so much worse. There was no treatment, no option that he would rule out. And he'd go to the ends of the earth if that were the case, just to make her better. Either way, good or bad, he wasn't losing her. Simple as that.

Four hours had passed since Sam had been moved up to the post-op ward on the third floor. Because she was able to breathe on her own and showing signs of slowly coming out of the sedation now that the doctors had started to wean her off of the powerful, habit forming sedative, there had been no need to put her up in the intensive care unit. Instead, she was placed in a private room and had a small team of nurses in charge of seeing to her care. The staff at the hospital were phenomenal. They patiently answered what to them must seem like repetitive and often ridiculous questions. They brought you food and drink from the family kitchen/lounge at the end of the hall and blankets and pillows so you could attempt to make yourself comfortable. And they keep you in the loop in regards to your loved ones care. Flack knew exactly how much of each med his wife was getting and how often she was getting them. He knew at what stage in her remarkably speedy recovery she was at and what to expect next. He wasn't kept in the dark. And he was grateful for that.

Raking his hands through his hair, he approached the hospital bed where his wife slept peacefully and comfortably in a semi-reclined position. A nasal canula delivering a small dose of oxygen, the leads to the EKG machine poking out from the neckline of her hospital supplied pyjamas, and an IV line inserted into her right forearm. A bandage was wrapped around the top of her head, stopping just above her eyebrows; the stark white material a startling contrast to her shimmering, dark hair.

Standing at the side of the bed, Flack ran a hand gently over the top of his wife's head and leaned over to press a tender kiss to her lips.

"Baby…" his voice was quiet and soft as he reached for her left hand and held it tightly in both of his. "I know you can hear me, Sammie…and I know you're scared and confused…but how about you open your eyes? Just open your eyes and look at me. Or how about giving me that smile that I love so much? Just so I know that you're doing okay. Can you do that for me?"

No reply came. Not that Flack actually expected one. But he felt a surge of relief, and hope, when he noticed her heart rate speed up on the EKG monitor located at the head of the bed.

"The doctor says that you're doing really, really good," he continued. "That things weren't as serious as they first thought and that you're going to be out of here in no time. You'll be awake pretty soon and then you'll be able to see the girls and Dawson. Adam's gone to get them and he's bringing them here. And your dad and my old man are both outside waiting for you to wake up too. Linds was here earlier but she had to get back and look after her own family, but she said that she and Danny will come by later to see you, okay?"

A soft knock came to the door, and as Flack glanced over his shoulder, it softly clicked open to reveal his father's tired, grim face.

"Donnie…" his voice was a near whisper. "The neurosurgeon is here to talk to you. About the results of the biopsy."

"I'll be right there dad," Flack said, his chest constricting and his stomach knotting as he realized he was just mere steps from either getting the best news of his life, or the worst. "Thanks."

His father nodded, then backed away from the door and allowed it to close softly.

"I gotta go for a bit," Flack spoke to his wife once more, and bringing her hand to his lips, kissed it gently. "I just have to go and talk to the doctor, okay? We just need to get some things cleared up. I'll be back soon, Sammie. I promise."

Leaning over the bed, he pressed his lips to her lips, then the tip of her nose, before drawing away and stepping away from the bed. Only to find himself held in place when her dainty fingers closed tightly around his hand.

"It's okay baby," Flack assured her, and squeezed her hand in return. "I'm not going to be long. I'm just going to go and talk to your doctor. Then I'll be right back," leaning over the bed once more, he placed his lips against her ear. "You and me, Sammie. It's always been me and you. I'm not going anywhere. Ever. Just have faith in me. In us, baby."

Pecking her temple softly, he pulled back and studied her face, tears welling in his eyes and relief flooding through him when he noticed her eyes flickering.

"Just take your time, Sammie. No rush. You wake up when you're good and ready. But don't do it while I'm out of the room. I won't be too happy about that. You just wait until I get back, alright? I promise I won't be long."

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Flack untangled his fingers from hers and reluctantly backing away, turned on his heel and headed for the door.

_Now or never, _he thought, as his fingers curled around the handle. Pausing before pulling the door open, he closed his eyes briefly and inhaling deeply, released the breath slowly.

_Whatever it is, you're in this for the long haul. Whatever the doctor says, you're manning up and you're sticking by her. Because it's what you need to do. What you want to do._

_It's what love does._

Opening his eyes, Flack steeled himself. Then yanking open the door, stepped out into the hall to face the inevitable.

* * *

Time seemed to stand still. The faint ticking of the clock above the door of the family quiet room seemed deafening in the agonizing silence that had followed the neurologist's announcement. And as Flack sat on the edge of a tattered and weathered green vinyl couch with his head in his hands and blood stampeding through his brain and his heart thundering in his chest, he was dimly aware that his father had moved from his perch on the edge of the sofa and was now sitting beside him, a hand on his son's shoulder. The words that had tumbled so effortlessly and almost callously out of the doctor's mouth had stunned him despite the fact he'd told himself that he was prepared to accept whatever news he was about to be dealt.

But it was easier to say you'd be okay with it, then actually be able to accept it when the bomb was dropped on you.

"How is this possible?"

Through his haze Flack heard his father in law finally break the uncomfortable silence. He didn't need to take his face out of his hands or look across the room to know that the big, burly, tough as nails man was near tears. The evidence was laid bare in his voice.

"The tumour is in a place where it would cause more harm to remove it," the surgeon explained. "If we were to…"

"I heard all of that four hours ago!" Sarge snapped. "What I mean is how is this possible that something like that was growing inside of my baby girl and no one knew about it?! How did no one see this? She's been under doctors' care for nearly two years now for these headaches and these vision and coordination problems! And every time…every goddamn time you people told her and her husband that there was nothing there!"

"I can't speak for the other physicians," the neurosurgeon began. "All I can do…"

"All you can do is sit there and tell us that my daughter…that my baby…" Sarge's voice broke and he struggled to compose himself. "…that my little girl has got this thing growing in her head that's probably been there for months! Maybe even years!"

"It's quite possible that it's been there for the last two years," the doctor reluctantly admitted.

"And no one saw a fucking thing!" Sarge raged. "For two years she's had this tumour! This cancerous tumour and no one fucking saw it!"

"It's not uncommon for these kinds of things to go undetected when a doctor is looking for something else completely unrelated. For these things to hide, so to speak."

"What you mean is that it's not uncommon for you people to totally fuck up!" Sarge bellowed. "Face it! You people fucked this up! It should have been caught sooner than this and something should have been done about it! Now it's so far along that you don't know if she's even going to be able to fight this!"

"I never said that," the neurologist said, remaining calm, cool and collected. "I said that there's options for her treatment. Chemotherapy, radiation…"

"But you also said that you didn't know how effective they'd be," Flack Senior spoke up, his voice quiet as his hand rubbed his son's shoulder comfortingly. "You said that the stage that the cancer is at, that the treatment may just be fruitless."

"Fruitless, but not completely useless or a waste of our time," the doctor corrected.

"So she has this heavy duty chemo and radiation and then what?" Senior asked. "You've said that it was possible it wouldn't do any good. That all it would be is make her even more sick than she already is. That it probably wouldn't shrink the tumour or even put her into remission. So what good would making her suffer through all of that do?"

"It would prolong her life," the physician replied simply. "Give her more time with her husband and her children."

"Time?!" Sarge cried. "What time?! What time would she have with them if she's that sick! If she's deathly ill because of the treatments?! What time does she get with her family when she's that bad off!"

"She'll get to spend another birthday with them. Another Christmas. Instead of the children being prepared to watch her die quickly and horrifically and then having to attend her funeral before the holiday season even gets here. She gets treatment, she lives longer. At least year. If she doesn't…if she doesn't she'll be dead by December."

"Get out." Flack whispered, running his hands over his face and shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

"I'm sorry," the doctor leaned forward from his spot on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch. "I didn't quite hear what you…"

"I said get out!" Flack bellowed, and shot to his feet. "Get the fuck out of here! My wife's been sick for nearly two years now! Two years and all you fuckers kept telling us was that there was nothing wrong! That all she had was a goddamn freckle on her brain stem! That all of her aches and pains and her fatigue was because of fibromyalgia! That's what you've been telling us for two fucking years!"

"And we're admitting that we made a mistake and that we're…"

"And that you're what!?" Tears of rage and grief spilled down Flack's face, and he shoved his father's hand off of his arm when his old man made an attempt to calm him down. "And that you're what?! That you're sorry for screwing up like this! That you fucking morons didn't notice this before! That instead of finding it when it could be treated you have to come in here and admit you fucked up and tell me that 'cause of that she's going to be dead by the end of the year! What the fuck is that?!"

"Donnie…" Senior laid a hand on the back of his son's neck. "I know you're upset. I know this is a lot to accept right now. But you need to…"

"I don't need to do anything!" he yelled, then taking a step towards the slightly terrified doctor, jabbed his finger angrily into the man's chest. "You screwed up and now you have the balls to tell me you're sorry?! To come here and say that it's tough luck that my wife is going to die but if makes me feel any better you're sorry this happened! Fuck you! Just get out of my face!"

"We don't want to have to call security," the neurologist told him. "If you'd just calm down and listen…"

"I won't calm down and I won't listen!" Flack continued. "Are you going to tell my kids? Are you going to tell that 'cause you and your colleagues are incompetent asses that their mother is going to die?! Are you going to be the bearer of bad news!"

The doctor sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Yeah…I didn't fucking think so," Flack snorted, and shaking his head, headed for the exit. "Don't even think about coming anywhere near my wife!" he yelled, as he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. "Find someone else to take care of her! To come and talk to me and my family! 'Cause if you come anywhere near her or me…" he paused in the doorway and fixed his furious blue eyes on the physician. "…as far as I'm concerned you're a murderer," he spat. "You killed her. And for the rest of my life, I'm going to make sure you remember that!"

And with that Flack disappeared into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.


End file.
